Make-believe romance has never felt so real! From USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child.

Bestselling writer Micah Hunter lives a nomadic life. Temporarily settling in a small town for research is outside his comfort zone. Only his tantalizing landlady can lure him from the isolation of his rented mansion. Because Kelly Flynn stirs him as no woman ever has.

And she needs his help. To placate her grandmother, Kelly asks Micah to pretend they’re engaged. He relishes the chance to be with Kelly...until acting like they’re in love begins to feel like more than an act!

His voice came from right behind her.

At the open doorway, she turned and almost bumped into his chest.

“Oh, sorry.” Wow, was his chest really that broad, or was she just so close it looked like he was taking up the whole world? Heat poured from his body, reaching for her, tingling her nerve endings. And he smelled so good, too.

Kelly shook her head and ignored the flutter of expectation awakening in the pit of her stomach. Deliberately, she fought for lighthearted, then tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “You know, I think I should get another point.”

“For what?”

“For surprising you by not asking questions.”

He studied her as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. But after a second or two, he nodded. “You want to keep score? Then add this into the mix.”

He pulled her in close and kissed her.

Fiancé in Name Only

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon Desire line and can’t imagine a better job. A seven-time finalist for a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is an author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.

To my mom, Sallye Carberry, and my aunt, Margie Fontenot, for too many reasons to list. They are the original Matriarchs. Love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Extract

Copyright

One

“Sorry about this,” Micah Hunter said. “I really liked you a lot, but you had to die.”

Leaning back in his desk chair, Micah’s gaze scanned the last few lines of the scene he’d just finished writing. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction at the death of one of his more memorable characters, then closed the lid of the laptop.

He’d already been working for four hours and it was past time for a break. “Problem is,” he muttered, standing up and walking to the window overlooking the front of the house, “there’s nowhere to go.”

Idly he pulled out his cell phone, hit speed dial, then listened to the phone ring for a second or two. Finally a man came on the other line.

“How did I let you talk me into coming here for six months?”

Sam Hellman laughed. “Good to talk to you, too, man.”

“Yeah.” Of course his best friend was amused. Hell, if Micah wasn’t the one stranded here in small-town America, he might be amused, too. As it was, though, he didn’t see a damn thing funny about it. Micah pushed one hand through his hair and stared out at the so-called view. The house he was currently renting was an actual Victorian mansion set back from a wide street that was lined by gigantic, probably ancient, trees, now gold and red as their leaves changed and died. The sky was a brilliant blue, the autumn sun peeking out from behind thick white clouds. It was quiet, he thought. So quiet it was damn near creepy.

And since the suspense/horror novels Micah was known for routinely hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list, he knew a thing or two about creepy.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m stuck here for another four months because you talked me into signing the lease.”

Sam laughed. “You’re stuck there because you never could turn down a challenge.”

Harsh but true. Nobody knew that about Micah better than Sam. They’d met when they were both kids, serving on the same US Navy ship. Sam had run away from his wealthy family’s expectations, and Micah had been running from a past filled with foster homes, lies and broken promises. The two of them had connected and then stayed in touch when their enlistments were up.

Sam had returned to New York and the literary agency his grandfather had founded—discovering, after being away for a while, that he actually wanted to be a part of the family business. Micah had taken any construction job he could find while he spent every other waking moment working on a novel.

Even as a kid, Micah had known he wanted to write books. And when he finally started writing, it seemed the words couldn’t pour out of his mind fast enough. He typed long into the night, losing himself in the story developing on the screen. Finishing that first book, he’d felt like a champion runner—exhausted, satisfied and triumphant.

He’d sent that first novel to Sam, who’d had a few million suggestions to make it even better. Nobody liked being told to change something they thought was already great, but Micah had been so determined to reach his goal, he’d made most of the changes. And the book sold almost immediately for a modest advance that Micah was more proud of than anything he’d ever earned before.

That book was the precursor of things to come. With his second book, word-of-mouth advertising made it a viral sensation and had it rocketing up the bestseller lists. Before he knew it, Micah’s dreams were a reality. Sam and Micah had worked together ever since and they’d made a hell of a team. But because they were such good friends, Sam had known exactly how to set Micah up.

“This is payback because I beat you at downhill snowboarding last winter, isn’t it?”

“Would I do something that petty?” Sam asked, laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, you would.” Micah shook his head.

“Okay...yeah, probably,” Sam agreed. “But, you’re the one who took the bet. Live in a small town for six months.”

“True.” How bad could it be? He remembered asking himself that before signing the lease with his landlady, Kelly Flynn. Now, two months into his stay, Micah had the answer to that question.

“And, hey, research,” Sam pointed out. “The book you’re working on now is set in a small town. Good to know these things firsthand.”

“Ever heard of Google?” Micah laughed. “And the book I set in Atlantis, how’d I research that one?”

“Not the point,” Sam said. “The point is, Jenny and I loved that house you’re in when we were there a couple years ago. And, okay, Banner’s a small town, but they’ve got good pizza.”

Micah would admit to that. He had Pizza Bowl on speed dial.

“Like I said, in another month or so, you’ll feel differently,” Sam said. “You’ll be out enjoying all that fresh powder on the mountains and you won’t mind it so much.”

Micah wasn’t so sure about that. But he had to admit it was a great house. He glanced around the second-floor room he’d claimed as a temporary office. The ceilings were high, the rooms were big and the view of the mountains was beautiful. The whole house had a lot of character, which he appreciated, but damned if he didn’t feel like a phantom or something, wandering through the big place. He’d never had so much space all to himself and Micah could admit, at least to himself, that sometimes it creeped him out.

Hell, in the city—any city—there were lights. People. Noise. Here, the nights were darker than anything he’d ever known. Even in the navy, on board a ship, there were enough lights that the stars were muted in the night sky. But Banner, Utah, was listed on the International Dark-Sky roster because it lay just beyond a ridge that wiped out the haze of light reflection from Salt Lake City.

Here, at night, you could look up and see the Milky Way and an explosion of stars that was as beautiful as it was humbling. He’d never seen skies like these before, and he was willing to acknowledge that the beauty of it took some of the sting out of being marooned at the back end of beyond.

“How’s the book coming?” Sam asked suddenly.

The change in subject threw him for a second, but Micah was grateful for the shift. “Good. Actually just killed the bakery guy.”

“That’s a shame. Love a good bakery guy.” Sam laughed. “How’d he buy it?”

“Pretty grisly,” Micah said, and began pacing the confines of his office. “The killer drowned him in the doughnut fryer vat of hot oil.”

“Damn, man...that is gross.” Sam took a breath and sighed it out. “You may have put me off doughnuts.”

Good to know the murder he’d just written was going to hit home for people.

“Not for long, I’ll bet,” Micah mused.

“The copy editor will probably get sick, but your fans will love it,” Sam assured him. “And speaking of fans, any of them show up in town yet?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Frowning, he looked out the window and checked up and down the street, half expecting to see someone with a camera casing the house, hoping for a shot of him.

One of the reasons Micah never remained in one place too long was because his more devoted fans had a way of tracking him down. They would just show up at whatever hotel he was staying in, assuming he’d be happy to see them. Most were harmless, sure, but Micah knew “fan” could turn into “fanatic” in a flash.

He’d had a few talk their way into his hotel rooms, join him uninvited at dinner, acting as though they were either old friends or long-lost lovers. Thanks to social media, there was always someone reporting on where he had been seen last or where he was currently holed up. So he changed hotels after every book, always staying in big cities where he could get lost in the crowds and living in five-star hotels that promised security.

Until now, that is.

“No one’s going to look for you in a tiny mountain town,” Sam said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I was at the hotel in Switzerland,” Micah reminded his friend. “Until that guy showed up determined to pummel me because his girlfriend was in love with me.”

Sam laughed again and Micah just shook his head. Okay, it was funny now, but having some guy you didn’t know ambush you in a hotel lobby wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

“This is probably the best thing you could have done,” Sam said. “Staying in Banner and living in a house, not a hotel, will throw off the fans hunting for you.”

“Yeah, well, it should. It’s throwing me off, that’s for sure.” His scowl tightened. “It’s too damn quiet here.”

“Want me to send you a recording of Manhattan traffic? You could play it while you write.”

“Funny,” Micah said, and didn’t even admit to himself that the idea wasn’t half bad. “Why haven’t I fired you?”

“Because I make us both a boatload of money, my friend.”

Well, Sam had him there. “Right. Knew there was a reason.”

“And because I’m charming, funny and about the only person in the world who’s willing to put up with the crappy attitude.”

Micah laughed now. He had a point. Right from the beginning, when they’d met on the aircraft carrier they’d served on, Sam had offered friendship—something Micah had rarely known. Growing up in the foster care system, moving from home to home, Micah had never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. Which was probably a good thing since he wouldn’t have been able to keep a friend, what with relocating all the damn time.

So he appreciated having Sam in his life—even when the man bugged the hell out of him. “That’s great, thanks.”

“No problem. So what do you think of your landlady?”

Frowning, Micah silently acknowledged that he was trying to not think about Kelly Flynn. It wasn’t working, but he kept trying.

For the last two months, he’d done everything he could to keep his distance because damned if he didn’t want to get closer. But he didn’t need an affair. He had to live here for another four months. If he started something with Kelly, it would make things...complicated.

If it was a one-night stand, she’d get pissy and he’d have to put up with it for four more months. If it was a long-running affair, then she’d be intruding on his writing time and spinning fantasies about a future that was never going to happen. He didn’t need the drama. All he wanted was the time and space to write his book so he could get out of this tiny town and back to civilization.

“Hmm,” Sam mused. “Silence. That tells me plenty.”

“Tells you nothing,” Micah argued, attempting to convince both himself and Sam. “Just like there’s nothing going on.”

“Are you sick?”

“What?”

“I mean, come on,” Sam said, and Micah could imagine him leaning back in his desk chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk. He probably had his chair turned toward the windows so he could look out over Manhattan.

“Hell,” Sam continued, “I’m married and I noticed her. She’s gorgeous, and if you tell Jenny I said that I’ll deny it.”

Shaking his head, Micah looked down and watched Kelly work in the yard. The woman never relaxed. She was always moving, doing something. She had ten different jobs and today, apparently, still had the time to rake up fallen leaves and bag them. As he watched, she loaded up a wheelbarrow with several bags of leaves and headed for the curb.

Her long, reddish-gold hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She wore a dark green sweatshirt and worn blue jeans that cupped her behind and clung to her long legs. Black gloves covered her hands, and her black boots were scarred and scuffed from years of wear.

And though she had her back to the house, he knew her face. Soft, creamy skin, sprinkled with freckles across her nose and cheeks. Grass-green eyes that crinkled at the edges when she laughed and a wide, generous mouth that made Micah wonder what she would taste like.

Micah watched her unload the bags at the curb, then wave to a neighbor across the street. He knew she’d be smiling and his brain filled with her image. Deliberately, he turned his back on the window, shut the image of Kelly out of his mind and walked back to his chair. “Yeah, she’s pretty.”

Sam laughed. “Feel the enthusiasm.”

Oh, there was plenty of enthusiasm, Micah thought. Too much. Which was the problem. “I’m not here looking for a woman, Sam. I’m here to work.”

“That’s just sad.”

He had to agree. “Thanks. So why’d you call me again?”

“Damn, you need to take a break. You’re the one who called me, remember?”

“Right.” He pushed one hand through his hair. Maybe he did need a damn break. He’d been working pretty much nonstop for the last two months. No wonder this place was starting to feel claustrophobic in spite of its size. “That’s a good idea. I’ll take a drive. Clear my head.”

“Invite the landlady along,” Sam urged. “She could show you around since I’m guessing you’ve hardly left that big old house since you got there.”

“Good guess. But not looking for a guide, either.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when I find it,” Micah said, and hung up.

* * *

“So how’s our famous writer doing?”

Kelly grinned at her neighbor. Sally Hartsfield was the nosiest human being on the face of the planet. She and her sister, Margie, were both spinsters in their nineties, and spent most of their days looking out the windows to keep an eye on what was happening in the neighborhood.

“Busy, I guess,” Kelly said, with a quick glance over her shoulder at the second-story window where she’d caught a glimpse of Micah earlier. He wasn’t there anymore and she felt a small twist of disappointment as she turned back to Sally. “He told me when he moved in that he would be buried in work and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Hmm.” Sally’s gaze flicked briefly to that window, too. “You know, that last book of his gave me nightmares. Makes you wonder how he can stand being all alone like that when he’s writing such dark, scary things...”

Kelly agreed. She’d only read one of Micah’s seven books because it had scared her so badly she’d slept with a light on for two weeks. When she read a book, she wanted cheerful escape, not terror-inducing suspense. “I guess he likes it that way,” she said.

“Well, everybody’s different,” Sally pointed out. “And I say thank goodness. Can you imagine how boring life would be if we were all the same?” She shook her head and her densely-sprayed curls never moved. “Why, there’d be nothing to talk about.”

And that would be the real shame as far as Sally was concerned, Kelly knew. The woman could pry a nugget of information out of a rock.

“He is a good-looking man though, isn’t he?” Sally asked, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Good-looking? Oh, Micah Hunter was well beyond that. The picture on the back of his books showed him as dark and brooding, and that was probably done purposefully, considering what he wrote. But the man in person was so much more. His thick brown hair was perpetually rumpled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes were the color of rich, dark coffee, and when he forgot to shave for a day or two, the stubble on his face gave him the air of a pirate.

His shoulders were broad, his hips were narrow and he was tall enough that even Kelly’s own five feet, eight inches felt diminutive alongside him. He was the kind of man who walked into a room and simply took it over whether he was trying to or not. Kelly imagined every woman who ever met him had done a little daydreaming about Micah. Even, it seemed, Sally Hartsfield, who had a grandson as old as Micah.

“He is nice looking,” Kelly finally said when she noticed Sally staring at her.

The older woman sighed and fisted both hands on her hips. “Kelly Flynn, what is wrong with you? Your Sean’s been gone four years. Why, if I was your age...”

Kelly stiffened at the mention of her late husband, automatically raising her defenses. Sally must have noticed her reaction because the woman stopped short, offered a smile and, thank heaven, a change of subject.

“Anyway, I hear you’re showing the Polk place this afternoon to a couple coming in from California of all places.”

Impressed as well as a little irked, Kelly stared at the older woman. Honestly, Kelly had only gotten this appointment to show a house the day before. “How did you know that?”

Sally waved a hand. “Oh, I have my ways.”

Kelly had long suspected that her elderly neighbors had an army of spies stationed all over Banner, Utah, and this just cemented that idea. “Well, you’re right, Sally, so I’d better get going. I still have to shower and change.”

“Of course, dear, you go right ahead.” She checked the window again and Kelly saw frustration on the woman’s face when Micah didn’t show up to be watched. “I’ve got things to do myself.”

Kelly watched the woman hustle back across the street, her bright pink sneakers practically glowing against all of the fallen leaves littering the ground. The ancient oaks that lined the street stretched out gnarly branches to almost make an arbor of gold-and-red leaves hanging over the wide road.

The houses were all different, everything from small stone cottages to the dignified Victorian where Kelly had grown up. They were all at least a hundred years old, but they were well cared for and the lawns were tidy. People in Banner stayed. They were born here, grew up here and eventually married, lived and died here.

That kind of continuity always comforted Kelly. She’d lived here since she was eight and her parents were killed in a car accident. She’d moved in with her grandparents and had become the center of their world. Now, her grandfather was dead and Gran had moved to Florida, leaving the big Victorian mansion and the caretaker’s cottage at the back of the property to Kelly. Since living alone in that giant house would just be silly, Kelly rented it out and lived in the smaller cottage.

In the last three years, the Victorian had rarely been empty and when it wasn’t rented out by vacationers, the house and grounds had become a favorite place for weddings, big parties and even, last year, a Girl Scout cookout in the huge backyard.

And, she thought, every Halloween, she turned the front of the Victorian into a haunted house.

“Have to get busy on that,” she told herself. It was already the first of October and if she didn’t get started, the whole month would slip past before she knew it.

Halfway up to the house, the front door opened and Micah stepped out. Kelly’s heart gave a hard thump, and down low inside her she felt heat coil and tighten. Oh, boy. It had been four long years since her husband, Sean, had died, and since then she hadn’t exactly done a lot of dating. That probably explained why she continued to have this over-the-top reaction to Micah.

Probably.

He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt tucked into the black jeans he seemed to favor. Black boots finished off the look of Dangerous Male and as she admired the whole package, her heartbeat thundered loud enough to echo in her ears.

“Need some help?” he asked, jerking his head toward the wheelbarrow she was still holding on to.

“What? Oh. No.” Great, Kelly. Three. Separate. Words. Care to try for a sentence? “I mean, it’s empty, so not heavy. I’m just taking it around to the back.”

“Okay.” He came down the wide front steps to the brick walkway lined with chrysanthemums in bright, cheerful fall colors. “I’m taking a break. Thought I’d drive around. Get my bearings.”

“After two months of being in Banner?” she asked, smiling. “Yeah, maybe it’s time.”

His mouth worked into a partial smile. “Any suggestions on the route I should take?”

She set the wheelbarrow down, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and thought about it. “Just about any route you take is a pretty one. But if you’re looking for a destination, you could drive through the canyon down to 89. There are a lot of produce stands there. You could pick me up a few pumpkins.”

He tipped his head to one side and studied her, a flicker of what might have been amusement on his face. “Did I say I was going shopping?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “But you could.”

He blew out a breath, looked up and down the street, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “Or, you could ride with me and pick out your own pumpkins.”

“Okay.”

He nodded.

“No,” she said. “Wait. Maybe not.”

He frowned at her.

Having an audience while she argued with herself was a little embarrassing. She could tell from his expression that Micah didn’t really want her along so, naturally, she really wanted to go. Even though she shouldn’t. She already had plenty to do and maybe spending time with Micah Hunter wasn’t the wisest choice, since he had the unerring ability to stir her up inside. But could she really resist the chance to make him as uncomfortable as he made her?

“I mean, sure,” she said abruptly. “I’ll go, but I’d have to be back in a couple of hours. I have a house to show this afternoon.”

His eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “I can guarantee you I won’t be spending two hours at a pumpkin stand.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So? Are you coming or not?”

Her eyes met his and in those dark brown depths, Kelly read the hope she would say no. So, of course, she said the only thing she could.

“I guess I am.”

Two

“Why are you buying pumpkins when you’re growing your own?”

They were already halfway down the twisting canyon road. The mountains rose up on either side of the narrow pass. Wide stands of pine trees stood as tall and straight as soldiers, while oaks, maples and birch trees that grew within those stands splashed the dark green with wild bursts of fall color.

“And,” Micah continued, “isn’t there somewhere closer you could buy the damn things?”

She turned her head to look at his profile. “Sure there is, but the produce stands have the big ones.”

Kelly could have sworn she actually heard his eyes roll. But she didn’t care. It was a gorgeous fall day, she was taking a ride in a really gorgeous car—even though it was going too fast for the pass—and she was sitting beside a gorgeous man who made her nervous.

And wasn’t that a surprise? Four years since her husband Sean had died and Micah was the first man to make her stomach flutter with the kind of nerves that she had suspected were dead or atrophied. The problem was, she didn’t know if she was glad of the appearance of those nerves or not.

Kelly rolled down the window and let the cold fall air slap at her in lieu of a cold shower. When she got a grip, she shifted in her seat to look at Micah. “Because I grow those to give away to the kids in the neighborhood.”

“And you can’t keep some for yourself?”

“I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun?” he repeated. “I’ve seen you out there weeding, clipping and whatever else it is you do to those plants. That’s fun?”

“For me it is.” The wind whipped her ponytail across her face and she pushed it aside to look at him. “Besides, if I was going to take lessons on fun from somebody, it wouldn’t be you.”

He snorted. “If you did, I’d show you more than pumpkins.”

Her stomach swirled a little at the implied promise in those words, but she swallowed hard and stilled it. He was probably used to making coded statements designed to turn women into slavering puddles. So she wouldn’t accommodate him. Yet.

“I’m not convinced,” she said with a shrug. “You’ve been in town two months and you’ve hardly left the house.”

“That’s work. No time for fun.”

“Just a chatterbox,” she mumbled. Every word pried out of him felt like a victory.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “So, what’s your idea of fun then?”

He took a moment to think it through, and said, “I’d start with chartering a private jet—”

“Your own personal jet,” she said, stunned.

He glanced at her and shrugged. “I don’t like sharing.”

She laughed shortly as she thought about the last time she’d taken a flight out of Salt Lake City airport. Crowded onto a full flight, she’d sat between a talkative woman complaining about her grandchildren and a businessman whose briefcase poked her in the thigh every time he shifted in his seat. Okay, she could see where a private jet would be nice. “Well sure. Okay, your jet. Then what?”

He steered the Range Rover down the mountain road, taking the tight curves like a race-car driver. If Kelly let herself worry about it, she’d be clinging to the edges of her seat. So she didn’t think about it.

“Well, it’s October, so I’d go to Germany for Oktoberfest.”

“Oh.” That was so far out of her normal orbit she hardly knew what to say. Apparently, though, once you got Micah talking about something that interested him, he would keep going.

“It’s a good place to study people.”

“I bet,” she murmured.

He ignored that, and said, “Writers tend to observe. Tourists. Locals. How people are interacting. Gives me ideas for the work.”

“Like who to murder?”

“Among other things. I once killed a hotel manager in one of my books.” He shrugged. “The guy was a jackass so, on paper at least, I got rid of him.”

She stared at him. “Any plans to kill off your current landlady?”

“Not yet.”

“Comforting.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “after a long weekend there, I’d go to England,” he mused, seriously considering her question. “There’s a hotel in Oxford I like.”

“Not London?”

“Fewer people to recognize me in Oxford.”

“That’s a problem for you?” she asked.

“It can be.” He took another curve that had Kelly swerving into him. He didn’t seem to notice. “Thanks to social media, my fans tend to track me down. It gets annoying.”

She could understand that. The photo of Micah on the back of his books was mesmerizing. She’d spent a bit of time herself studying his eyes, the way his hair tumbled over his forehead, the strong set of his jaw.

“Maybe you should take your photo off your books.”

“Believe me, I’ve suggested it,” Micah said. “The publisher won’t do it.”

Kelly really didn’t have anything to add to the conversation. She’d never been followed by strangers desperate to be close to her and the farthest she’d ever traveled was on her last flight—to Florida to visit her grandmother. England? Germany? Not really in her lifestyle. She’d love to go to Europe. Someday. But it wouldn’t be on a private jet.

She glanced out the window at the familiar landscape as it whizzed past and felt herself settle. Micah’s life was so far removed from her own it made Kelly’s head spin just thinking about it.

“One of these days,” she said suddenly, shifting her gaze back to his profile, “I’d like to go to Scotland. See Edinburgh Castle.”

“It’s worth seeing,” he assured her.

Of course he’d been there. Heck, he’d probably been everywhere. No wonder he stuck close to the house. Why would he be interested in looking around Banner, Utah? After the places he’d been, her small hometown probably appeared too boring to bother with. Well, maybe it wasn’t up to the standards of Edinburgh, or Oktoberfest in Germany, but she loved it.

“Good to know,” she said. “But until then, I’ll plant pumpkins for the kids.” She smiled to herself and let go of a twinge of envy still squeezing her insides. “I like everything about gardening. Watching the seeds sprout, then the vines spread and the pumpkins get bigger and brighter orange.” Smiling, she continued. “I like how the kids on the street come by all the time, picking out the pumpkins they want, helping water, pulling weeds. They get really possessive about their pumpkins.”

“Yeah,” he said wryly. “I hear them.”

He never took his eyes off the road, she noted. Was it because he was a careful driver, or was he just trying to avoid looking at her? Probably the latter. In the two months he’d been living in her Victorian, Micah Hunter had made eluding her an art form.

Sure, he was a writer, and he’d told her when he first arrived in town that he needed time alone to work. He wasn’t interested in making friends, having visitors or a guided tour of her tiny town. Friendly? Not so much. Intriguing? Oh, yeah.

Could she help it if tall, dark and crabby appealed to her? Odd though, since her late husband, Sean, had been blond and blue-eyed, with an easy smile. And nothing about Micah was easy.

“You don’t like kids?”

Briefly he slanted a look at her. “Didn’t say that. Said I heard them. They’re loud.”

“Uh-huh,” she said with a half smile. “And didn’t you say last week that it was too quiet in Banner?”

His mouth tightened but, grudgingly, he nodded. “Point to you.”

“Good. I like winning.”

“One point doesn’t mean you’ve won anything.”

“How many points do I need then?”

A reluctant smile curved his mouth, then flashed away again. “At least eleven.”

Wow. That half smile had come and gone so quickly it was like it had never been. Yet, her stomach was swirling and her mouth had gone dry. Kelly took a breath and slowly let it out again. She had to focus on what they were talking about, not what he was doing to her.

“Like ping-pong,” she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

“Okay.” He sounded amused.

“All right, good,” Kelly said, leaning over to pat his arm mostly because she needed to convince herself she could touch him without going up in flames. But her fingers tingled, so she pulled them back fast. “Then it’s one to nothing, my favor.”

He shook his head. “You’re actually going to keep score?”

“You started it. You gave me a point.”

“Right. I’ll make a note.”

“No need, I’ll keep track.” She looked ahead because it was safer than looking at him. Then she smiled to herself. She’d gotten him to talk and had completely held her own in the conversation—until her imagination and hormones had thrown her off.

As long as she could keep those tingles and nerves in check, she could handle Mr. Magnetic.

* * *

For the next few days, Kelly was too busy to spend much time thinking about Micah. And that was just as well, she told herself. Mainly because the minute they returned from their pumpkin-shopping expedition, Micah had disappeared and she’d gotten the message.

Clearly he wanted her to know that their brief outing had been an aberration. He’d slipped back into his cave and she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since. Probably for the best, she assured herself. Easier to keep her mind on her own life, her own responsibilities if the only time she saw Micah was in her dreams.

Of course, that didn’t make for restful sleeping, but she’d been tired before. One thing she hadn’t experienced before were the completely over-the-top, sexy-enough-to-melt-your-brain dreams. She hated waking up hot and needy. Hated having to admit that all she really wanted to do was go back to sleep and dream again.

“And don’t start thinking about those dreams or you won’t get any work done at all,” Kelly told herself firmly.

It wasn’t hard to push Micah into the back of her mind, since she juggled so many jobs that sometimes she just ran from one to the next. Thankfully, that gave her little opportunity to sit and wonder if sex with Micah in real life would be as good as it was in her dreams.

Although if it was, she might not survive the experience.

“Still,” she mused, “not a bad way to go.”

She shook her head, dipped a brush into the orange tempera paint, wiped off the excess, then painted the first of an orchard of pumpkins onto the Coffee Cave’s front window. Of all her different jobs, this was her favorite. Kelly loved painting holiday decorations on storefronts.

But she was also a virtual assistant, she ran websites for several local businesses, and was a Realtor who had just sold a house to that family from California. She was a gardener and landscape designer, and now she was thinking seriously about running for mayor in Banner’s next election, since she was just horrified by some of the current mayor’s plans for downtown. As she laid the paint out on the glass, her mind wandered.

Kelly had a business degree from Utah State, but once she’d graduated, she hadn’t wanted to tie herself down to one particular job. She liked variety, liked being her own boss. When she’d decided to go into several different businesses, a couple of her friends had called her crazy. But she remembered Sean encouraging her, telling her to do whatever made her happy.

That had her pausing as thoughts of Sean drifted through her mind like a warm breeze on a cool day. A small ache settled around her heart. She still missed him even though his features were blurred in her mind now—like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

She hated that. It felt like a betrayal of sorts, letting Sean fade. But it would have been impossible to keep living while holding on to the pain, too. Time passed whether you wanted it to or not. And you either kept up or got run over.

On that happy notion, Kelly paused long enough to look up and down Main Street. Instantly, she felt better. Banner was a beautiful little town and had been a great place to grow up. Coming here as a heartbroken eight-year-old, she’d fallen in love with the town, the woods, the rivers, the waterfalls and the people here.

Okay, Banner wasn’t Edinburgh or Oxford or wherever, but it was...cozy. The buildings were mostly more than a hundred years old with creaky floors and brick walls. The sidewalks were narrow but neatly swept, and every one of the old lampposts boasted a basket of fall flowers at its base. In another month or so, there would be Christmas signs up and lights strung across the streets, and when the snow came, it would all look like a holiday painting. So, yes, she’d like to travel, see the world, but she would always come home to Banner.

Nodding to herself, she turned back to the window and quickly laid out the rest of the pumpkin patch along the bottom edge of the window.

“Well, that looks terrific already.”

Kelly turned to grin at her friend. Terry Baker owned the coffee shop and made the best cinnamon rolls in the state. With short black hair, bright blue eyes and standing at about five foot two, Terry looked like an elf. Which she didn’t find the least bit amusing.

The two of them had been friends since the third grade and nothing had changed over the years. Terry had been there for Kelly when Sean died. Now that Terry’s military husband had deployed for the third time in four years, it was Kelly’s turn to support her friend.

“Thanks, but I’ve got a long way to go yet,” Kelly said, taking a quick look at the window and seeing a spot she’d have to fill in with a few baby pumpkins.

“Hence the latte I have brewed just for you.” She held out the go-cup she carried.

“Hence?” Kelly took the coffee, savored a sip, then sighed in appreciation. “Have you been reading British mysteries again?”

“Nope.” Terry stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets. “With my sad love life, I’m home every night watching the British mysteries on TV.”

“Love lives can be overrated,” Kelly said.

“Right.” Terry nodded. “Who’re you trying to convince? Me? Or you?”

“Me, obviously, since you’re the only one of us with a man at the moment.”

Terry leaned one shoulder against the pale rose-colored brick of her building. “I don’t have one, either, trust me. It’s impossible to have phone sex on an iPad when half of Jimmy’s squad could walk in at any moment.”

Kelly laughed, grabbed another brush and laid down a twining green vine connecting all of the pumpkins. “Okay, that would be awkward.”

“Tell me about it. Remember when he called me as a surprise on my birthday and I jumped out of the shower to answer the call?” Terry shuddered dramatically. “I can still hear all the whistles from his friends who were there in the room.”

Still laughing, Kelly said, “Well, that’ll teach Jimmy to surprise you.”

“No kidding. Now we make phone appointments.” Terry grinned. “But enough about me. I hear you and the writer went for a long ride the other day.”

“How did you—” Kelly stopped, blew out a breath and nodded. “Right. Sally.”

“She and her sister came in for coffee yesterday and told me all about it,” Terry admitted, tipping her head to one side to study her friend. “The question is, if there was something to know, why didn’t I already know it?”

“Because it’s nothing,” Kelly said, focusing on her painting again. She added shadows and depth to the curling vines. “He took me to buy some pumpkins.”

“Uh-huh. Sally says you were gone almost two hours. Either you’re really picky about your pumpkins or something else was going on.”

Kelly sighed. “We went for a ride.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I showed him around a little.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Why not?”

Kelly just blinked. A couple of kids on skateboards shot down the sidewalk with a roar that startled her. “What?”

“Honey,” Terry said, stepping close enough to drop one arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “Sean’s been gone four years. You haven’t been on a single date in all that time. Now you’ve got this amazing-looking guy living in the Victorian for six months and you’re not going to do anything about it?”

Laughing a little, Kelly shook her head again. “What should I do? Tie him up and have my way with him?”

Terry’s eyes went a little dreamy. “Hmm...”

“Oh, stop it.” But even as she said it, a rush of heat filled Kelly. She only enjoyed it for a second or two before tamping it right down and mentally putting out the fire.

Honestly, she didn’t want or need the attraction she felt for Micah. He clearly wasn’t interested and Kelly had already loved and lost. She really had zero interest in a romance. Of any kind.

“Okay, fine,” Terry said, laughing. “If you’re determined to shut yourself up in a closet, wrapped in wool or something, there’s nothing I can do about it. But I swear, if the CIA ever needs more spies, I’m going to recommend Sally and Margie. Those two have their fingers on the pulse of everything that happens in town.”

And lucky Kelly lived right across the street from them. Sean used to laugh when he saw the older ladies, noses pressed to the windows. He would sweep Kelly into an elaborate dip and kiss her senseless, saying, “The reason they’re so nosy is no one’s ever kissed them senseless. So let’s give them something to talk about.”

That memory brought a sad smile that she just as quickly let slide away. Remembering Sean meant not only the good times, but the pain of losing him. She’d lost enough in her life, Kelly told herself firmly.

First her parents when she was just a kid, then her grandfather, then Sean. Enough already. And the only way to ensure she never went through that kind of pain again was to never let herself get that close with anyone again.

She had Terry. Her grandmother. A couple of good friends.

Who needed a man?

Micah’s image rose up in her mind and she heard a tiny voice inside her whisper, You do. He’s only here temporarily, why not take advantage? There’s no future there, so no risk.

True, Micah would only be in Banner for four more months, so it wasn’t as if—no.

Don’t think about it.

Sure. That would work.

“You know,” Terry said, interrupting Kelly’s stream of consciousness, “there’s a guy in Jimmy’s squad I think you’d really like...”

“Oh, no.” Kelly shook her head firmly. “Don’t go there, Terry. No setups. You know those never go well.”

“He’s a nice guy,” her friend argued.

“I’m sure he’s a prince,” Kelly said. “But he’s not my prince. I’m not looking for another man.”

“Well, you should be.” Terry folded her arms over her chest.

“Didn’t you just say there was nothing you could do about it if I wanted to lock myself in a closet?”

“I hate seeing you alone all the time.”

“You’re alone,” Kelly reminded her.

“For now, but Jimmy will be home in another couple of months.”

“And I’m happy for you.” Deliberately, Kelly turned back to her paints. She picked up the yellow and a small brush, then laid in the eyes on the first pumpkin. With the bright yellow, it would look like the pumpkin was lit by a candle. “I had a husband, Terry. Don’t want another one.”

From the corner of her eye, Kelly saw her friend’s shoulders slump in defeat. “I didn’t say I wanted you married.”

“But you do.”

“Not the point,” Terry said stubbornly. “Sweetie, I know losing Sean was terrible. But you’re too young to live the rest of your life like a vestal virgin.”

Kelly laughed. “The virgin ship sailed a long time ago.”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course she did. Terry had been saying pretty much the same thing for the last two years. She just didn’t understand that Kelly was too determined to avoid pain to ever take the kind of risk she was talking about. Loving was great. Losing was devastating, and she’d already lost enough, thanks.

“Yeah, I do, and I appreciate the thought—”

“No, you don’t,” Terry said.

“You’re right, I don’t.” Kelly glanced at her friend and smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Gran.”

“Oh, low blow,” Terry muttered. “She’s still worried?”

“Ever since Sean died and it’s gotten worse in the last year or so.” She focused on the paints even while she kept talking. “Gran’s even started making noises about moving back here so I won’t be lonely.”

“Oh, man.” Terry sighed. “I thought she loved living in Florida with her sister.”

“She does.” Kelly crouched down to paint in the faces of three other pumpkins. “The two of them go to bingo and take trips with their seniors club. She’s having a great time, but then she starts worrying about me and—”

Her cell phone rang and Kelly stood up to drag it from her jeans pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, she sighed and looked at Terry. “Speak of the devil...”

“Gran? Really?” Terry’s eyes went dramatically wide. “Boy, her hearing’s better than ever if she could catch us talking about her all the way from Florida!”

Kelly laughed. With a wince of guilt, she sent the call to voice mail.

“Seriously?” Terry sounded surprised. “You’re not going to talk to her?”

“Having one conversation about my lack of a love life is enough for today.”

“Fine.” Terry held up both hands in surrender. “I’ll back off. For now.”

“Thanks.” She tucked her phone away and tried not to feel badly about ditching her grandmother’s call.

“But,” Terry added before she went back into the coffee shop, “just because you’re not interested in a permanent man...”

Kelly looked at her.

“...doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a temporary one. I’m just saying.”

After she left, Kelly’s brain was racing. A temporary man. When she went back to her painting, she was still thinking, and as an ephemeral plan began to build in her mind, a speculative smile curved her mouth.

Three

Micah hated cooking, but he’d learned a long time ago that man cannot live on takeout alone. Especially when you’re in the back end of beyond and can’t get anything but pizza delivered.

He took a swig of his beer and flipped cooked pasta into a skillet with some olive oil and garlic. Adding chopped tomatoes and sliced steak to the mix, he used a spatula to mix it all together. The scent was making him hungry. Most people would think it was way too early for dinner, but Micah didn’t eat on a schedule.

He’d been wrapped up in his book for the last several hours, hardly noticing the time passing. As always happened, once the flow of words finally stopped, he came out of his cave like a grizzly after six months of hibernation.

“Hi.”

Micah turned to look at the open back door. It was late afternoon and the cool air felt good. Of course, if he’d known he’d be invaded, Micah would have kept the door shut. Too late now, though, since there was a little boy standing there, staring at him. The kid couldn’t have been more than three or four. He had light brown hair that stuck up in wild tufts all over his head. His brown eyes were wide and curious and there was mud on the knees of his jeans and the toes of his sneakers. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jacob. I live there.” He waved one hand in the general direction of the house next door. “Can I go see my pumpkin?”

The sizzling skillet was the only sound in the room. Micah looked at the kid and realized that he was one of the crew who made so much noise in Kelly’s garden. That still didn’t explain why the kid was here, talking to Micah. “Why are you asking me?”

“Cuz Kelly’s not here so I have to ask another grown-up and you’re one.”

Can’t argue with that kind of logic. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”

“Okay. What’re you doin’?” Jacob came closer.

“I’m cooking.” Micah glanced at the boy, then, dismissing him, went back to his skillet. “Go look at your pumpkin.”

“Are you hungry, too?” The boy gave him a hopeful look.

“Yeah, so you should go home,” Micah told him. “Have lunch.” What time was it? He looked out the window. The sky was darkening toward twilight. “Or dinner.”

“I hafta see my pumpkin first and say good-night.”

That was a new one for Micah. Telling a vegetable good-night. But the boy looked so...earnest. And a little pitiful in his dirty jeans with his wide brown eyes. Micah didn’t do kids. Never had. Not even when he was a kid.

He’d kept to himself back then, too. He’d never made friends because he wouldn’t have been able to keep them. Moving from home to home to home kept a foster kid wary of relationships. So he’d buried his nose in whatever books he could find and waited to turn eighteen so he could get out of the system.

But now, staring into a pair of big brown eyes, Micah felt guilt tugging at him for trying to ignore the kid. The feeling was so unusual for him he almost didn’t recognize it. He also couldn’t ignore it. “Fine then. Go ahead. Say good-night to your pumpkin.”

“You hafta open the gate for me cuz I’m too little.”

Rolling his eyes, Micah remembered the gated white-picket fence Kelly kept around her garden patch. She’d told him once it was to discourage rabbits and deer. Even though the deer could jump the fence with no problem, she wanted to make vegetable stealing as hard as possible on them.

With a sigh, Micah turned the fire off under his skillet, and said goodbye to the meal he’d just made. “All right.” Micah looked at the boy. “Let’s go then.”

A bright smile lit the kid’s face. “Thanks!”

He hustled out of the kitchen, down the back steps and around to the side of the house.

Micah followed more slowly, and as he walked, he took a second to appreciate the view. All around him fall colors exploded in shades of gold and red. The dark green of the pines in the woods beyond the house made them look as if they were made of shadows, and he idly plotted another murder, deep in the forest.

“I could have some kid find the body,” he mumbled, seeing the possible scene in his mind. “Freak him out, but would he be too scared to tell anyone? Would he run for help or run home and hide?”

“Who?”

Coming back to the moment at hand, Micah looked at the child staring up at him. “What?”

“Who’s gonna run home? Are they scared? Is it a boy? Cuz my brothers say boys don’t get scared, only girls do.”

Micah snorted. “Your brothers are wrong.”

“I think so, too.” Jacob nodded so hard his hair flopped across his forehead. He pushed it back with a dirty hand. “Jonah gets scared sometimes and Joshua needs a light on when he sleeps.”

“Uh-huh.” Way too much information, Micah thought and wondered idly if the kid had an off switch.

“I like the dark and only get scared sometimes.” Jacob shifted impatiently from foot to foot.

“That’s good.”

“Do you get scared?”

Frowning now, Micah watched the boy. For a second he was tempted to say no and let it drop. Then he thought better of it. “Everybody gets scared sometimes.”

“Even dads?”

Micah had zero experience with fathers, but he suspected that the one thing that would terrify a man was worrying about his children. “Yeah,” he said. “Even dads.”

“Wow.” Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “I have a rabbit I hold when I get scared. I don’t think my dad has one.”

“A rabbit?” Micah shook his head.

“Not a real one,” Jacob assured him. “Real ones would be hard to hold.”

“Sure, sure.” Micah nodded sagely.

“And they poop a lot.”

Micah hid the smile he felt building inside. The boy was so serious he probably wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at. Did all kids talk like this? And whatever happened to not talking to strangers? Didn’t people tell their kids that anymore?

“There it is,” Jacob said suddenly, and pointed to the garden as he hurried to the gate and waited for Micah to open it. Once he had, Jacob raced across the uneven ground to one of the dozen or more pumpkins.

Micah followed, hands in his jeans pockets, watching the kid because he couldn’t very well leave him out here alone, could he? “Which one?”

“This one.” Jacob bent down to pat the saddest pumpkin Micah had ever seen.

It was smaller than the others, but that wasn’t its only issue. It was also shaped like a lumpy football. It was more a pale yellow than orange, and it had what looked like a tumor growing out of one side at the top. If it had been at a store, it would have been overlooked, but here a little boy was patting it tenderly.

“Why that one?” Micah asked, actually curious about what would have made the kid pick the damn thing.

Jacob pulled a weed, then looked up at Micah. “Cuz it’s the littlest one, like me.” He looked at the vines and all of the other round, perfect orange blobs. “And it’s all by itself over here, so it’s probably lonely.”

“A lonely pumpkin.” He wasn’t sure why that statement touched him, but he couldn’t deny the kid was getting to him.

“Uh-huh.” Smiling again, Jacob said, “None of the other kids liked him, but I do. I’m gonna help my mom draw a happy face on him for Halloween and then he’ll feel good.”

The kid was worried about a pumpkin’s self-esteem. Micah didn’t even know what to say to that. When he was a kid, he’d never done Halloween. There’d been no costumes, no trick-or-treating, no carving pumpkins with his mom.

Micah had one fuzzy memory of his mother and it drifted through his mind like fog on a winter night. She was pretty—at least, he told himself that because the mental picture of her was too blurred to really tell. She had brown hair and brown eyes like his and she was kneeling on the sidewalk in front of him, smiling, though tears glittered in her eyes. Micah was about six, he guessed, a little older than Jacob. They were in New York and the street was busy with cars and people. He was hungry and cold and his mother smoothed his hair back from his forehead and whispered to him.

“You have to stay here without me, Micah.”

Fear spurted inside him as he looked up at the dirty gray building behind him. The dark windows looked like blank eyes staring down at him. Worried and chewing his bottom lip, he looked back at his mother. “But I don’t want to. I want to go with you.”

“It’s just for a little while, baby. You’ll stay here where you’ll be safe and I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t want to be safe, Mommy,” he whispered, his voice catching, breaking as panic nearly choked him and he felt tears streaking down his face. “I want to go with you.”

“You can’t come with me, Micah.” She kissed his forehead, then stood up, looking down at him. She took a step back from him. “This is how it has to be and I expect you to be a good boy.”

“I will be good if I can go with you,” he promised. He reached for her hand, his small fingers curling around hers and holding tight, as if he could keep her there. With him.

But she only walked him up the steps, knocked on the door and gave Micah’s fingers one last squeeze before pulling free. Fear nibbled at him, his tears coming faster, and he wiped them away with his jacket sleeve. “Don’t leave...”

“You wait right here until they open the door, understand?”

He nodded, but he didn’t understand. Not any of it. Why were they here? Why was she leaving? Why didn’t she want him to be with her?

“I’ll be back, Micah,” she said. “Soon. I promise.” Then she turned and left him.

He watched her go, hurrying down the steps, then along the sidewalk, until she was lost in the crowd. Behind him, the door opened and a lady he didn’t know took Micah’s hand and led him inside.

His mother never came back.

Micah shook off the memory of his first encounter with child services. It had been a long, confusing, terrifying day for him. He was sure he wouldn’t be there long. His mother had said so. For the first year, he’d actually looked for her every day. After that, hope was more fragile and, finally, the hope faded completely. His mother’s lies stuck with him, of course.

Hell, they still lived in a tiny, dark corner of his mind and constantly served as a reminder not to trust anyone.

But here, in Banner, those warnings were more silent than they’d ever been for him. Watching as Jacob carefully brushed dirt off his pumpkin, Micah realized that this place was like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting. A place where kids worried about pumpkins and talked to strangers like they were best friends. It had nothing at all to do with the world that Micah knew.

And maybe that’s why he felt so out of step here.

* * *

That’s how Kelly found them. The boy, kneeling in the dirt, and the man standing beside him, a trapped look on his face—as if he were trying to figure out how he’d gotten there. Smiling to herself, Kelly climbed out of her truck and walked toward the garden at the side of the house. Micah spotted her first and his brown eyes locked with hers.

She felt a jolt of something hot that made her knees feel like rubber, but she kept moving. She had to admit it surprised her, seeing Micah here with Jacob. She hadn’t pictured him as the kind of guy to take the time for a child. He was so closed off, so private, that seeing him now, walking through a fenced garden while a little boy talked his ears off gave her a warm feeling she couldn’t quite describe.

“What’re you guys up to?” she asked as she walked closer.

“I showed Micah my pumpkin,” Jacob announced. “He likes mine best, he said so.”

“Well, of course he did,” she agreed. “Yours is terrific.”

The little boy flashed Micah a wide grin. Micah, on the other hand, looked embarrassed to have been caught being nice. Interesting reaction.

“It’s okay I came over, right?” Jacob asked, looking a little worried. “Micah was cooking, but he opened the gate for me and stuff.”

“Sure it’s okay,” Kelly told him.

“Okay, I gotta go now,” Jacob said suddenly, giving his pumpkin one last pat. “Bye!”

He bolted through the gate and tore across the backyard toward the house next door.

Micah watched him go. “That was fast.”

Kelly laughed a little, then looked over at Micah. “You were cooking?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry.”

She glanced at the lavender sky. “Early for dinner.”

“Or late for lunch,” he said with a shrug. “It’s all about perspective.”

What did it say about her that she enjoyed the sharp, nearly bitten off words he called a conversation? Kelly wondered if he’d been any easier with Jacob, but somehow she doubted it. The man might be a whiz when typing words and dialogue, but actually speaking in real life appeared to be one of his least favorite things.

“So, why keep the fence when you told me it doesn’t stop the deer?

She looked around at the tall, white pickets, then walked toward the still-open gate. Micah followed her. Once through, she latched the gate after them and said, “Makes me feel better to try. Sometimes, I could swear I hear the deer laughing at my pitiful attempts to foil them.”

He looked toward the woods that ran along the back of the neighborhood and stretched out for at least five miles to the base of the mountains. “I haven’t seen a single deer since I’ve been here.”

“You have to actually be outside,” she pointed out.

“Right.” He nodded and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets.

“There’s a lot of them and they’re sneaky,” Kelly said, shooting a dark look at the forest. “Of course, some of them aren’t. They just walk right into the garden and sneer at you.”

He laughed and she looked at him, surprised. “Deer can sneer?”

“They can and do.” She tipped her head to one side to stare at him. “You should laugh more often.”

He frowned at that and the moment was gone, so Kelly let it go and went back to his first question. “The fence doesn’t even slow them down, really. They just jump right over it.” Shaking her head, she added, “They look like ballet dancers, really. Graceful, you know?”

“So why bother with the fence?”

“Because otherwise it’s like I’m saying, It’s okay with me guys. Come on in and eat the vegetables.”

“So, you’re at war with deer.”

“Basically, yeah.” She frowned and looked to the woods. “And, so far, they’re winning.”

“You’ve got orange paint on your cheek.”

“What? Oh.” She reached up and scrubbed at her face.

“And white paint on your fingers.”

Kelly held her hands out to see for herself, then laughed. “Yeah, I just came from a painting job and—”

“You paint, too?”

“Oh, just a little. Window decorations and stuff. I’m not an artist or anything, but—”

“Realtor, painter, website manager...” He just looked at her. “What else?”

“Oh, a few other things,” she said. “I design gardens, and in the winter I plow driveways. I like variety.”

His eyes flared at her admission and her stomach jumped in response. Not the kind of variety she’d meant, but now that the thought was in her brain, thank you very much, there were lots of other very interesting thoughts, too. Her skin felt heated and she was grateful for the cold breeze that swept past them.

Kelly took a deep breath, swallowed hard and said, “I should probably get home and clean up.”

“How about a glass of wine first?”

Curious, she looked up at him. “Is that an invitation?”

“If it is?”

“Then I accept.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Come on then. We can eat, too.”

“A man who cooks and serves wine?” She started for the back door, walking alongside Micah. “You’re a rare man, Micah Hunter.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Rare.”

Naturally, she was perfectly at home in the Victorian. She’d grown up there, after all. She’d done her homework at the round pedestal table while eating Gran’s cookies fresh out of the oven. She’d learned to cook on the old stove and had helped Gran pick out the shiny, stainless steel French door refrigerator when the last one had finally coughed and died.

She’d painted the walls a soft gold so that even in winter it would feel warm and cozy in here, and she’d chosen the amber-streaked granite counters to complement the walls. This house was comfort. Love.

At the farmhouse sink, Kelly looked out the window at the yard, the woods and the deepening sky as she washed her hands, scrubbing every bit of the paint from her skin. Then she splashed water on her face and wiped that away, too. “Did I get it all?”

He glanced at her and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good. I like painting, but I prefer the paint on the windows rather than on me.”

Kelly got the wine out of the fridge while Micah heated the pasta in the skillet. She took two glasses from a cabinet and poured wine for each of them before sitting at the round oak table watching him.

What was it, she wondered, about a man cooking that was just so sexy? Sean hadn’t known how to turn the stove on, but Micah seemed confident and comfortable with a spatula in his hand. Which only made her think about what other talents he might have. Oh, boy, it had been a long time since she’d felt this heat swamping her. If Terry knew what Kelly was thinking right this minute, she would send up balloons and throw a small but tasteful party. That thought made her smile. “Smells good.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Pasta’s easy. A few herbs, some garlic, olive oil and cheese and you’re done. Plus, some sliced steak because you’ve gotta have meat.”

“Agreed,” Kelly said, taking a sip of her wine.

“Glad to hear you’re not one of those I’ll just have a salad, dressing on the side types.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with a nice salad.”

“As long as there’s meat in it,” he said, concentrating on the task at hand.

“So what made you take up cooking?”

“Self-preservation. Live alone, you learn how to cook.”

Whether he knew it or not, that was an opening for questions. She didn’t waste it. “Live alone, huh?”

One eyebrow lifted as he turned to look at her. “Did you notice anyone else here with me the last couple of months?”

“No,” she admitted with a smile, “but you do write mysteries. You could have killed your girlfriend.”

“Could have,” he agreed easily. “Didn’t. The only place I commit crimes is on a computer screen.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, smiling. Also glad to hear he could take some teasing and give it back. But on to the real question. “So, no girlfriend or wife?”

He used the spatula to stir the pasta, then gave her a quick look. “That’s a purely female question.”

“Well, then, since I am definitely female, that makes sense.” She propped her chin in her hand. “And it was very male of you to answer the question by not answering. Want to give it another try?”

“No.”

“No you won’t answer or no is the answer?”

Reluctantly, it seemed, his mouth curved briefly into a half smile. “I should know better than to get into a battle of words with a woman. Even being a writer, I don’t stand a chance.”

“Isn’t that the nicest thing to say?” But she stared at him, clearly waiting for his answer. Finally he gave her the one she was looking for.

He snorted. “No is the answer. No wife. No girlfriend. No interest.”

“So you’re gay,” she said sagely. Oh, she knew he wasn’t because the two of them had that whole hot-buzz thing going between them. But it was fun to watch his expression.

“I’m not gay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably,” he said wryly.

“Good to know,” she said, and took a sip of wine, hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass. “I’m not, either, just so we’re clear.”

His gaze bored into hers and flames licked at her insides. “Also good to know.”

Her throat dried up so she had another sip of wine to ease it. “How long have you been a writer?”

“A writer or a published writer?” he asked.

“There’s a difference?”

He shrugged as he plated the pasta and carried them to the table. Sitting down opposite her, he took a long drink of his wine before speaking again. “I wrote stories for years that no one will ever see.”

“Intriguing,” she said, and wondered what those old stories would say about Micah Hunter. Would she learn more about the closed-off, secretive man by discovering who he had been years ago?

“Not very.” He took a bite of pasta, “Anyway, I’ve been published about ten years.”

“I don’t read your books.”

One eyebrow lifted and he smirked. “Thanks.”

She grinned. “That came out wrong. Sorry. I mean, I read one of your books a few years ago and it scared me to death. So I haven’t read another one.”

“Then, thank you.” He lifted his glass in a kind of salute to her. “Best compliment you could give me. Which book was it?”

“I don’t remember the title,” she said, tasting the pasta. “But it was about a woman looking for her missing sister and she finds the sister’s killer, instead.”

He nodded. “Relative Danger. That was my third book.”

“First and last for me,” she assured him. “I slept with the light on for two weeks.”

“Thanks.” He studied her. “Did you read the whole book? Or did you stop because it scared you?”

“Who stops in the middle of a book?” she demanded, outraged at the idea. “No, I read the whole thing and, terror aside, it ended well.”

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. You know, this is really good,” she said, taking another bite. “Your mom teach you how to cook?”

His face went hard and tight. He lowered his gaze to his plate and muttered, “No. Learned by trial and error.”

Sore spot, she told herself and changed the subject. She had secret, painful corners in her own soul, so she wouldn’t poke at his. “How’s your book coming? The one you’re working on now, I mean.”

He frowned before answering. “Slower than I’d like.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“The only way to get answers.”

“True.” He took a sip of wine. “Because the book’s set in a small town and I don’t know small towns.”

“Hello?” Laughing, she said, “You’re in one.”

“Yeah. That’s why I came here in the first place. My agent suggested it. He stayed here a couple of years ago for the skiing and thought the town would work for my research.”

“Here, here?” she asked. “I mean, did he stay at the Victorian?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sam Hellman. He and his wife, Jenny, were here for a week.”

“I remember them. She’s very pretty and sweet and he’s funny.”

“That’s them,” Micah agreed.

Kelly took a drink of her wine. “Well, first, I’m glad your agent had a good time here. Word of mouth? Best advertising.”

“For books, too,” he agreed.

“But if you want to use the town for its setting and ambience, it might help if you left the house and explored a little. Get to know the place.”

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