She turned and looked up into the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen.

“I kept you waiting.” Riley’s tone was cool. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. He looked like a man of action. He was also a walking, talking, warm-to-the-touch ad for ruggedly handsome. If one liked the type.

Abby didn’t.

“My daughter and I will both be going on the camping outing—”

He stiffened suddenly, interrupting her. “No way.”

“What?” He was dangerously close to looming and she would not be loomed over.

“I won’t be nursemaid to a kid.”

“Her name is Kimmie, and if the necessity for nursemaiding arises, I’ll be the one doing it.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need me for this. It’s overkill. I’ll reimburse you.”

“I don’t want your money. I want my weekend…with you.”

That Touch of Pink
Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TERESA SOUTHWICK

lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

Do you need a man? The 75TH semiannual Charity City Auction

Is your chance to find the right one for that “honey do” list.

Could you use a weekend warrior? Ex-army ranger Riley Dixon is the guy for you. He’s donating a survival weekend guaranteed to get your heart rate up.

What about that home repair you’ve been putting off? Dashing Des O’Donnell, former Charity City High football hero, now owner and president of his own construction company, is offering a repair of your choice.

Personal security issues? Defend your honor? Savvy Sam Brimstone, recently of the LAPD and a hotshot detective, is your man.

These are just a sampling of the jaw-dropping guys available to the highest bidder. Ladies, don’t miss the chance to buy a guy—no strings attached.

Cash, Check, Credit and Debit cards gratefully accepted by the Charity City Philanthropic Foundation.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

Buy-a-Guy: Semiannual Charity City Auction

Abby Walsh needed a man and she was here to buy the one she wanted.

Many towns held bachelor auctions to raise money. Not hers. Charity City was more creative with its semiannual events. The women’s—Sell-A-Belle—was held in the spring. Tonight was the men’s turn and bachelorhood wasn’t a prerequisite, which was just peachy with Abby. Most of the guys were donating their time and skills to be auctioned because they’d received grants from the town for their businesses or projects. Payback in volunteer form was expected.

The specifics of the sale had been listed ahead of time on the town’s Web site and Abby was waiting for the guy who’d donated a survival weekend. Her daughter had recently become involved with a group promoting girls’ outdoor activities. Badges were involved and apparently came under the heading “life and death” for her six-year-old. Abby knew if she were in charge of camping, it would be life and death for real. So the auction was the answer to her problem. She could give back to the town and get the perfect guy—for the weekend. She had no illusions about a perfect guy for herself.

She’d rather be alone than need a man for anything. Once had been more than enough.

Normally she attended the annual auctions with her two best girlfriends. Molly Preston was on her right, but Jamie Gibson couldn’t make it tonight. Her parents, Louise and Roy Gibson, had come instead.

The Charity City Community Center was the only place in town large enough to house the event, and rows of folding chairs filled the expanse of floor space. On the stage, Mayor Baxter Wentworth was playing auctioneer. Tall, distinguished and gray-haired, he was a descendant of the town’s founding family who had initiated the first auction. He took the responsibility of carrying on this charitable tradition very seriously.

“This is Charity City, folks,” he said. “We put our money where our mouth is. I don’t have to tell you this is the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Buy-A-Guy auction.”

“No, you’ve been reminding us of that for weeks,” someone called out.

The mayor laughed along with the rest of the audience. “Okay. I get the point. But you all know the foundation channels money to all of Charity City’s worthy causes, and those funds have to come from somewhere. We’re almost finished for tonight and I want to make this the most successful event ever.”

After the applause died down, he said, “Okay. We’ve got three volunteers left. First is a home repair of your choice donated by Des O’Donnell of O’Donnell Construction.”

Abby felt an elbow in her ribs and looked at Molly. “What?”

“Bid on that for me.”

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“Don’t ask. Just trust me on this. No one can know I’m the one who bought Des.” When Abby hesitated, Molly added, “Who would think twice about a single woman buying a home repair?”

“You’re a single woman.”

Cinnamon-colored eyes assumed a decidedly puppy dog expression. “Yeah. But you’re divorced. By definition, that means once upon a time you grew accustomed to a man around the house.”

Not her man, Abby thought. He hadn’t been around the house all that much. But this was obviously important to her friend and Abby was dead meat when puppy dog eyes were involved. “Okay.”

When the mayor announced a starting amount, the bidding began and Abby signaled her interest by raising her number. Apparently she wasn’t the only one interested. As other spirited bidders got involved, the price escalated. She slid Molly a questioning look, but her friend simply nodded discreetly.

Finally, everyone else dropped out. The mayor looked around. “Anyone else? Going, going… Sold to the little lady in the third row.”

He glanced down at his list. “Our next guy is a visitor to Charity City. Sam Brimstone, a retired LAPD detective. Ellie Campbell, who works over at the Lone Star Bar and Grill, says he’s her knight in shining armor, but the judge didn’t see it that way. His community service is thirty days to be auctioned off for charity.”

He called out a starting bid and Abby was surprised when the Gibsons jumped on it. She couldn’t imagine what Jamie’s parents wanted with a man busted because he had anger management issues. A determined woman in the back of the room kept up the pressure, but the older couple clearly meant business. Eventually the bids grew too rich for anyone else.

“Going, going,” the mayor said, searching the crowd to make sure this was the best he could do. “Gone. Sold to Roy and Louise Gibson.”

Abby and Molly exchanged surprised glances that silently asked why the Gibsons wanted a cop. She started to ask when the mayor cleared his throat.

“Our last item is a survival weekend donated by Riley Dixon of Dixon Security. He’s a hometown boy, a retired Army Ranger—that’s Special Forces for those of you who don’t speak military. If anyone’s looking for a weekend of thrills and chills, he’s just the man who can provide it.”

Riley Dixon sounded like Mr. Macho and her worst nightmare. Unfortunately, this was the man she’d come here to buy. She hated that she had to rely on a man for anything. But this wasn’t for her; it was for Kimmie.

When the bidding started and she raised her number, whispers commenced around her. She cringed at how needy she must look—buying two men. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Molly to return the favor and bid for her? It was too late now. Competition was hot and heavy, but she hung in there and held tough. Every time the amount was increased, she waved her number until, finally, everyone else gave up.

“Going, going, gone.” The mayor banged his gavel. “Sold to the little lady in the third row. After you’ve got that home repair taken care of, you can get away from it all for the weekend.” He winked at her. “Thanks for coming, folks. You’ve done Charity City proud.”

Abby got in line to pay and find out how to collect her purchase. Six years ago, she’d needed a man to give her child a name. He’d been a dismal failure. This time, what her child needed wouldn’t cost Abby any more than what she’d just paid to buy a guy for the weekend.

Chapter One

Abby Walsh took a deep breath, then punched the Up arrow on the elevator. His office was located in the heart of downtown, taking up an entire floor in one of the city’s most prestigious buildings, right across the street from Philanthropy Plaza. With streets named Benevolent Boulevard and Welfare Way, Charity City, Texas, was a place where folks took care of their own.

The money she’d spent at the auction would help fund scholarships, businesses, women’s shelters and other worthy causes. That was all well and good, but Abby actually needed what Riley Dixon had auctioned. Now it was time to collect.

When the elevator doors whispered open, she stepped inside and sucked in another deep breath. The car went up while her stomach stayed on the main floor. She hated elevators. She hated macho guys. And she hated venturing out of her comfort zone. Hopefully her daughter would appreciate this and the trade-off would be zero rebellion during her teenage years. If Abby had done less envelope-pushing and more rule-following, she wouldn’t be here now. But she also wouldn’t have Kimmie, and she couldn’t imagine her life without her child.

When the elevator stopped, Abby stepped out on the top floor into what was the reception area of Dixon Security. An impressive semi-circular cherrywood desk dominated the center of the room, with a sofa and chairs in a grouping off to the side. The thick carpet in a warm, rich shade of beige made her feel as if she were walking on a cloud.

Behind the desk sat a pretty redhead with a nameplate that read Nora Dixon. Hmm, Abby thought. He had good taste in women.

“I’m here to see Mr. Dixon.”

The woman glanced up, then did a double take. “And you are?” Her tone was on the cool side.

“Abby Walsh. I have an appointment.” When the woman checked her computer, she asked, “Do you have me down?”

“Sometimes he writes things on his calendar without bringing it to my attention. Of course, I found out the hard way that I have to cross-reference his calendar with my computer schedule.”

“Okay.” Abby hadn’t talked to him yet. That’s why she was here. But far be it from her to butt in when she didn’t understand the office’s work flow.

The receptionist looked up. “I’m sorry but I don’t have you down. And he’s running late today. You’re welcome to wait if that’s not a problem?”

Abby looked at her watch. She had to pick up Kimmie from Kid’s Klub before six and it was five o’clock now. “I won’t take up much of his time.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” After picking up the phone and announcing Abby, the redhead listened, then waved her to a chair. “He can give you ten minutes.”

“That works for me.” Abby sat and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

When she was standing, the hem hit her about mid-calf and her sensible, low-heeled shoes only added about an inch and a half to her five feet two inches. Since high-heeled pumps wouldn’t add nearly enough height, she settled for practical and comfy instead of willowy and statuesque.

After ten minutes of staring out the window, she glanced at the array of reading material on the end tables. Military Monthly. Self-Defense. She wondered where he’d hidden Guns & Ammo even as she lamented the absence of People, Us or a sleazy gossip magazine with a juicy alien abduction story. She glanced at her watch again and huffed out a breath. He’d given her ten minutes. Unfortunately, he’d been conspicuously absent during that time. She stood and paced the waiting area, glancing at the time every few minutes.

Just when she’d decided she couldn’t wait any longer, the door to his office opened and he walked out. “Ms. Walsh?”

She turned away from the window and looked up—way up—into the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Her stomach, which had finally joined the rest of her on the top floor, plummeted back to square one. In spite of that sensation, she noticed that he looked momentarily startled. Then it was as if invisible shutters closed off his expression.

“The security business must be booming,” she said wryly.

“I kept you waiting.” His tone was cool; he must have caught it from his receptionist.

“You did.”

He folded his arms over a very impressive chest. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. He looked tall. She estimated about six feet, give or take an inch. His hair was dark, almost black and cut military short, somehow highlighting those amazing eyes. He wore a biceps-hugging navy T-shirt tucked into worn jeans. The ensemble was completed by a pair of scuffed cowboy boots and was by far the most masculine attire she’d ever seen on a businessman. It simply provided evidence that her auction purchase had been the right one.

His nose was slightly off-kilter, and he had a small, thin scar on his square, rugged chin. The battered look suited him. But it also reassured her that he was a man of action. He was also the walking, talking, warm-to-the-touch ad for ruggedly handsome. If one liked the type. She didn’t.

He looked at the clock on the wall. “We can talk in my office.”

She nodded, then preceded him into the inner sanctum, which turned out to be a stark contrast to the elegant reception area. The only thing that carried over was the thick carpet. Sitting on it was his battered L-shaped desk, which would have looked more at home in a thrift store. But it held what looked like a top-of-the-line computer. Instead of the expensive artwork she’d expected on the walls, they displayed framed photos. She couldn’t make out any specific details.

“Have a seat.” He indicated one of the utilitarian chrome and gray-blue upholstered chairs in front of the desk. “I have eight minutes.”

After he sat behind the desk, she met his gaze. “Your wife said you could give me ten minutes.”

“Wife?”

“The receptionist.”

“My sister.”

Her gaze dropped to his hands. There was no ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. That didn’t mean anything. Some married men didn’t wear rings. And… And it didn’t matter a fig whether he was married.

“Your sister,” she said. “So this is a family-owned business?”

“No. I own it. Nora works for me. She’s good at her job.”

“Meaning if she wasn’t, family or not, she’d be canned?”

One broad shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “Yeah.”

“Do you have a wife?” Doggone it. She hadn’t meant to ask that. She didn’t care. But the rogue part of her subconscious that had temporarily taken over her brain neglected to send that message to her mouth.

“I’m not married.” His gaze was penetrating as he frowned at her. “Now you’ve got six minutes. And if my marital status has something to do with why you’re here, you’re wasting my time. I can put those six minutes to better use.”

“Look, I’m a people person. That makes me curious. It was certainly not my intention to offend you with the question.”

His impassive look gave no clue to what he was thinking. “So you have a security concern?”

Wow. He gave the expression single-minded determination a run for its money. Not to mention that his tone was just this side of abrasive. “Apparently in your line of work, one can be successful even without courtesy and charm.”

“If you’re here about personal safety, home or business protection, I can be as charming and courteous as the next guy. If not…”

“I’m here because I bought the survival weekend you donated to the Charity City auction. I mentioned that to whoever I spoke with on the phone.”

It seemed impossible, but his frown deepened. “I didn’t get the message.”

“And I didn’t actually get an appointment. Is your sister’s job in jeopardy?”

“No. She was sick recently. A temp replaced her.”

His shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly as his mouth straightened into a thin line, telling her he was disapproving. She’d known him about two and a half minutes—although he was the only one keeping exact time—so how she knew he was surprised or annoyed, she couldn’t say. But she’d stake her reputation as Charity City High School’s favorite librarian that he was both surprised and annoyed.

“So you’re the one who bought the survival weekend?” He sounded skeptical.

She nodded. “And I’m here to make arrangements to collect it.”

He let his gaze drop to her cap-sleeved silk shell with the loose-fitting floral jumper over it. “Why?”

“Because I paid for it.”

He shook his head. “Why did you buy it in the first place?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe part of the deal is explaining my motivation.”

“You don’t look like the outdoorsy type.”

The fact that he was right made her resent his attitude even more. “If we’re judging books by covers, Mr. Dixon, you don’t look like the type, either.”

“What type would that be?”

“One who would donate to charity. The type to give back to his community.”

“It was a debt.”

“Oh?”

“The foundation gave me interest free start-up capital for my business.”

“And when one benefits from the auction proceeds, one is obligated to give back.”

“I always pay my debts,” he confirmed.

“Very reassuring. That’s why I’m here. My daughter, Kimmie, belongs to The Bluebonnets—”

“What?”

“It’s an organization that sponsors outdoor activities for girls in her age group—”

“How old?”

“Excuse me?”

What did that have to do with sleeping outside and starting a fire with two sticks when she was on a very tight schedule? She’d be wasting less of her remaining time if he would impart information in sentences of more than three two-syllable words. And she had no illusions. When the allotted time was up, he would throw her out. She stole a glance at his biceps, the intriguing place where the sleeve of his T-shirt clung to the bulging muscle. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted her out, he would and could pick her up bodily and make it so.

“How old is your daughter?”

“Six. When I saw the weekend listed for auction, I knew it was exactly what I needed. And I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Maybe he was finally listening and they could wrap this up quickly. “I could do my civic duty in support of the town charity. Buying your services to get my daughter her hiking and nature badges—”

“You can’t take her camping?”

“I could,” she said. “But her survival might be in question. I’m afraid you were right about me. My idea of the outdoors involves a lounge chair, a pool and a sissy drink with an umbrella in it.”

“What about your husband?”

Now who was digging for personal info? Although she had to admit Riley had a better reason. It was a logical question. “I don’t have a husband.”

Not any more. And she couldn’t be happier. She was glad she no longer had to rely on flaky Fred Walsh. As an unwed pregnant teenager whose baby needed a father, she’d seriously relied on him. If only she could blame it on pressure from her parents. But they’d made it clear they would support her decisions. As it turned out, the decision she’d made hadn’t been worthy of support.

“So you’re going to dump the kid on me for the weekend?”

“Of course not. Do I look like the kind of mother who would turn her child over to a complete stranger? The two of us will be going on the outing—”

He stood suddenly, interrupting her. “No way.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said no. It’s a survival weekend.”

“I’m aware of that.” She got to her feet. He was dangerously close to looming and she would not be loomed over.

“I won’t be nursemaid to a kid.”

“Her name is Kimmie. And she needs her two badges. If the necessity for nursemaiding arises, I’ll be the one doing it.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need me for this. It’s overkill.”

“Maybe. But I’ve already paid for you.”

“I’ll reimburse you.”

“I don’t want your money. I want my weekend.”

“No.”

“I want you to sue him, the foundation, Mayor Wentworth, the rest of his family, every person he’s ever known and anyone else I can think of.” Abby paced the length of her small living room.

She loved the fifteen hundred square feet of space she’d purchased six months ago. Unfortunately when she was this angry, the state of Texas wasn’t big enough for the amount of pacing she needed to do. Fortunately, her daughter was upstairs in her room playing with her dolls and wasn’t watching her mother’s display of temper.

“Suing the whole town is a little extreme, don’t you think?” Jamie Gibson asked.

Abby had called Jamie right after leaving Dixon Security and they’d met here at the house. She was the attorney who’d handled Abby’s divorce two years ago. They’d become friends in spite of the fact that Abby envied her brunette curls, which were the polar opposite of her own stick-straight brown hair. And Jamie was beautiful, a fact the attorney didn’t seem to care about. She poured her energy into building a legal career based on integrity, intelligence, and unflagging client support. But Abby felt there was some serious flagging in her attorney’s support on the Riley Dixon issue. And how the heck could Jamie sit so calmly on that overstuffed pink floral sofa when there was some heavy-duty suing to be done?

“The man is a welsher,” Abby cried, hands on hips as she stared at the bemused, indulgent expression on her friend’s face.

“We haven’t established all the facts yet. The way I understand it, he escorted you out of his office after he said no. If he is, in fact a welsher, at least he’s a gentleman welsher.”

“I paid for the weekend he donated to the auction. The check cleared already. And he’s refusing to make good on the deal. Maybe you’d prefer Indian giver?”

“Native American would be a little more politically correct,” Jamie pointed out.

“Politically correct would be for him to give me what I paid for—a weekend campout so Kimmie can earn her nature badges. I should have seen this coming. After all, he’s a man. By definition, that makes him a slacker.”

“Are we talking about Riley Dixon or your ex-husband?”

“They’re interchangeable,” Abby said.

“Is he as hot as I’ve heard?”

“Who? Fred?”

“I’ve seen Fred,” Jamie pointed out. “I meant Dixon.”

“He wouldn’t have to wear a bag over his head in public,” she grudgingly admitted.

An image of the man’s dark hair, blue eyes and flawless physique flashed through her mind and Abby braced herself as her stomach lurched from the same elevator sensation she’d experienced just a short while ago. But, he was a reminder about judging a book by its cover—a hunk with the face of a hero and the heart of a welsher.

“So he’s really good-looking?” Jamie pushed, obviously wanting details.

“He’s weathered,” she said carefully. “A little bent and battered, but buff in all the right places.”

“So you like him,” Jamie declared in a grating I-knew-it tone.

“I don’t like him. But I’m not blind and I don’t tell lies in spite of the fact I don’t like him. Here’s the thing. When he told me he wouldn’t take us on the campout, I got that Fred-feeling in my gut.”

“You’re telling me Dixon is a shallow jerk who’d leave you in the lurch to try out for a TV reality show?”

“It’s not the trying-out part. It’s the finding-Ms. Fear-Factor-who-jumped-on-his-bandwagon-and-his-bones-after-which-he-never-came-back part,” Abby said, remembering that particular brand of devastation. “And I don’t know if Dixon would do that. I never intend to find out. Because in my book, breaking one’s word on first acquaintance is a giant red flag.”

“From what I’ve heard, Riley Dixon is a hard worker. A former Army Ranger who’s built a profitable security business in under five years. Soldiers don’t get to be Rangers by slacking off.”

“Then we’re back to welsher.” She met her friend’s gaze and sighed. “Okay. I’ll admit to some lingering hostility toward the man who shirked most of his responsibilities—the most important one being his daughter.”

“I understand why you’d have this over-the-top reaction. Kimmie doesn’t have a dad, and you’ve got to be both mother and father to her.”

“That’s all true. But I’ve come to terms with it.” She ignored her friend’s raised eyebrow. “Part of coming to terms with it is knowing my limitations. I bought Riley Dixon to fulfill the father role for the weekend. How was I to know that he’s a macho jerk who breaks his promises? In my book, that makes him a Fred The Flake clone.” Abby huffed out a breath that lifted her bangs off her forehead. “Like all men, Riley Dixon is ducking his obligations.”

“Not all men are that way.”

“No? Couldn’t prove it by me.”

“Let me rephrase. Not all men are flakes. Just the ones you meet.”

“Why is that? I’m a high school librarian. Every day I deal with kids who don’t return books, don’t turn in assignments and just generally don’t do what they’re supposed to do. It’s my job to mold them into capable, dependable, efficient, honest adults. Admittedly, I’ve only been doing this for a little over three years, but I’ve had students come back and say I’ve made a difference in their lives. So is it just bad karma that I’m surrounded by irresponsible, dishonest men? Am I a flake magnet? Should I roll over and let Mr. Macho walk all over me? What recourse do generally law-abiding people have when someone doesn’t live up to their obligation?”

“Did you or did you not say he offered to reimburse you?”

“He did.”

“So take the money and hire one of those mounted police guys. I hear they’re quite impressive in their tight trousers and red coats. The hats are a little funny-looking, though.”

One corner of Abby’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Texas is a little far from the Canadian border to make that a viable solution.”

“Too bad,” Jamie sighed. “What about a Texas Ranger? The hats are better, and they’re right in our own backyard.”

“That’s law enforcement, not nature guide.”

“They’re hot, too.”

Abby stared at her. “Maybe you need to go home and take a cold shower.”

“I don’t want to go home,” she said, an odd look on her face.

Instantly alert, Abby stopped pacing. “Is something wrong, Jamie?”

“No.” She shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Abby asked. “Does it have anything to do with the guy your parents bought you at the auction?”

A smile curved up the corners of Jamie’s mouth. “Yeah. A little. I’m dealing with it. No big deal.”

Abby had learned that if her friend didn’t want to talk about something, nothing could drag it out of her. So they might as well go back to the problem at hand. “Okay. Let’s come up with some really creative grounds for suing Riley Dixon.” Abby was glad when her words produced a laugh.

“So you refuse to let him reimburse you and just camp out with Kimmie in your new backyard and take her to the park for a walk?”

“No can do,” Abby said. “Not authentic enough for The Bluebonnets. It’s gotta be real. At least one night living off the land. With dirt and no flushing toilets. Microwave bad, fire good,” she said in her best caveman voice.

Jamie laughed. “That seems pretty extreme.”

“Don’t tell Kimmie that. She’s got her heart set on getting all her badges. You know her. When she gets something in her head, she’s going to do it. And come hell or high water, she’ll get it perfect. I keep telling myself that determination is a good quality in an adult.”

“There’s got to be another way.”

“I don’t want to find another way. I had it all figured out and paid for.” She held her hands out, palms up. A helpless gesture, and she hated feeling helpless—maybe even more than she hated relying on a man. “What am I going to do?”

“Talk to him again.” Jamie shrugged as if it were that easy.

“Are you saying you won’t sue him?”

“No. I’m saying people are too sue-happy these days when a simple conversation could save time, aggravation and money. He’s ex-military. Surely he’s a rational, logical man.”

Abby sighed. “Listen to yourself. Any self-respecting legal eagle would take this case and run with it for all the billable hours they could get. You, my friend, are going to starve.”

“I can afford to take off a few pounds.”

“You are so lying. And you’re too thin. You’re sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

“No. Except I know you don’t really want to sue Riley Dixon. You just needed to let off steam.”

“Busted,” Abby said.

“And I suspect the name-calling did wonders for your anger abatement level.”

“You think slacker, welsher, jerk and flake helped?”

“I do, indeed.”

Abby sighed. “You’d be right. But don’t let on to Kimmie. I always tell her to use people’s given names and I’m fairly certain none of the above are on Fred’s birth certificate. Or Dixon’s, either, for that matter.”

“She’ll never hear it from me. But in that spirit, I’d be happy to role-play with you for your next conversation with Riley Dixon.”

The thought of seeing him again sent quivers through Abby and she remembered the mayor’s comment on auction night about thrills and chills. His words were turning out to be annoyingly prophetic. She wondered if she might be better off if she waved the white flag and retreated.

Riley Dixon watched the elevator doors close, then turned to his sister. “We got the contract.”

Nora smiled. “To put security systems in all the district’s high schools?”

“Yup. Starting with Charity City High.”

“Congratulations.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re excited?” Nora asked, toying with the pen on her desk.

“Of course.”

“Then why do you look like someone let your favorite pistol rust in the rain?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it’s because we shouldn’t need metal detectors and surveillance systems in high schools.”

“It doesn’t mean that all kids have gone over to the dark side,” she pointed out.

“I know.”

“You can’t take responsibility for what’s wrong with the world today.”

“I know that, too. But it seems wrong to profit from it.”

She lifted her shoulders. “The Board of Education budgeted for the security measures. And frankly, if they’ve decided it’s necessary, I’ll sleep better at night knowing they’ve hired the best company for the job. So will a lot of high school parents. Mostly the kids are good, normal kids. You’ve been hired to make sure they’re safe from the occasional bad apple. The school district feels it’s money well spent. Why don’t you?”

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

“You’re welcome. In exchange, I’d like to know why you practically threw Abby Walsh out of your office.” She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and met his gaze.

Riley knew his sister well, meaning she wasn’t going to back off. “She was here to make arrangements for the survival weekend I donated to the Charity City auction.”

“Wow. That clears up any confusion,” she said sarcastically. “And here I thought she’d done something really bad. Like having the audacity to look a lot like Barb Kelly.”

Riley winced. Abby Walsh was petite and feminine and beautiful. Her skin looked soft and her shiny brown hair even softer. It was like a curtain of silk teasing her shoulders. And Nora was right. Abby looked an awful lot like the pregnant woman he’d married to give her baby a name. The same woman who walked out two years later when the biological father finally showed up to claim his rights. Better late than never had made him feel like hell.

“Her daughter needs some kind of scouting badges,” he explained.

“And you jumped to the conclusion that she was cut from Barb Kelly cloth and dumping the kid on you.”

“Yeah.” Just like old times, he thought. “I’m glad you understand.” It’s what he loved about Nora.

“But I don’t understand. Didn’t you clarify the situation?”

He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “She claimed she’d never turn the kid over to a complete stranger and said she’d be going on the `outing’ too.” He huffed out a breath. “Outing. As if it’s a society picnic with hoity-toity baskets and buckets of champagne.”

“It couldn’t be possible that you thought she was phat.”

“You’ve got eyes. Did you think she was overweight?”

He thought she had the curviest little body he’d seen in a long time, although it was hard to tell in that full-skirted thing she’d been wearing. But her arms were toned and the silky shirt she wore under it molded to her breasts in a way that tempted a man and made him hot all over.

“I didn’t say F-A-T. I said P-H-A-T—pretty hot and tempting.”

“No,” he lied. “I didn’t think that.”

“Okay. Then I have to conclude you’re scared.”

He stood, to crank up the intimidation factor, and glared down at her. “This is me we’re talking about. When I was in the army, I parachuted into hostile territory with nothing but a knife, a sidearm and a radio. I’m not afraid of anything.”

“And this is me,” Nora said, unfazed by the intimidation ploy. “I was there to pick up the pieces when Barb Kelly walked out with the child you fell in love with—”

“Don’t go there,” he warned.

“Why not? You just did.”

“No, not where you think. I just faced reality a long time ago. I’m a place-holder.”

“Not that again.” She sighed. “Poor you. You were adopted, and Mom and Dad love me best because I have their DNA. Trust me, it’s not that special.”

“You’re wrong. You’re pretty special.”

“So are you. For the record—and this is the last time I’m inflating your fragile male ego—the folks love you. Dad’s shirt buttons are in serious jeopardy of popping every time he boasts to his buddies about his son the Army Ranger.”

“Enough,” he said. “I’m not a kid any more.”

“You’re acting like one.”

“Am not.” He grinned as she sighed. “Do me a favor and just bury it.”

“You can duck into your foxhole if you want,” she said. “But I think you noticed the resemblance to Barb, too, and it scared the stuffing out of you.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“Then why did you refuse to keep your word and do the survival weekend?”

“I’m busy. Just got the new contract.”

“You didn’t have it in the bag when she was here. Definitely scared.”

“Busy.”

“Scared.”

“Busy.” Now it was his turn to sigh.

Squabbling just like when they were kids. And their parents had always seemed to take her side. Because she was their biological child and he’d been adopted when they’d thought conceiving their own baby was impossible. But there was something about Nora. He simply couldn’t hold it against her that she was a product of the folks’ love and DNA. He’d felt protective of her from the moment she had come home from the hospital. He had a bond with her. More than that—he loved her.

“Is there any way I can convince you you’re wrong?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to share, or do I have to use more aggressive interrogation techniques?”

“No tickling,” she warned.

“Then talk.”

“Right back at you, Riley. Face Abby Walsh. And talk.” She sighed at his look. “The thing is, you don’t have a choice. This is you. Although you try to hide all your good qualities behind a surly exterior, I happen to know you’re loyal, honest and you always pay your debts and do your duty. You gave your word to the Charity City Foundation when you volunteered the weekend for auction. And you’re an honorable man. You can’t do anything but talk to her.”

He hated that she was right. “Okay. You win.”

“Good.” She pointed at him. “But remember. That doesn’t mean the talk needs to be personal. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t under any circumstances get involved with her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sis. I don’t do personal. I’ll smooth things over.” Things like the curve of her cheek and the slender column of her neck. The insubordinate thoughts made him grind his teeth and proved that Abby Walsh was trouble with a capital T. “By the time I’m finished oozing charm, she’ll be glad to let me compensate her for the money she spent.”

And he’d be off one very large, very uncomfortable hook.

Chapter Two

A half hour after deciding to be sweet and lovable in his quest to change Abby Walsh’s mind, Riley stood on her doorstep. He’d have been there sooner, but it took him a few minutes to find out where she lived.

Her place was in The Villas, one of Charity City’s newest areas built by Richmond Homes. It was a charming neighborhood, meaning he was in the right place to take his charm out for a spin and see what it could do. And she’d accused him of lacking charm and courtesy. She was in for the charmfest of her life, he thought, pushing the doorbell.

“Who’s there?” It was a child’s voice behind the door.

“Riley Dixon,” he answered.

“The man Mommy bought at the auction?”

“Yes.” His reputation preceded him.

The door opened and a pint-size girl stood in front of him wearing pink satin pajamas, matching slippers with feathers on the toes and a pink robe with cartoon princesses on it. Her hair was long enough to disappear behind her shoulders, but what he could see of it was wet. Taking a mental leap, he guessed she’d just had her evening bath and was dressed for bed.

“Kimmie?” he said, remembering how Abby had corrected him when he’d called her “the kid.”

“Yes.”

He noticed the sleeves and hem of her robe were trimmed with white lace and tried to picture her camping in rugged terrain. Paying back the Charity City foundation should have been easy. Take a guy camping and teach him a few survival skills. End of obligation. But his luck wasn’t that good. The woman who’d bought him would consider a broken nail a life-altering event. And her child no doubt took after her.

“I’d like to talk to your mom. Is she here?”

There was a ten-year-old car in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the mom in question was on the premises.

“Mommy’s in the attic. It’s upstairs, and the ladder is pulled down.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m watchin’ TV before I hafta go to bed and I don’t have a lot of time.”

“It’s okay. I can find her.”

After Kimmie went back to her show, he looked around. Abby’s place was small, but very nice. And very pink. It was like living in a Pepto-Bismol bottle. Everything he’d seen so far confirmed his decision to return her money. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs and found the attic access just as Kimmie had said. As he got closer to the ceiling opening, there was the distinct scraping sound of boxes being moved followed by a lot of grunting and panting.

Riley poked his head through the opening and noticed the attic was crudely finished, with a wooden floor and unpainted wallboard. Obviously she used it for storage, but judging by the boxes stacked against the walls and so high over her head she couldn’t reach them, he figured she hadn’t put them there. She’d said she didn’t have a husband. But that didn’t rule out boyfriends.

In sweatpants and a white T-shirt, a barefoot Abby stood with her back to him. Without the flowing skirt, he could see for himself that she was as curvy as he’d guessed. Before he could shut down the thought, he realized he was glad she wasn’t wearing jeans that would compress her softness into stiff denim. Quickly he clamped the lid on that image even as his palms tingled at the idea of touching her.

She reached up for a box and maneuvered it forward, then staggered under the weight. He moved quickly to take it from her and when she saw him, she jumped back with a screech of surprise.

She pressed her hand to her heaving chest. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?”

“It’s my business. I’m in security.”

“Funny how that doesn’t make me feel secure.”

Ignoring her verbal projectile, he said, “Kimmie let me in.”

She rubbed a finger beneath her nose. “I guess I need to give her a refresher course in stranger danger.”

“I’m not a danger. Besides, she asked who was at the door.”

“Because she’s not tall enough to see through the peephole.”

“Are you?” He gauged her height. “Tall enough to see out of it, I mean.”

“I think it was installed by the Jolly Green Giant. But that’s beside the point and doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“I wanted to talk to you, Ms. Walsh. To apologize for my behavior earlier.”

“Oh?” She fixed him with a skeptical look as she folded her arms beneath her breasts.

Her stance did interesting things to her chest and he had to regroup to remember why he was there. Charm. Yeah. That was it. “I may have been a little abrupt—”

“May have been? Abrupt? Buster, you could give lessons.”

“Okay. I deserve that. And I’m here to say I’m sorry.” He watched her face, waiting for a sign that his charm was working. A second later, her mouth softened and a small smile set off her dimples. He wondered how many men she’d brought to their knees with them.

“I accept your apology, Mr. Dixon.”

“Riley,” he said.

“And I’m Abby. As opposed to Ms. Walsh.”

“Okay. Look, I wanted to talk to you about the survival weekend.”

“Actually if you hadn’t stopped by tonight, I was going to drop in at your office tomorrow to discuss it.”

“Great minds,” he said, referring to thinking alike.

“Yeah.” She rested her hands on her hips. “You first. What did you want to say?”

“First, may I say what a lovely daughter you have.”

Her face brightened at the words. “Thank you. I think she’s pretty special.”

“And very pretty, too. The pink satin princess thing works for her.”

“Yeah. She likes to take her bath early and watch television before bed. The pajamas and robe are her favorites and—”

“Not warm enough for camping.”

The expression of benevolence disappeared, replaced by skepticism. “I wouldn’t let her wear them camping.”

“It’s not just the sleepwear. Camping is an all-or-nothing sort of thing. You admitted it’s not your cup of tea,” he pointed out, recalling her remark about pools and sissy drinks.

The sweats were good, but he’d give a lot to see her in a bikini by that pool, and maybe wet… Damn, he was going to have to get his thoughts under control or he was dead in the water. Nora was right. There was a striking physical resemblance between Abby and his ex-wife. But, now that the shock had worn off, he could see the differences. Abby’s eyes were brown, a warm rich shade of cocoa, and there was a sweetness about her Barb had never possessed. But there were similarities, too, like they both needed him. Different reasons, but Abby still wanted something from him. He needed to get out of this ASAP.

“The outdoors isn’t my cup of tea,” she confirmed. “But Kimmie wants her hiking and camping badges. I figured a survival weekend would kill two birds with one stone—maximize my auction purchase. It’s only one night. I can suck it up.”

“You think so? Without hot showers, or cold, for that matter, since there won’t be running water. Dirt is a major component. The ground is hard and damn cold. TV is out of the question. No electricity,” he explained. “It’s dark and Mother Nature didn’t think to install street lights. Not a whole lot to do but sit around and watch the leaves fall. No froufrou food or microwaves.”

“Because there’s no electricity?” she asked sweetly, too sweetly.

“Even if there was, a microwave would be too bulky and heavy to backpack in. Only necessities get lugged over rugged terrain.” He planted his feet wide apart and rested his hands on his hips as he stared down at her. “It’s primitive and uncomfortable. So you see—”

“No.” She started to walk by him.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. What does that mean?”

“You should know. It’s what you told me a little while ago. What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

“I know what it means. Are you saying you got the message that camping isn’t for you and you’ll let me reimburse you—with interest—for what you paid at the auction?”

“And let you off the hook?”

“A man can hope.”

“Not a chance.” She took a step toward him, close enough that their bodies were nearly touching and the subtle, sexy fragrance of her perfume filled his head and fogged his brain. “I understand that you weren’t expecting Kimmie and I when you donated the weekend campout. But we’re what you got. And now you’re stuck with us. If you’re going to fulfill your obligation to the foundation, you need to suck it up and get over whatever prejudice you’ve got against—”

“It’s okay, Mommy.”

Abby whirled away from him at the sound of her daughter’s voice. The little girl was sitting cross-legged, with her feminine little robe tucked around her, just inside the attic opening. Riley didn’t have a clue how long she’d been there. Not good for a man who’d at one time prided himself on being able to hear a leaf drop when his life depended on it. And for reasons he didn’t want to think about, he was feeling as if his life depended on making this stubborn woman understand why he couldn’t do what he’d promised.

Abby went to her child and squatted next to her. “What’s okay, sweetie?”

“If he doesn’t want to take us on the campout, it’s all right.”

“I know how much you want your survival badges, Kimmie.”

“I did, but—” The little girl shrugged.

“You know if you don’t get both of these badges in the next six weeks, you can’t go on to the next level in The Bluebonnets.”

“I know.”

“And Caitlyn will be going on ahead of you into a more advanced group with a different leader. Remember she’s getting her last badge at the next meeting?”

The little girl nodded. “But it’s okay. Grandma told me that disappointment is part of life. And growing up means learning to live with it.”

“I let you down. Sweetie, I’m so sorry—” Abby’s voice broke.

“It’s not you, Mommy. If my daddy had come back like he promised, he’d have taken me camping. But he stayed in California. I’m six now. I’m big enough to understand.”

“I wish I was,” Abby mumbled. “Why did you come up here? Did you need something?”

“You need to tuck me in. It’s time for bed.” Her voice broke on the last word and her chin started quivering just before she disappeared through the opening.

Riley felt like pond scum. Slimier than pond scum. Both of them were close to tears. Damn it to hell. If he agreed, he would have to hang with Abby overnight. That was a bad idea, outdoors or anywhere else. And if it was just her, he could have stuck to his guns and pulled out of the op. In the Rangers, he’d worked and trained and prided himself on being the toughest of the tough. But nothing had hardened him enough to say no to a six-year-old who’d already gotten a bum deal.

Charm was no match for a little girl’s tears.

“Okay.”

“What?” Abby turned her big brown eyes on him.

If he hadn’t already caved, he’d be in danger now. “I’ll take you and Kimmie camping.”

She blinked, then the corners of her mouth curved into a brilliant smile that turned her killer dimples loose on him. She threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

She felt way too good, soft in all the right places and he was relieved when she pulled away.

“What do we need to bring?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll bring the equipment. You and Kim be ready at six a.m. on Saturday morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s Navy. Yes, sir, will suffice.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,” she said, brown eyes shining.

That look backed him up a step. It was the same one she’d had just before throwing her arms around him. He wanted her to do it again; at the same time, he knew it was a very bad idea. Because if she ever hugged him again, he knew he’d really get into it. He’d pull her as close as he could get her and press his mouth to hers.

Bad didn’t begin to describe this situation. He just hoped he didn’t regret this decision.

Abby glanced at Riley’s impassive face and wished she knew what he was thinking. Scratch that. It would probably be better if she didn’t know. She watched a sleepy Kimmie play with the soggy cocoa cereal in her bowl. They were already behind schedule because Riley had spent ten minutes disapproving of their attire. Capris were bad—legs need to be covered in heavy-duty material to prevent scratches and bug bites. They’d changed into jeans. Their shoes were an accident waiting to happen—sandals gave no support or protection. They’d changed again.

She watched him watch Kimmie. “If I’d known there was a dress code, I would have followed it.”

His gaze swung to hers. “Noted.”

“Okay, Kim, I think you’re finished,” she said, sliding the bowl off the table and carrying it to the sink. As quickly as possible, she dumped the remaining light brown milk and cereal, ran the disposal, then put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “We’ve already disrupted Mr. Dixon’s schedule.”

“It makes good sense to set up camp in the daylight,” he said.

His delivery was so smooth, Abby almost missed the subtle sarcasm. “Then we’d better get a move on.”

Kim rested her cheek in her palm. “I’m sleepy, Mommy.”

“I know, sweetie. But you can sleep in Mr. Dixon’s car on the drive.” She looked at Riley. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Sure.”

The little girl hopped off her chair and grabbed the box of cereal that was almost as big as she was. “I’ll take these for a snack later.”

Riley took a step away from the doorway where he’d been standing for the last ten minutes. “That’s a negative on the cereal.”

She blinked up at him. “Does that mean no?”

“It does.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s empty calories.”

“Huh?” she said, scratching her head.

“It won’t maintain your energy level. Besides,” he continued, “we’re hiking in to where we’re going to camp. That box is too bulky and we have more important things to carry.”

“Apparently my cosmetics weigh a ton,” Abby said, lamenting the little makeup bag she’d been ordered to leave behind.

One corner of his mouth curved up when his gaze met hers. “That’s not essential.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” Thank goodness she’d remembered the lack of electricity and left out her blow-dryer and hot rollers. The humiliation would have been too much.

“You’re lucky I let you talk me into that cream stuff.”

“Thank goodness my moisturizer has an SPF fifteen.”

“To protect your skin.” His voice turned gruff. “But the rule is if you can’t eat it or use it for shelter, it’s not a necessity.”

“I eat chocolate cereal,” Kimmie said hopefully.

He looked at her. “The benefit doesn’t outweigh the negative.”

“This is where I remind you that The Bluebonnets only require us to spend one night living off the land. It’s okay to relax your standards for us civilians.”

“Relaxing standards can compromise a mission. After we hike to the campsite you’ll thank me.”

Kimmie looked up at him. “But the box isn’t heavy.”

Abby took pity on him. “I appreciate that you’re trying to explain things to her. But sometimes a unilateral no is the best course of action.”

His gaze narrowed. “Whatever you say. I don’t know much about kids.”

“That almost makes us even. I know zero about camping. Which is why I need you—” That didn’t sound right. She didn’t need him. Any beefy, brainless, no-neck outdoorsman would do. But he was none of those things. In fact, he had a nice, strong-looking neck and she would like to press her lips to a spot… Not going there, she thought. “I mean the great outdoors is why I bought you— Hired your services— So to speak.”

“I get it.”

While they talked, Kimmie started out of the kitchen with the cereal box under her arm and Abby grabbed it. “Not so fast, young lady. This stays here. Riley said no.”

Kimmie looked up as she scuffed the toe of her new pink sneaker on the tile floor. “What if I get hungry?”

“I’m sure Mr. Dixon has that situation under control.”

Abby shuddered to think what that meant. Dehydrated meals, beef jerky, energy bars hard as hockey pucks that also served as lethal weapons. As her anxiety level spiked, she reminded herself that it was one night. And she could afford to lose a couple of pounds. Every cloud had a silver lining, and she tried desperately to find it in this situation.

She glanced at Riley’s face as he watched Kimmie pick up her princess backpack. She found another silver lining in his expression, which bordered on horror. When he’d agreed to take them on the trip, she knew it was because of what Kimmie had said about disappointment. She’d watched him melt like a chocolate bar left out in the sun. That Riley would be a challenge to resist. But this Riley…his tight lips and narrowed eyes told her the bullheaded bozo was back. Resisting him would be a piece of cake.

Bring on the great outdoors, she thought happily.

Why had she ever thought that hiring an expert would make this easy? She’d left the location of the campsite up to him, but apparently she’d neglected to mention that he needed to take into account Kimmie’s age and physical limitations. The Bluebonnets weren’t unreasonable in their badge expectations, but she’d bought Rambo.

They’d walked for what seemed like days. Even after numerous stops to rest, they were exhausted. When Riley glanced over his shoulder to study them, he obviously decided they looked like something the cat choked up because he stopped for a rest. Again.

Abby and Kimmie practically collapsed on a prone log. He’d carried most of the equipment on an aluminum frame strapped to his back and looked ready to pose for the cover of Great Outdoors magazine. She and Kimmie only had their backpacks with one day’s clothing and looked like they’d been lost in the woods for a week. Thank goodness he’d confiscated the cereal box. But she was still bitter about her makeup.

After resting for a few minutes, she noticed the wind had kicked up and clouds were rolling in.

Riley frowned as he studied the sky. “There’s still a way to go yet, and we need daylight to set up camp. Shelter could be a priority. We need to get a move on.”

Abby wished for his impassive look to replace his current expression. Something told her he didn’t scare easily and that his frown was panic for anyone else. This was a heck of a time to get the meaning of “be careful what you wish for.” She’d gotten her wish, which meant they were stuck out in the middle of nowhere and taking orders from Rambo—good-looking though he might be here in his element. To make matters worse, that made her want to look her best. Which put taking a bath at the top of her priority list.

And washing her hair—it was limp and stringy because she was sweaty and dirty. After she bathed, she wanted to put on makeup and blow-dry her hair. But she couldn’t do any of that because her necessities were at home. And how shallow was she to be thinking about any of that, what with the wind kicking up.

“Abby,” he barked out. “Let’s get going.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing on shaky legs and saluting.

“Very funny.” But in his eyes there was a spark of what appeared to be genuine amusement.

She looked at the dark clouds. “It looks like a storm’s moving in. But I checked the weather.”

“Me, too. It was supposed to be clear and mild,” he said. “I guess this is a rogue. We need to hurry.”

Kimmie stood beside her and slid her hand around Abby’s waist. “I can’t go fast. My new shoes hurt.”

Abby pulled off her daughter’s socks and shoes and saw she had blisters on both feet. “Why didn’t you say something, sweetie?”

“It wasn’t so bad.” She looked at the sky as she brushed away the hair that had blown into her mouth. “Is there gonna be thunder?”

“Maybe,” he said, resting his hands on lean hips.

“I don’t like thunder,” she said. “Sometimes there’s tornadoes when there’s thunder.”

“Not always.” Abby tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. In seconds, the wind had blown it free. She wasn’t into predicting weather, but it seemed as if it was getting darker.

“But sometimes,” Kimmie said, “we go to our safe room when the wind gets really bad.”

“That’s right.”

Kimmie looked up at her with a trusting expression on her face. “Do tents have safe rooms?”

Abby glanced at the compactly compressed wad of nylon on Riley’s backpack. “Good question, kiddo. Riley?”

He stopped studying the clouds and met her gaze. “Yeah?”

“What happens if things get worse?”

“These blow up suddenly and are gone just as fast. But I’d feel better if we had camp set up. We can bandage those blisters and she’ll be good to go.”

Kimmie clung to her and started sniffling. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll be all right. Riley knows what he’s doing.”

“But he can’t make the storm go away,” her daughter pointed out.

As if to give her statement an exclamation point, the echo of rumbling thunder drifted to them.

“Mommy?”

“I know, sweetie.” Abby patted her daughter’s back as the child buried her face in her shirt. “Riley, do you think this is a good idea? Do you think we should stay out in the open?”

He squatted down in front of them, his forearm resting on his thigh. In spite of her mounting anxiety, Abby noticed the way the denim pulled across the muscles in his leg.

“That storm is at least ten miles away. Unless the wind changes, it will miss us by a lot.” He looked at Kimmie. “In frontier days, they didn’t have houses as strong as we do now,” he pointed out. “And they survived. Isn’t that what The Bluebonnets is all about? Seeing how the pioneers lived? Survival under adverse conditions?”

“Yeah. Survival is the key thing here,” Abby agreed. “And that wind is making me question survival. What if there is a t-o-r-n-a-d-o?”

Kimmie was pretty bright, but Abby didn’t think she could spell that yet. Deliberately, she kept her voice neutral instead of letting it shoot up an octave into a shriek the way she wanted. Kimmie was quivering against her and Abby didn’t want to lose her composure and scare her daughter even more than she already was.

Riley smiled. The man had the audacity—or maybe it was the insanity—to look completely unconcerned. “The last time I checked, Texas is pretty big. The odds of a t-o-r-n-a-d-o landing on us are slim to none.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.