TYCOON’S TEMPTATION

ALLISON LEIGH

KATHERINE GARBERA

JAN HUDSON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE TYCOON

BY

ALLISON LEIGH

Allison Leigh started early by writing a Halloween play that her school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist in the RITA® Award and the Holt Medallion contests. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighbourhood church, and currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

Dear Reader,

I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Dane and Hadley, and then when Nikki Day briefly found her way to Hadley’s boarding house, Tiff’s, there was a wonderful sense of connection for me. The Rutherford clan was now connected to some of my favourite people from Weaver, Wyoming, and the entire Double-C Ranch family. I felt like my old friends had come to have a party together!

Thank you for sharing some time with Dane and Hadley.

I hope you enjoy the party as much as I did.

My very best wishes,

Allison

For my friends, old and new

Chapter One

The pickup truck pulled out right in front of him.

Dane Rutherford swore a blue streak, wrenching his steering wheel. He missed clipping the hind end of the pickup by the breadth of a fat snowflake and shot past, close enough to see the panic widening a pair of already wide female eyes as the driver of the pickup turned to see his car.

He was still swearing as he fishtailed on the slick road, turning into the skid, trying to regain control. And though he’d missed the pickup at first, the skid caused metal to meet metal in a long, eerie scrape. They still would have been okay if she hadn’t panicked at the contact. But she did. And she careened one way, then the other.

Dane cursed anew, trying to avoid hitting her again.

The road was winding, as damnably narrow as any back road he’d ever raced, and he felt his stomach drop out as his car went airborne off the shoulder, over the ditch.

Then he forgot about whether the woman was okay, about what Wood would say when he learned Dane had smashed his precious car, about everything except bracing himself for the impact.

The car was old. The tree it hit was older. Solid as hell, and there was no way Dane could hope to avoid it.

Crashing into it should at least stop the car’s flight.

It did. Effectively.

Hadley stared in disbelief at the way the front end of the cherry-red car accordioned against the massive poplar tree trunk. She was so focused on the other vehicle, in fact, that she very nearly forgot her own problems. Gasping, she jerked the steering wheel again to keep from going down the opposite ditch and then cringed when she plowed right into the mileage marker on the side of the road, hard enough to bend the thing clean over.

She sat there for a moment. Stunned.

The engine gasped. Groaned. The sad sounds were enough to break her momentary shock, and she quickly turned off the engine before it surely died.

More work for Stu to do on her vehicle.

Shaking her head to clear it, she looked back for the other car. The roadside ditch it had plunged down was deep and she couldn’t even see the car.

“Please be okay,” she muttered under her breath as she pushed out into the snowy afternoon, racing across the road. Her boots skidded as she dashed down the opposite shoulder, and her feet flew out from beneath her. Her hands flailed, her rear hitting the unrelentingly frozen earth of the steep incline. She barely felt the jarring impact shoot up her body to her teeth, which slammed together, before she was pushing to her feet again, slipping and sliding her way to the crumpled car. She couldn’t get to the driver’s side.

“Please be okay.” Her voice was a prayer this time as she rounded the hiked-up rear of the vehicle. One of the back wheels was still slowly spinning. She leaned down, peering through the spidery web of the cracked side window.

The man’s head was thrown back against the headrest. Blood splattered the inside of the windshield where he’d obviously hit his head, and it freely flowed from his forehead. The car hadn’t possessed an air bag, either.

The sight of all that blood sent alarm careening through her. “Hey.” She frantically tried to open the wrinkled door but it wouldn’t budge. Knocking on the cracked window was out of the question. And the engine was still running. She reached out and thumped her hand on the crumpled hood of the car, since pounding on the white convertible top wasn’t going to do any good in gaining his attention, but his eyes remained closed, unmoving. “Lord,” she whispered fearfully, “please let him be okay.” She banged on the car again. Hard enough to make her hand ache. Peered through the window. “Yessss.” His chest had moved. Was moving.

Thank you, God.

He was alive.

She scrambled out of the ditch and ran across the road, nearly tripping over her feet. Her fingers were so cold she could barely open her truck door. But she managed, and she leaned across the bench seat, grabbing her purse that had fallen on the floor. She dumped it out on the seat and snatched up her cell phone. It took two tries to punch the number. She clutched it to her ear as she dashed back across the road. Slid down on her rear again to get to the car. A thin dusting of snow now covered the crumpled hood.

“Shane, answer your darned phone.” She ran around to the side of the car again, banging her numb palm against the door. “Hey. Come on, mister, wake up. Oh, Shane.” She hunched over, holding the phone tightly when she heard her brother’s voice. “Thank heavens. There’s an accident—no, I’m fine.”

The man inside the car stirred. “Oh. Hey.” She waved her arms. As if he’d notice through his eyelids. “Unlock the car door.” She banged again on the hood. Even kicked at the side a little.

His head raised up. Impossibly thick lashes lifted to reveal a slit of dark eyes.

“That’s it, that’s it.” She patted the car as if she were patting a good dog. “Come on. Wake up.”

She realized her brother was yelling her name through the cell phone. “Sorry, Shane. We’re about a quarter mile past Stu’s turnoff. Better send the ambulance.” She pressed the off button on her brother’s tight voice and stuffed the phone into her pocket, where it immediately began vibrating again. She ignored it in favor of the man inside the vehicle. He’d touched his forehead. Was staring at the blood his fingers came away with.

“Unlock the door,” she said loudly again.

He eyed her. Sat forward a little, only to grimace. She read his lips easily enough. Swearing. She chose to take that as a good sign. His arm slowly moved and she heard a soft snick. He’d unlocked the door. She yanked hard on it to get it to budge and wedged her leg inside when it did. The stressed window crumbled into fine dust and a rush of warm air came out at her as she worked herself in, reaching straight across for the ignition.

She turned the key.

The laboring engine fell silent.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought for certain he could hear it. She looked at him and realized that she was practically in his face. His… very attractive face, what there was she could see beneath the bloody smears. She hurriedly shifted, putting space between them, kneeling awkwardly on the seat beside him. The stubborn door was practically crushing her leg and she shoved hard on it with her snow boot to keep it open.

“Who the hell taught you how to drive?” His voice was deep, even if it was little more than a murmur.

She tried not to cringe. “My father, Beau Golightly.”

The man shifted, groaned a little, and she gently pressed her hands against his shoulder. “You shouldn’t move. There’s an ambulance on the way.” She dragged her sweater sleeve down over her hand from beneath the edge of her coat and gingerly pressed it against his temple, blotting some of the blood.

He closed a surprisingly strong hand over hers, staying the movements. “I don’t need a bloody ambulance.”

“Well, you are bloody,” she returned, carefully sliding her hand from beneath his. “Literally.” Even as she voiced the observation, she heard a siren whine. “My brother Shane is probably burning rubber to get here, too. He’s the sheriff.”

For a moment the driver looked irritated. But he said nothing. Merely unclipped his seat belt and peered out the windshield at the mangled hood of his car. “You’re joking about the Golightly thing, aren’t you?” he finally asked.

She frowned a little. “No. And I know how to drive just fine.” Defense came belatedly, but at least it came. “You were the one playing Speed Racer.”

His lips twisted a little. “Not anymore,” she thought she heard him mutter. But it was hard to tell since the ambulance’s siren was earsplitting in the moments before it wheezed to a halt. She finished backing out of the car and looked over to see Palmer Frame, and his latest sidekick, Noah Hanlan, slip-sliding down into the ditch. The ambulance waited on the shoulder up above them.

Palmer’s gaze traveled over her. “You hurt, Hadley?”

She shook her head and waved her hand toward the driver where Noah was making his way. “He is. He’s—”

“Fine.”

“—bleeding. A lot.” She ignored the clipped comment from inside the wreck and moved out of Palmer’s way. The tan SUV her brother drove screamed up the highway, and she sighed a little as she climbed up the embankment once more. It took some doing, since she kept looking back over her shoulder to see how Palmer and Noah were progressing with the injured man.

The EMTs had produced a crowbar and had worked the door open wide enough for the driver to get out. Standing, he was just as tall or taller than Palmer, and that was saying something. But he was standing, which meant he couldn’t be too bad off, right?

She hoped.

A part of her heard the crunch of tires, a fast stop. Shane’s tight voice muttering her name more like a curse than a prayer.

The driver had shaken off Palmer’s assistance, she noted. He’d planted his feet in the snow, hands on hips as he surveyed his car.

Very fine hips. Verrry fine rear—

“Hadley!”

She closed her eyes, whispered another quick prayer for patience—her tenth that day, at least—and stuck out her hand toward her brother. The ditch was getting more slippery by the minute and the late-afternoon temperature seemed to be dropping by chunks. “Help me up.”

Shane’s voice might have been annoyed, but his eyes were sharp with concern as he pulled her up the rest of the way to the road. His hands clamped on her shoulders as he examined her face.

Relief filled his eyes though his stern expression didn’t relax much. Evidently satisfied that Hadley was unharmed, he let go of her and headed into the ditch, pulling out the small notepad he carried in one of the pockets of his shearling coat. The sheriff, back at work.

Hadley shivered, wishing her own wool jacket were as warm as her brother’s. But she’d bought her jacket because of its pretty pink color, not because of its ability to keep the cold at bay. It was one of her ridiculously few frivolous purchases.

The three men were now staring at the car, looking as if they were in mourning or something. Well, the car did look pretty sad. It was old to start with, though the paint job—on the rear of the car at least—looked in perfect shape. She, however, was more concerned about the driver and his injuries than the front bumper that was now kissing cousins to the windshield wipers. For heaven’s sake, it was just a car. And the man was still bleeding. She could tell, because he’d swiped a hand over his forehead, and more blood oozed out to replace what he wiped away.

She stomped her way back into the ditch, tugging at Palmer and Noah. The men were EMTs, not car mechanics. “Don’t you think you ought to be seeing to him?” She looked up at the injured driver.

Snowflakes were catching in his thick hair. And he had ridiculously long black lashes, she noticed again, when he turned his gaze toward her. Steely blue. Until then, she’d never really known what that term defined, even though she’d used it herself when she was writing.

Now she knew firsthand. And… well. Hello.

She swallowed and took a step back, only to have her boot sink about a foot into the snow. Off balance, she felt herself falling, but the man shot out a hand and grabbed her upper arm to catch her. “You don’t know much about being careful, do you?” he observed.

Instead of falling ignominiously back on her tush, she’d ended up leaning against him. And what a him he was. Her vivid imagination immediately tripped along the path of whether or not his body was as solid as it seemed beneath the leather bomber jacket he wore.

She planted her feet more securely, pushing herself upright. Men like him did not look at women like her, particularly when said woman had helped send his car crashing into a tree.

“I wasn’t speeding,” she pointed out, yet again. But her conscience bit at that. She didn’t know if the man had been speeding or not. She’d been too preoccupied with her darned fool brothers and their unwelcome interest in her nonexistent love life.

Shane, Palmer and Noah were still dolefully shaking their heads over the crumpled car. “Um… maybe it’s escaped everyone’s notice, but you are still bleeding there.” She waved her hand generally in his direction. Then happened to notice the fingerprints he’d left on her coat. Bloody fingerprints.

He noticed, as well, and grimaced a little. “Sorry about that.”

She exhaled, impatient with the lot of them, and turned away. Climbed up the side of the ditch again and strode to the back of the ambulance where she yanked open the rear door. She grabbed a container of wipes and cleaned the blood from her hands, then grabbed a handful of gauze pads and headed back down the ditch.

Lordy, but her legs were starting to ache with all this up and downing. She tore open the paper wrapping on one of the pads and reached up, gingerly dabbing the injured man’s forehead.

He jerked a little, grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to help you,” she reminded. But if the man didn’t want assistance, fine. She didn’t stick her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Unlike some specific siblings she could name. She pushed the pads into his hands and gave Palmer a stern poke in the ribs. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Hold on there.” Shane closed his hand over her collar, stopping her cold. “There’s a small matter of the accident report.”

Of course. Stupid of her. She could feel her face flushing and hoped that the man hadn’t noticed. A lightning-quick glance his way quickly killed that little hope. “Fine. Could we do it out of the snow, though? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but it is a little cold out here.” Her words were visible puffs, ringing around her head. Since New Year’s the week before, the weather had plummeted, bringing with it an uncommon amount of snow.

She was relieved when Shane looked again at the wreckage, then nodded. The driver apparently didn’t find the EMTs’ assistance objectionable the way he had hers. But then, they hadn’t helped his car fly into a ditch, either.

Shane told her to go wait in his SUV, and she was shaken enough that she obediently turned away and started up the incline again. She heard her brother ask the driver if the registration for the vehicle was in the car as she went. Shane’s SUV was idling, and she climbed up into the passenger seat where it was toasty warm. She flexed her numb fingers in front of the air vents and watched the men.

Of course there would have to be an accident report. No need to worry over it. The worst that would happen is that her insurance rates would go up.

Again.

She rubbed her hands together. Cupped her fingers over her mouth and nose and blew on them. She loved living in Lucius, Montana, but honestly, there were times she’d be happy to spend the winter lolling on a warm, sandy beach somewhere. If she closed her eyes, she could practically feel the heated kiss of sunlight on her face.

“Hand me that clipboard.”

The only warmth came from Shane’s heater vents. She opened her eyes to see her brother standing inside the opened door, his gloved finger pointing at the items on his console.

She handed the clipboard to him. Looked around his broad shoulder to see that the driver was now sitting on the back of the ambulance, submitting to Palmer’s belated but thorough examination. She could see Noah behind the wheel talking on the mic. “Hate that paperwork,” she murmured lightly, eyeing her brother.

He grunted. “Be glad neither one of you was hurt. Otherwise there’d be a helluva lot more.”

“I am.” She couldn’t have lived with herself if she’d harmed someone else. Still, she’d never been fond of putting her name on a bunch of legal documents. A trait passed down from her mother.

“Shane—”

“Don’t sweat it, turnip,” he advised after a moment.

She rolled her eyes at the old nickname, but subsided against the seat. The interior was getting cold. She had on a wool jacket and Shane’s heater was blasting. The driver wore only a leather bomber jacket. He’d surely be freezing by now. “Couldn’t Palmer give him a blanket or something?”

Shane glanced over his shoulder. “S’pose so,” he agreed, then turned his attention back to the report he was writing, his gaze sliding over her. “Stu was yakking my ear off on the phone about the way you ran out on him and Wendell when you called.”

“What’d he think you were going to do? Arrest me because I didn’t stick around until he could force me into having dinner with Wendell Pierce as well as lunch? Give me a break.” Stu had manipulated her into going out to his ranch, playing on her sympathies to cook a meal for him since his left hand was currently in a cast, knowing full well that she’d be too polite to walk back out again when she found Wendell there, too.

She peered around Shane again. The driver was watching her and she felt the impact of his striking gaze across the yards. Her skin prickled.

It was a decidedly unusual sensation.

“Stu wants you to be happy and settled.”

“Like the two of you are?” She forced herself to look back at her brother, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “Like Evie is?” She shook her head. Neither of her brothers were married, or currently involved with anyone for that matter. And their sister, Evie, was… well, Evie was another story entirely. “It’s pretty humiliating that my own brothers think I can’t find a man for myself,” she said half under her breath.

Even if it were true.

Not that she intended to admit it. She was already a pathetic marshmallow where her family was concerned. No need to provide them with her more ammunition.

“You’re twenty-seven,” Shane said. “When’s the last time you went on a date?” His pen scratched across the paper. “With someone other than Wendell Pierce.”

One lunch inadvertently shared at the counter of the Luscious Lucius did not really qualify as a date in her opinion, and she hadn’t ever intended to repeat it, not even in the sunny kitchen of Stu’s ranch house. But if she didn’t count that… well then, she really was pathetic.

There was nothing wrong with Wendell, except that she had little in common with the brown-haired, tall, gangly forty-year-old rancher and even less of an attraction for him.

“Maybe I’ve been busy. Watching Evie’s kids. Helping Stu out at the garage whenever Riva’s gone. Doing your filing down at the station.” All when she wasn’t busy with her own responsibilities at Tiff’s, the family’s boardinghouse, and trying to carve out enough time on her own to do what she loved best—writing.

Shane barely gave her a second glance. He finished scratching on his clipboard, and strode across the highway toward her pickup truck, studying the snowy blacktop as he went. A wrecker had pulled up on the shoulder, and Hadley saw Gordon and Freddie Finn get out and slide their way down the embankment.

She closed the door again to preserve the heat and nibbled the inside of her lip as she watched Gordon hook up the wreckage to chains and slowly maneuver it back up the incline. It didn’t seem possible, but the car looked even worse as it peeled away from the tree trunk.

She looked over at the driver again. His expression was unreadable, but a muscle flexed rhythmically in his jaw. She recognized that type of movement, having seen it often enough over the years on Shane’s face.

She sighed a little, hauled in a deep breath and pushed open the truck door. She walked over to him and was grateful when he didn’t just sort of duck and run for cover. He undoubtedly considered her a menace. “I’m sorry about your car,” she offered. It came out more tentative than she’d have liked, but then, so much about her did. What was one more instance to add to a lifetime of them? “Have you had it a long time?”

“Long enough.” His voice was surprisingly neutral, given the circumstances.

“Indiana,” she murmured, spying the license plate on his car. “Where were you heading?”

“Why?” His gaze sliced her way.

She lifted her shoulders, hugging her arms to herself. “Most people come through Lucius on their way to somewhere else. We’re barely a bump in the road.” Maybe that was a slight understatement. Lucius had its own hospital, its own schools and three different churches. There was also a fairly decent crop of restaurants and even a movie theater, complete with four screens. “I, um, have a cell phone if you need to call anyone.” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t have to mean anything.

And why she was noticing his ring finger she had no idea. Hadn’t she spent ten minutes that day already railing at Stu that she was not looking for a husband?

His lips twisted a little. She thought he almost looked amused. Almost. “No, thanks.”

Which didn’t exactly say that he’d had no one to call.

She shifted. Pushed her fingers into the pockets of her jacket. Freddie had climbed up on the back of the tow truck and was guiding the chains in some complicated fashion as her brother controlled a lever. The car creaked and moaned as it was pulled upward onto the slanted ramp. She winced a little and looked up at the man again. “Does your head hurt very badly?”

“Not as much as the car hurts.” As if he couldn’t stand to look at it any longer, he turned his attention to her pickup, where a good portion of candy-apple red from his car was decorating the side of her truck. It was the brightest color on what was otherwise pretty indeterminate.

“Is Palmer going to take you in to the hospital?”

“No.”

She was surprised. “Palmer’s a great EMT. The best. So’s Noah. But you should probably still see a doctor about your head.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you sure? I thought head injuries were tricky. What if you have a concussion or something?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

He didn’t sound as if he were used to being questioned, and she bit back more comments.

Shane had clearly finished looking at whatever he’d figured needing looking at and was heading toward them again. He held out his clipboard to the driver. “Fill that out. I’ll need to see your license, too.”

The man didn’t take the clipboard. “We can settle this matter without all that.” His voice brooked no disagreement, and Hadley mentally sat back a little, curious to see how her brother, I-am-sheriff-hear-meroar, reacted.

“Some reason you don’t want to file an accident report?” Shane’s voice had turned that silky way it did whenever he was really displeased. He knew where Hadley’s distaste for accident reports came from, she knew. But a stranger wouldn’t be accorded a similar understanding.

Nevertheless, the driver looked unfazed, despite the gauze and tape covering half of his forehead. “Just the time it all takes,” he said. “Neither one of us is hurt and we both agree to pay for our own damages.”

Hadley made an involuntary sound, looking pointedly at his forehead. The truth was, they hadn’t agreed to anything.

“My sister pulls out in front of you, and you’re willing to cover the damages on your own car.” Shane’s gaze shifted to the vehicle in question that was now secured atop the flatbed of the tow truck.

“That’s a ’68 Shelby.”

The driver’s expression didn’t change. “I was going too fast. We’re both culpable.”

Shane sighed a little. Settled his snow-dusted cowboy hat on his head a little more squarely. “I can measure the skid marks,” he said, all conversational-like. “To prove the point. But we both know what I’m gonna find.” His smile was cool. “You weren’t speeding. So that just leaves me a mite curious as to why you’re in a such a hurry to go no place.”

“I have business to attend to.” The driver still seemed unfazed, and Hadley had to admire him for it. Not many people could stand their ground against that particular smile of Shane Golightly’s. Even Stu, Shane’s twin, had been known to back down in the face of it.

If the man wanted to claim a share of responsibility in the accident, who was she to argue? After all, she didn’t particularly want that report filed, either.

Shane appeared to be considering the driver’s smooth explanation. “Well. The registration is in order.” He tapped a folded piece of paper that was still in his possession. “Let’s just look at your license for now. Then we’ll see.”

The driver’s expression didn’t change one whit. “I don’t have it on me.”

Oh, dear. Hadley looked down at her boots, scuffling them a little in the skiff of snow.

“Well, that’s kind of a problem now, isn’t it?” Shane’s voice was pleasant.

She closed her eyes. Shane never sounded that pleasant unless he was completely and totally peeved.

The driver didn’t look like a car thief. Not that she necessarily knew what car thieves looked like. But if she were going to write one into one of her stories, she wouldn’t have given him thick, chestnut-colored hair and vivid blue eyes with a rear end that was world class. She’d have given him piercings and tattoos and slick grease in his hair, and he definitely wouldn’t be the hero—

She jerked her thoughts back to front and center. “Shane,” she said in that dreaded, tentative voice of hers. “You don’t have to give him the third-degree, surely. Mister, um—” she glanced up at the driver and simply lost her train of thought when his gaze found hers and held.

“Wood,” he said.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a car thief. He’s just too pretty for that. “Pardon me?”

“Wood,” he said again. “Tolliver. Atwood, actually, but nobody calls me that.” The corner of his lips twisted. “Not if they want me to answer.”

There was a molasses quality in his deep voice, she realized. Faint, but definitely Southern. And it was about as fine to listen to as her dad’s singing every Sunday morning. When she was alive, her mother’s voice had possessed a similar drawl.

With a start she realized she was staring at him.

Again. It was even more of a start to find that he was staring at her right back. Her skin prickled again, and it was not at all unpleasant.

“Well, Atwood Tolliver,” Shane said, still in that dangerously pleasant way. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to bring you in. Just till we verify that you really are who you say you are.”

The driver’s eyes froze over a little, and the hot little prickles underneath the surface of her skin turned as cold as the air seeping through her too-thin jacket.

Of course the man was staring at her. Undoubtedly wishing he’d never had the misfortune to drive anywhere near Lucius, Montana, or her.

The best-looking guy she’d ever seen in her entire life—on television, the movies or in her imagination—and her brother was gearing up to arrest him.

Chapter Two

Bring him in?

It wasn’t often that Dane didn’t get what he wanted. But right now, he’d hit the trifecta in that regard. Judging by the sheriff’s implacable expression, Dane was not going to get out of the delightful experience of some Podunk little sheriff’s office. He was not going to be driving the one-of-a-kind Shelby he’d picked up at auction to his friend, Wood, when his task in Montana was done.

Not anytime soon, anyway. The wreck of Wood’s car was even now being hauled away.

And third, the woman—Hadley—might be the prettiest female he’d encountered in a long while, but she looked like she’d jump out of her skin if a rabbit so much as looked at her.

Dane Rutherford was no rabbit. He liked to look and touch.

He’d be doing neither.

“If you’re going to impound the car, there’s not much I can do to stop you,” he told the sheriff. Not much, yet. “But you probably realize that it’s in your sister’s best interest that we each take care of our own damages.” He pulled out his money clip and heard Hadley’s soft inhalation.

The sheriff’s expression didn’t change much, though his gaze focused on the folded bills in Dane’s hand. “Hadley,” he said without looking at her. “Does your truck still run?”

The woman cast a wary look at Dane, her gaze going in a little triangle between the money, the sheriff’s face and Dane. “I don’t know.”

“Try it. If it does, drive it into town,” the sheriff said flatly. “Meet us at the station.”

Her soft lips compressed. Even with her nose all pink from the cold, she had the kind of face a man could look at for a while. A long while. “Shane, come on. You’re not really—”

“Go.”

She looked up at Dane again, her expression seeming apologetic. Rightfully so, he reminded himself, given her terrible driving.

“Hadley.” The sheriff’s voice was warning.

She exhaled abruptly and turned on her heel, stomping across the highway to the decrepit truck, her slender hips swaying beneath the short pink excuse of a jacket she wore. She climbed up in the cab, ground the gears a few times as she disconnected the truck from the mangled mileage marker, and lumbered off down the road, leaving behind a puff of exhaust.

When Dane looked back at the sheriff, he knew the other man was perfectly aware of where Dane’s attention had been.

“Now, then. You want to finish the bribe it looks like you’re gearing up to offer, or do you want to tell me what’s really going on here?”

Hadley grumbled under her breath as she coaxed her ailing pickup truck all the way into town. She pulled into the lot beside Stu’s garage and gathered up all the items that were still strewn across the seat, replacing them in her purse. Then she went into the small office that her brother used when he was in town working at the garage. Some might have thought it odd that Stu Golightly was a rancher and ran the town’s only auto-body and repair shop. Personally, she considered it a great convenience. And the darned man better not have the nerve to bill her for the repairs, either, since it was his own fault she’d been so preoccupied.

The tow truck bearing the crumpled old convertible was parked near the closed bay door, and she carefully looked away from the wreckage and went inside.

It was nearly quitting time, but Riva was still sitting behind the counter painting her fingernails a putrid shade of blue and didn’t even look up until Hadley plopped her keys next to the woman’s splayed fingers.

Riva popped her gum, her penciled-in eyebrows lifting. She was seventy if she was a day, but that didn’t stop Riva from keeping “fashionable,” as she called it.

“Guess you had a little problem today,” she observed. “What’d you hit?”

Hadley told her. “I’m afraid Stu will be busy with that old car there first, though.”

Riva cackled at that and nodded her bright-pink head. “That he will. Your brother’s gonna wet his pants when he gets a chance to work on a piece of heaven like that. You probably oughta just go talk to your insurance agent about the claim now. Won’t be pretty, I expect.”

“Actually, we’re handling our own damages,” Hadley said, mentally crossing her fingers that this would still be the case. Unless her stubborn brother made Wood mad enough to rescind the offer.

Atwood Tolliver. That definitely could not be the name of a car thief, right? It sounded so old-fashioned. So upstanding. And the man himself had seemed so… so—

“You going to stand there and daydream all day?” Riva’s voice finally penetrated, and Hadley flushed a little, marshaling her thoughts. “Heard that you pulled right in front of him out near Stu’s place.”

“Nothing like the Lucius grapevine to get the word spread,” Hadley murmured.

“So why’s he willing to pay his own damages on a car like that?”

Hadley looked over her shoulder, through the somewhat grimy window to the tow truck outside.

“Like what? That car’s even older than my pickup.”

Riva snapped her gum and shook her head. “Honey, it is a mystery to me how you can have a brother who knows cars the way he does, and be as oblivious as you are.” She poked her nail polish brush back into the bottle, drew out a fresh batch of blue and slid it over her half-inch long nails. “That’s a ’68 Shelby GT500 convertible. It won’t be cheap to fix.”

Hadley looked again out the window. Down the street a ways, Shane’s SUV had pulled to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office. “It’s valuable then?” Her voice sounded too weak for her liking, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Besides, she’d known Riva since she was barely out of kindergarten.

“Think they only made 500 or so of them.”

Oh. Dear. Hadley’s stomach sank. No wonder her brother was leery of Wood. “Shane wanted me to meet him at his office. Guess I’d better go.”

Riva looked up at her after she just stood there, though. “Might help some if you open the door, child, and actually move your feet in the right direction.”

Hadley smiled weakly and went back out into the late afternoon. Her boots dragged a little as she passed the tow truck. She eyed the lines of the vehicle. Okay, so it was kind of a sexy old car….

If it hadn’t been crumpled down by a third of its size, maybe.

She exhaled and hurried her step, jogging across the street. One of the old-fashioned streetlamps flicked on as she passed it. Another hour or so, and it would be dark outside. She quickened her pace. She still had things to take care of at Tiff’s.

The bell over Shane’s door jingled when she went inside his office. Carla Chapman, Shane’s secretary-dispatcher-everything-else jerked her head toward Shane’s cubicle behind her. “He’s waiting for you,” she said.

Great. She loved her brother dearly, but the man had a distinct ability to make her feel as if she were being called down to the principal’s office.

It was warm inside and she unbuttoned her jacket, sliding it from her shoulders as she entered Shane’s cubicle.

Wood was not sitting in either of the two chairs situated in front of Shane’s massive metal desk. She dropped her jacket and purse on the desk and leaned toward him. “You locked him up, didn’t you.” Her voice was accusing.

He pointedly moved her belongings to one side, off his paperwork. “Sit down. You still need to sign the report.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “He’s in a cell,” he allowed after a moment.

“Shane!” She sat down, dismayed more than was wise. “For not having his driver’s license? That’s ridiculous. I’m sure he has one, he just didn’t have it with him.”

“Try bribery, then.”

“Bri—” Her voice choked. “He did not.”

Her brother shrugged. “Guess he had no room in his pocket for the license what with all that cash he was carrying,” Shane said dryly. “And you’ve always been a trusting little soul.”

“Makes me sound like I’m seven instead of twenty-seven.” She took the pen he extended and signed her name at the bottom of the accident report. “You haven’t locked up everyone who forgot their driver’s license at home.”

“Fortunately today she learned to take her purse or wallet with her when she left the house.” He looked sideways at her purse, assuring her that, yes, he was referring to her.

Darn his memory, anyway.

“You’re being unreasonable.”

He sat back and propped one boot heel over his knee. “Our Mr. Tolliver’s got quite the public defender in you.” The toe of his boot tapped the air twice. “Wonder why?”

“Look. If Stu… and you… weren’t so determined to hitch me to Wendell Pierce’s wagon, none of this would have happened. That poor man would have driven right through Lucius on his way to, to wherever, and that would be that. He was just an—

“Innocent bystander,” Shane put in, amused.

“Yes!”

He dropped his foot back to the floor and sat forward, arms on the desk. His amusement faded. “Doesn’t work that way, turnip. Until I know that car’s not stolen, he’s not going anywhere.”

She eyed him, but knew there was no moving Shane when his mind was set. “Dad says that stubbornness is not a blessing.”

“Dad says a lot of things,” Shane agreed mildly.

Frustrated, she snatched up her belongings and turned on her heel.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to see your poor prisoner!” She strode down the tiled hallway. The Lucius Sheriff Office housed a total of five cells and it was a rare day when even one was called into use. Shane was probably just bored and wanted to test the strength of the iron bars or something.

She turned the corner and stopped. Her breath sucked back up into her chest and a squiggle of something unfamiliar dipped in her stomach. Wood was sitting on the cot, his back against the wall, one foot planted on the thin mattress, the other leg—a long leg—extended.

“If you’ve come to break me out, save the effort,” he advised. “With your help I’d probably find myself in a federal penitentiary.”

She chewed the inside of her lip and took a step closer to the cell. From out in the front office, she could hear Carla talking on the phone, her voice bright and cheerful.

Just another day winding down in Lucius.

“I’m sorry.” She hugged her jacket and purse to her midriff. “This is all my fault.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she added after a moment, “it’s not my fault that you didn’t have your license on you.” His lips twisted a little at that. He had very nice lips, even if her brother figured he was a car thief. “Are you?”

His eyebrows rose. “Am I what?”

Her cheeks warmed. That was the trouble for thinking half one’s thoughts out loud. Confusion inevitably ensued. “A car thief.”

A glint lit his eyes. His hand, draped over his raised knee, curled a little. Then he shifted and rose off the cot, his movements so smooth and relaxed he might just as well have been rising out of his own bed in his own home.

As if she’d ever seen what a strange man looked like rising out of his own bed? She ran the family’s boardinghouse. Any beds she was involved with were those needing a change of sheets between her rare guests.

She swallowed and stood her ground when he walked up to the bars of the cell and wrapped his hands lightly around them, looking at her through the space between. “Do I look like a car thief to you?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Can’t say I know what a car thief really looks like,” she admitted, speculation aside. “I don’t imagine they are all unattractive with shifty eyes.”

The corner of his lip twisted upward. “High praise,” he murmured.

He almost had a dimple in his cheek. Or more of a slash, she thought, which definitely went with a jaw that was razor sharp. And his nose was a little too long for his face, but the whole package was put together in a decidedly blessed way.

“You’re staring.”

She blinked. Moistened her lips. “Sorry.”

He reached one long arm between the bars and grazed his fingers against her coat. “So am I.”

He had a tiny scar at the corner of his eye. And another one, nearly invisible, bisecting his slashing eyebrow. “For what?” she asked faintly.

He hooked his finger in a fold of pink wool and tugged lightly.

She looked down. Right. The bloodstains on her jacket. More on the edge of her sweater sleeve. “Cleaning these stains will be a lot easier than fixing your car, I’m afraid.”

“So, at least you’ve decided that the Shelby is my car.”

How had he gotten those tiny little scars? Would he have a scar when the cut on his forehead healed? “Is there some reason to doubt it?”

He cocked his head a little, considering her. “You’re pretty trusting.”

For some reason she found herself smiling when the observation came from him. “Surprising, I know, but you are not the first to accuse me of that.”

“I’ll bet.” Lines crinkled at the corner of his eyes, and the tiny scar disappeared.

He wasn’t quite smiling but she still felt the impact, and for a moment the metal bars of the cell, the chirping of Carla’s voice from out front, everything else disappeared.

“It’s getting late. Don’t you have to get supper on or something?”

Hadley nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her brother’s voice.

The cell bars were back.

Wood’s hand slowly fell away from her jacket and she looked over her shoulder at Shane. His eyes were hard.

She very nearly argued with him that she had nothing more pressing to do than stand there staring at the man in the cell. Well, the brave little part of her that occasionally snuck past her larger sissy part nearly argued with him. But the truth was, she did have to get supper started. And after that, she needed to mix up bread dough for the rolls she’d bake first thing in the morning, and she had to get the tower room prepared for a guest coming the next day.

Staying wasn’t an option, even if she could have summoned the nerve to flout Shane.

Wood moved away from the cell bars and sat down on the cot, back propped against the wall again. He ran the tip of his index finger over the edge of the adhesive on his forehead.

She wondered what he was thinking and she wondered over the fact that had her brother not been standing there acting all Cro-Magnon, she would have actually asked Wood. And wasn’t that a surprise? Maybe if she pretended she were a fearless heroine, set on freeing the misunderstood hero, she’d manage to pull it off.

Or not.

“You better feed him,” she hissed as she passed Shane. “And give him some aspirin or something for his head. Better yet, call in a doctor. For all you know, he could have a concussion.”

“Mr. Tolliver’s gonna get everything he deserves,” Shane assured.

Ordinarily that would have been a comforting statement. In this situation, however? She grimaced and left, casting one last look at Shane’s prisoner.

He wasn’t looking at her, this time. He was staring down her brother across the distance of the cell, and even though he was behind bars, Hadley couldn’t help but wonder which of the two men would come out on top.

She pulled on her stained jacket and went back outside, waving to Carla, who was still jabbering on the phone. The sun had begun to set. Lights were glowing from the window fronts of the businesses along Main. The snow had stopped for the moment, and everything was covered with a thin veil of perfect white powder.

Including the wreck she could easily see from where she stood, still sitting atop the Finns’ tow truck.

Wrapping her jacket more tightly around her, she hurried in the opposite direction toward the boardinghouse. She could have gone by the church to get a ride from her dad. He’d have undoubtedly still been there. But since it was nearly as far a walk to Beau Golightly’s home-away-from home as it was to Tiff’s, there seemed little point.

Besides. She wasn’t quite ready to find out whether or not her dad had been in on her brothers’ ganging up on her over Wendell.

Her face felt stiff with cold and her hands were completely numb by the time she climbed the wide porch steps leading to the front door of the aging Victorian. But inside, the air was warm and welcom ing. From the parlor, she could hear someone tinkering on the piano. Probably Mrs. Ardelle. She regularly insisted that she was musical, but—so far—hadn’t proved it by the way she attacked the keys.

Still, Mrs. Ardelle was a darling soul, and if she wanted to pretend she could play, who was Hadley to stop her?

She hung up her jacket on the coat tree in the wide hall and walked through to the kitchen, located at the rear of the house. The ever-present coffee was hot so she poured herself a mug before getting down to preparing dinner. Her residents didn’t join her in the dining room for dinner every night. They were all welcome—for a fee, of course, which Hadley charged only because her sister tended to get on her case when she didn’t—but usually one or two showed up.

Fortunately, cooking for a handful of people was mindlessly familiar to Hadley, and by the time they sat down around the oval walnut table in the dining room, the resulting meal was perfectly edible and showed no sign that Hadley had fretted her way right through preparing it.

In the morning, after she’d baked up a batch of sticky cinnamon rolls and cranberry walnut muffins, she prepared a small picnic basket and walked back downtown to Shane’s office.

The door was unlocked. Carla wasn’t at her desk yet, but she could plainly hear her brother’s voice coming from his cubicle in the back, so she walked right through.

His eyes perked up at the sight of the cloth-covered basket in her mittened hands, and he waved her over to the chairs. A good sign. Shane had always had a soft spot for her rolls.

She set the basket on his desk and sat down, busying herself with tugging off her mittens and unwinding her red scarf from the collar of her serviceable blue parka while he finished his phone call.

“So, you are still speaking to me.” He reached for the basket.

She nimbly slid the basket out of his reach. “Have you come to your senses and let that poor man go?”

“If I haven’t, you think I’m going to change my mind through your bribery attempts?”

“I’m sure he didn’t really try to bribe you.”

He folded his arms across the top of his desk. “Are you, now?”

She had a moment’s pause. She had no idea what might have transpired between Shane and Wood when she wasn’t around.

Then she thought of those intensely blue eyes that had occupied her dreams the entire night. “Yes. I am sure.”

He eyed her, shook his head and sat back. “Fine. As it happens, I’ve let—”

“Good morning.”

Hadley jumped a little and turned her head. Wood stood behind them. His hair was darkly damp and falling over his forehead as if he’d just showered, and it partially obscured the fresh bandage there. He’d also replaced his bloodstained shirt with a royal blue one she distinctly remembered giving Shane two Christmases earlier. “Good… morning.” Speech was hard when her breath was caught in her throat.

Shane grabbed a large manila envelope and held it toward Wood. “Check the contents and sign the report. Bus leaves for Billings in about thirty minutes. I’ll drive you over.”

“You’re leaving? But what about your car?” She looked from Wood to her brother. She was glad Shane was being more reasonable about holding Wood, but she couldn’t say the same thing at all about the prospect of the man leaving so quickly.

And wasn’t that ridiculous? He was a stranger, just passing through. A victim of her preoccupied driving, for pity’s sake. Of course he wants to get the heck out of Lucius. The silent thought mocked her.

Shane gave the phone a glare when it started ringing. “His car’ll be fixed whether he’s in town or not.”

Wood had upended the envelope over the side of Shane’s desk. A narrow leather wallet. The wad of bills, held by a silver clip engraved with a race car disappeared in the front pocket of his black jeans. Then he flipped open his wallet, looked inside, flipped it closed and pocketed it, as well, before scratching his name across the form Shane had indicated and shrugging into his leather bomber jacket.

And still Shane’s phone rang. “I’ll give him a lift to the bus station,” she offered suddenly. “Better answer that. Carla’s not out front.”

“She called in sick.”

“All the more reason for me to give Mr. Tolliver a ride. It’s the least I can do,” she added hurriedly when Shane shook his head.

“Appreciate it.” Wood picked up her scarf and handed it to her, as if the decision were made.

She didn’t look at her brother as she tucked her fingers into her mittens and preceded Wood out of the cubicle. Behind her, she heard Shane pick up the phone, growling a greeting.

“He’s usually more pleasant in the mornings,” Hadley whispered. She had to curtail the urge to run out of the office before she crumbled to Shane’s displeasure.

Wood reached out and opened the door. The bell jingled softly. “He’s protective of you.”

As soon as they stepped out on the sidewalk, Hadley realized that she didn’t have the means to even give Wood Tolliver a ride to the bus depot. Because her truck was still over at Stu’s garage.

Embarrassed beyond belief, she looked up at him. “He’s had a lot of practice, I’m afraid. Of being protective, I mean. I, um, I forgot one detail.” The fringed ends of her scarf skipped around in the breeze. “My keys are across the street at the garage. And Riva—she kind of manages the place for my brother—won’t be there for another hour at least.” She felt like an utter fool, which was something she ought to be used to, considering she’d been feeling foolish since she’d run him off the road. “I’ll tell Shane he should take you. I can answer his phones while he’s out.” She reached for the door.

Wood closed his hand over hers and she jumped. His eyes narrowed a little and he let go. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No! No, of course not.” She pressed her hands together. She was not so stupid that she’d tell him she’d felt a zing right through the fluffy red mitten when he’d touched her hand. He’d probably laugh right out loud at her. “I’m not afraid of anyone.” Which wasn’t strictly true if she thought about it. “And Lucius isn’t big, but walking all the way out to the bus depot would take too long, so—”

“I don’t want to go to the bus depot. Is there a café around here or something?”

“Yes, of course. But Shane—”

“Doesn’t much like strangers in his town. He made that abundantly clear.” He toyed with the fringe of her scarf that had blown across his sleeve. “The burger your sheriff gave me last night was okay, but I haven’t had a full meal since yesterday morning. I’m starving.”

And she couldn’t seem to draw in a normal breath. “The Luscious Lucius has the best waffles around.”

“Luscious,” he murmured softly. “Interesting name. Any other restaurants?”

“Sure. But Luscious is the best for breakfast. And lunch.”

“And dinner?”

“The Silver Dollar. I know the owner.”

“I’ll bet you know everyone in town.”

“Not quite, but close.” She didn’t know how they’d come to be standing so closely. She could smell the clean scent of soap on him and it was definitely affecting her thought processes. “Sort of comes with my dad being a minister at the largest church in town and my brother being the sheriff.” She swallowed and reached past him, pointing down the street. “Luscious is right over there. See the sign? It’s kind of small.”

He lifted the ends of her scarf and slowly looped them together. “It’s cold out.”

She nodded hesitantly. The truth was, her skin felt as though it was being melted from the inside. “If you miss the bus this morning, there’ll be another one late this afternoon. Tomorrow’s Saturday, though, and there’s only that last run until Monday.”

“I couldn’t care less what the bus schedule is, today or tomorrow.”

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

“Your brother wants me to leave.” His knuckles brushed her jaw as he tucked the soft red knit closely around her neck. “I want breakfast.”

She swallowed. “D-did you steal that car?”

He slowly shook his head. Just once. “I even plan to pay for my waffle.”

She couldn’t help smiling back when his lips tilted. “And you didn’t try to bribe Shane.”

“Your brother doesn’t strike me as a man who can be bought.”

“He isn’t.”

“Glad we’ve got that settled.” He glanced over his shoulder to watch a car creep down Main. It turned and parked in front of the café. “Somebody else going after those waffles, I suppose.” He took a step in that direction, then stopped and looked back at her. He lifted one eyebrow, his intensely blue eyes definitely amused. “Well? You coming or not?”

Chapter Three

She was right. The waffles at the Luscious Lucius Café were better than average.

Or maybe it was the company sitting across the table from him that made the waffles taste better than usual. Dane’s reason for being in Montana had nothing to do with pleasure, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Despite her questionable skills behind the wheel, Hadley Golightly was easy on the eyes, humorous and engaging, when she wasn’t busy being self-conscious, and did seem to know everyone in town.

Not a single person entered or left the café without exchanging some friendly greeting with her. He’d been introduced to more people in the past hour than he could have met had he advertised free money. Wood Tolliver had been introduced, anyway.

And Dane figured it was only a matter of time before the sheriff came along, set to hurry him on his way. Once the man had determined that the Shelby hadn’t been reported stolen, he’d had little reason to keep holding “Wood.” But he’d been clear that he wanted to see the back side of Dane, regardless.

It was a new sensation for him. Most people were happy to have Dane Rutherford in their midst. Came with the territory of running Rutherford Industries.

But Dane wasn’t in Montana on business.

This trip had been strictly personal.

Which was why he’d borrowed Wood’s name. Tolliver wasn’t likely to be recognized. Rutherford, however, was as common as Rockefeller.

And a Rutherford asking questions about new faces in town would draw speculation he didn’t need.

He nudged aside his plate and folded his arms on the table, watching Hadley. “You’ve told me all about Lucius. Tell me about you.”

Her eyes were as dark a brown as her hair. And now they widened a little. A hint of pink rode her cheeks, and he knew it was nature that had put it there, not cosmetics. “There’s nothing much to tell.”

“You have one brother who’s the sheriff and one brother who’s the mechanic.”

“Stu also has a ranch. Outside of town.” Her cheeks went a little more pink. “I was leaving there when I—”

“Was driving like a bat outta hell?”

She poked the tines of her fork into her waffle and nodded.

“And Wendell Pierce?”

Her eyes flickered. “What do you know about Wendell?”

“Your brother says you two are involved.”

Her jaw worked. She carefully set down the fork. “I can’t imagine why he’d say that.”

Dane could. Shane-the-sheriff didn’t like the way Dane looked at his kid sister.

He couldn’t really blame the guy for that, he supposed.

“Maybe I misunderstood,” he lied smoothly.

“I doubt it,” she muttered. Her brown gaze skipped around the café. Half the tables and all of the booths were occupied. Then she leaned forward. “They’re trying to marry me off,” she said abruptly. “I mean, do I look that pathetic to you?” She shook her head, and her hair rippled over the turtleneck she wore. It was a pretty, soft yellow. And at least a size too large.

“Never mind,” she hurried onward. “Don’t answer that. My ego can only take so much.”

Her ego should have been plenty healthy. Either the men in Lucius—excluding the apparently interested Wendell—were terminally stupid, or they were blind. And he figured that he’d been better off thinking she was already spoken for in the romance department.

He wasn’t in Montana for romance. Or for good old-fashioned lust, which was definitely a shame, because she certainly inspired that, even with her engulfing sweater.

Hardly a polite topic over breakfast dishes, though, and Dane had been schooled from way back about what was polite and what was not. Seemly behavior versus unseemly.

Not that he’d ever paid those lessons much heed.

“I have a sister,” he said truthfully. “Before she got married a while back I was guilty of derailing a few interested men that I didn’t think were good enough for her.”

“But that’s not what they’re doing.” She lifted her hands. “They’re trying to tie me to the tracks, because they know that nobody besides Wendell is interested.”

He couldn’t help smiling a little, she was so clearly irritated. Telling her that, where he was concerned, her thinking was completely off the mark would only lead to trouble, so he just reached for his mug and finished off his coffee.

She sat back in her chair again and finally set down the fork with which she’d been doing more waving than eating. “The accident was my fault,” she said. “You shouldn’t have to pay for your own damages. I have insurance.” Her expression was earnest. “And Stu may be a pain in my behind, but he’s really a whiz when it comes to fixing cars. He keeps this whole town running, pretty much. And he makes things so beautiful again. Or maybe you want to have your car hauled back to where you live in Indiana?”

He hadn’t spent more than five days straight in Indiana for the past decade, and he could have had an entire team come to Lucius to work on the car he’d picked up on Wood’s behalf if he’d wanted. “A whiz, huh?”

The shining ends of her hair bounced around the barely discernible thrust of her breasts when she nodded. “Honest.”

“Guess I’ll have to look into it, then.”

Her smile lit every portion of her face, including her eyes. Then she looked at her watch. “Oh, drat. I’ve got to go. I’ve been helping my dad out mornings for a few weeks at the church while his secretary is on vacation. If you’re going to be staying in town, let me know. I run Tiff’s. It’s the boardinghouse at the end of Main Street. Can’t miss the place.” She fumbled some cash out of her purse, dropped it on the table and had scurried out the door before he could get a word out.

Dane sat back in his chair once more and eyed her money.

He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been expected to pick up the check, no matter how large or small. And with the women he usually saw, the check had never involved waffles in a quaint café with a western-style front on a quiet street that saw maybe three cars an hour.

The busy waitress—Bethany, according to her hand-printed nametag—came by with the coffee pot, and he slid his mug toward her. She filled it, offered a distracted smile and headed on to the next table. The people at the tables around him discussed everything from the uncommonly cold weather, to politics, to who was apparently sleeping with whom. And they acted as if he had every reason to be included.

Even though he’d spent the night in a jail cell, now he’d been introduced by Hadley Golightly. Apparently that was enough. It also made her glad he hadn’t pulled any strings to get out of jail from the get-go. He was nothing more than a guy passing through.

Eventually Dane finished off the coffee. More in hopes that it would help the throbbing in his head than anything. The morning crowd had thinned and he pocketed Hadley’s cash and paid the full bill himself. Then he walked down to Golightly Garage and Auto Body. The Shelby had been moved from the tow truck and was parked in front of an open bay.

For a moment Dane let himself suck in the stink of tires and grease. It had been a long time.

Too long.

He shook off the thought with regrettably practiced ease and walked forward when the man circling the car with a clipboard in his hand noticed him.

The other man lifted a square palm and settled his Green Bay Packers ball cap a few inches back on his blond head. “You Tolliver?”

Dane nodded. The other man stepped forward, hand extended and they shook. “Stu Golightly.” He gestured at the car with his other hand, which was encased in a ragged cast. “Damn, but this is a pure shame. Guess you met my little sister, Had, eh?”

Hadley had told him over breakfast that Shane and Stu were twins, but aside from their general size—extra large—there was little resemblance. “She tells me you’re a whiz.”

Stu grinned, apparently as friendly as his brother was not. “I am, but I ’spect you’ll have someone you prefer to work on her.”

He did. But that didn’t serve his purposes at all.

He went around and pried open the passenger door wide enough to pull his leather duffel from where it was wedged behind the seat, along with the driver’s license he’d stashed in a tight fold of leather upholstery the day before when the ambulance had arrived. He stuck the license in his pocket and backed out of the car.

“Write up the estimate,” he told the man, “and call me. I assume you know the number at Tiff’s.”

Stu’s friendly expression chilled. Seemed he was more like his brother than Dane had thought. “You’re staying at Tiff’s?”

Dane nodded and walked away before the man could say more. Judging by that expression, Stu would have the repairs done on the Shelby in record time. The guy may have been happy to work on the rare car, but his enthusiasm evidently didn’t extend to the idea of Dane taking a room at his sister’s boardinghouse.

By the time he’d walked the length of Main Street, Dane had a renewed appreciation for warmer climates. Not that it didn’t get cold in Seattle or Louisville, where he had homes. But it was nothing compared to the chip of ice Lucius occupied.

Fortunately, Tiff’s was just as Hadley had described. The Victorian looked perfectly maintained with its curlicues and lace. But it was painted in pink and green, resulting in what was about the most god-awful color combination Dane had ever seen.

He went up the front steps. As long as it was warm inside, he didn’t much care if there were naked ladies painted on the outside. The door was unlocked and he went in, not entirely sure what to expect. He was used to staying in five-star hotels. Not Podunk-town boarding houses.

The door opened directly on to a wide hall with several doorways leading off it. The floor was carpeted in a pale pink as ugly as the exterior paint, and a narrow tapestry carpet runner stretched along the length of it. Looking straight back, beyond the dark-wood staircase tucked against the wall, he could see what was obviously a kitchen.

And the painstaking piano music coming from one of the rooms off the central hall seemed completely in place.

“Hi.” A very pregnant young blonde walked by, an enormous cereal bowl in her hand. “You must be the new guest.”

Why not? He nodded, and the woman pointed up the stairs. “All the way up the stairs. Two flights. Tower room. You’re lucky. You’ll have your own bathroom.” Then she padded, barefoot, out of sight again.

He went up the stairs to the first landing, glanced down the hall at the collection of doors—mostly closed, and went up the second flight. There was only one room at the top and he went inside, closing the door behind him.

There were windows on three sides of the room. All were covered with filmy white curtains, and Dane tugged aside one set to look out on a wide expanse of snow punctuated periodically by winter-nude trees. In the distance he could see the thin, glittering ribbon of a stream backed by a row of evergreens.

He shrugged out of his coat and retrieved his cell phone from his duffel. As soon as he turned it on, it beeped with messages. He ignored them and dialed his sister. She answered after only a few rings.

Dane didn’t waste time. “How is he?”

“Stable for now,” Darby answered.

“Still unconscious?”

“Yes.”

Dane stifled an oath. “Is Felicia there?”

Darby laughed a little at that. “Are you kidding? Our mother doesn’t do hospitals, you know that. Not even for our dad. She’s staying at the house, though.”

“If Roth knew she was staying under his roof, he’d probably have another heart attack,” he said. Once Roth and Felicia Rutherford divorced, they’d never had another kind word to say about the other.

More than twenty years ago, yet neither one of his parents had managed to move on.

He gingerly rubbed the pain in his forehead and turned away from the view.

He was a fine one to judge others about moving on.

“Call me on my cell if anything changes.”

Darby promised to do so and hung up. She’d never have bought it if he’d claimed to be taking a vacation and it had been easy enough to convince her he was in Montana on business. Her interest in Rutherford Industries had always been minimal, and since she now lived in Minnesota with her husband, the five kids he’d come with plus the one they’d had together, that interest had decreased even further.

Only, now Darby was back in Louisville, staying by Roth’s hospital bedside. He knew she didn’t approve of him being absent right now even if she understood it to be business. But it was better if she didn’t know Dane’s real reason.

His sister had been through enough when it came to Dane’s quarry. Alan Michaels had kidnapped and tormented her when she was a child. He had no intention of telling her that the man was at large again. Hell, Roth had suffered a heart attack the same day he’d learned it.

Dane looked around the room. It wasn’t going to win any awards for spacious design, but it had the necessities and was appealing in a comfortable sort of way with its clean, light looks. The bed was wide enough, covered by a quilt that he figured was handmade, and there was a narrow desk and chair beneath the set of windows that overlooked the street.

He ached from head to toe and the bed looked inviting, but he had work to do. So he sat down in the chair and dealt with the phone messages. He called Wood and broke the news about the car. His friend mostly groaned. But since Wood already had three other Shelbys in his collection, he could afford the luxury of being patient for the repairs. Then Dane called Mandy Manning. The message he left on her voice mail was brief.

“I’m in Lucius. Call me.”

* * *

“I’m late, I’m late for a very important date.” The words echoed inside Hadley’s head as she hurried up the steps of Tiff’s. She’d spent an hour longer than she’d intended at the church, and had still had to stop off at the grocery store before going home.

Since sharing a table at Luscious with Wood Tolliver that morning, it’d taken her twice as long to accomplish everything she’d attempted, because her thoughts kept straying into foolish directions.

She’d mangled his car and that was that. She didn’t figure a man would be likely to overlook that particular detail.

She maneuvered the front door open with her two free fingertips, worked a foot inside, followed by her thigh, then hip.

“Here.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Wood seemed to appear out of nowhere on the step beside her, his hands easily plucking three of the bulky canvas bags out of her hands.

“Where do you want them?”

“Kitchen,” she said faintly. He was polite enough not to mention her gaping expression, and she was grateful for it.

He pushed open the door the rest of the way for her and waited. She could feel cold air rushing past her and she hurriedly closed her mouth and went inside.

He followed her into the kitchen and set his bags on the counter next to hers. Then she tried not to gape all over again when he tossed his jacket on the counter and—as if he’d been doing it for years—poured himself a mug of coffee. Well, she tried and failed, anyway, and managed to shake her head when he held up the mug, offering it to her first before lifting it to his own lips.

“You look surprised,” he said after a moment. He leaned his hip against the counter and smiled faintly. “Is it me drinking your coffee, or is it just me?”

Her oversize white mugs were eclipsed by his long fingers. His nails were clipped short and neat and she couldn’t imagine there ever being grease or dirt beneath them. He’d also changed out of the borrowed shirt, she noticed, and the gray one he now wore made his blue eyes seem less piercing but no less… arresting.

“I am,” she admitted belatedly. “Surprised you’re here, I mean.” The Lucius grapevine must have had a temporary power outage.

“Should I have gone elsewhere? You’re the one who suggested it.”

She had, in a minor fit of madness even though she’d never believed he would take her up on it. “The Lucius Inn might be more to your liking. They have room service, and satellite television and—”

“Now you’re making me feel unwelcome.”

“No!” Dismayed, her fingers crumpled the canvas bag she’d been unpacking. “I didn’t mean that at all. Of course you’re welcome here. It’s the least I can do. But, I just—”

“Hadley.”

“What?”

He set his mug down and leaned his arms on the

counter until his face was only a foot from hers. “I was kidding.”

She could see those small scars near his eye again. “Oh. Right.”

His mouth kicked up a little on one side and after a moment he straightened again, picking up the mug. “Got a lot of stuff there. Thought you were helping out your dad at his church this morning.”

She swallowed and diligently focused again on unpacking her purchases. “I was. I did. Then I went shopping.” Nothing like stating the obvious, Hadley. Her face felt hot. “I have another guest coming in this afternoon. She actually made the reservation a few weeks ago, which is pretty unusual for me. So I wanted to make it particularly special for her.”

Wood lifted a tissue-wrapped bundle of wild flowers from the smallest bag. “Nice.” He tipped the bundle toward his nose, smelling them. “You buy flowers for all your guests?”

Feeling like the biggest ninny on the planet, she cautiously slipped them out of his hand. “Not for the regulars.” If she were one of her characters that she wrote about, she’d have flirted outrageously with the man and had him falling over himself to win her heart.

Instead she retrieved a crystal vase from the breakfront and filled it with water, wishing that she could control the heat that filled her cheeks whenever she glanced his way.

He had to move out of her way for her to reach the sink, which he did, but not enough, and standing so near to him made her breath feel woefully short.

“Tiff’s used to really be a bed and breakfast, but since I’ve taken over we’ve become more of a boardinghouse.” She turned off the water and reached for the flowers again.

“Who ran it before you?”

“My mother, Holly.”

His eyebrows rose. “Holly. Golightly.”

His surprise was toned down more than the usual disbelief she’d heard most of her life and she found herself smiling a little. “I know. And, yes, her favorite movie was Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Audrey Hepburn. Mom wasn’t anything like the character Holly Golightly, though. Well, other than being a survivor.” She arranged the flowers and stepped back to study them.

“Pretty,” he murmured.

She nodded, her eyes still on the flowers.

“What happened to her?”

Hadley sighed a little. “She died when I was twenty. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

Funnily enough, she had the sense the words weren’t merely a platitude. She looked up at him and he wasn’t looking at the flowers, at all. “We all were.” And even though there were days she missed her mother with a physical ache, she’d lived through the worst of her grief and could think about her without wanting to dissolve.

She set the flowers safely to one side and returned to unpacking the rest of her purchases. Any minute he’d probably get bored and leave the room. “What about your parents?” she asked quickly, before she lost her nerve.

“Divorced a long time ago.”

She paused, caught by something in his expression that she couldn’t have defined had she tried. “That must have been hard,” she said quietly.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Be glad you never had to live through your own parents going to war.”

Hadley’s fingers tightened around a fresh tomato. She set it down before she punctured the skin. The war between her mother and natural father had gone on before she’d been born. Beau Golightly was her stepfather. “So.” She took a cheerful note. “What’s the word on your car?”

“Your brother is working up the estimate.”

“He’ll be fair. And not just in deference to my insurance rates that are undoubtedly going to go up again.”

“Again?”

She shrugged and smiled ruefully. What was the point in being offended over the simple truth? She folded the emptied canvas bags and stacked them beneath the sink. “We both know I’m not going to win any driving awards.” She straightened and brushed her hands down her slacks.

Maybe if she focused on the business at hand, she would prove she wasn’t inept in that area, at least. “We need to get you settled in a room, then. Can’t have you just hovering around the downstairs rooms with no place of your own.”

Joanie Adams padded into the kitchen, the ever-present cereal bowl in her young hand. “No sweat,

Had,” she said, obviously overhearing Hadley’s comment. “I told him to go up to the tower room. He’s the one you were expecting, right?”

Hadley’s smile wilted a little. Joanie had her heart in the right place. “Actually, he isn’t.”

Joanie’s sweet face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Hadley waved her hands. “Don’t be silly. I should have been here when Mr. Tolliver arrived. It’ll all be fine.”

“I’m not choosy,” Wood murmured. “As long as there’s a bed.”

But Joanie still looked troubled. Fat tears filled her blue eyes. “I was only trying to help.”

Hadley tucked her arm through Joanie’s, leading her from the kitchen. She knew from experience that once Joanie started the waterworks, it only got worse from there. “I know you were,” she soothed. “Truly, Joanie. It’s fine. No harm done.” She snuck an apologetic look over her shoulder at Wood as she herded Joanie back to her room. If he thought Joanie’s reaction extreme, it didn’t show on his face.

The man was proving to have the patience of Job.

The only other person she knew personally with that kind of patience was her stepfather, Beau.

By the time Hadley had opened a fresh box of tissues and Joanie’s wailing had ceased, Hadley wanted nothing more than to sit down with a good book and put up her feet. But lunch needed to be prepared, and she had to move Wood out of the tower and into the only other room she had prepared for guests.

Mrs. Ardelle was banging away on the piano keys, and Hadley stuck her head in the parlor, meaning to yell hello over the notes.

Wood sat on the bench beside the white-haired woman, holding the pages of the sheet music in place.

Hadley hovered, unnoticed in the doorway until Mrs. Ardelle finished with a flourish and dimpled at Wood. “Do you play?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Badly. Blame six years of enforced lessons. No—” he waved Mrs. Ardelle back in place on the bench when she made to move so he could take her spot “—you keep playing. My ego would roll over and die if I made an attempt at it.”

Mrs. Ardelle laughed gaily, clearly taken with Wood’s deprecatory drawl. Hadley smiled herself as she tiptoed back to the kitchen without disturbing the two.

Fortunately, lunch was easy, requiring little of her thoughts, which were definitely preoccupied again with her unexpected guest. Chicken salad, broccoli soup and pecan tarts. When everything was ready she set it all out on the buffet in the dining room using special containers that would keep the dishes hot or cold, and rang the dinner bell. They’d come by and eat when it suited them over the next hour.

Wood escorted Mrs. Ardelle into the dining room before Hadley escaped to spend her lunchtime as she usually did—squirreled away in her room for an uninterrupted hour of writing. But she surprised everyone, including herself, by fixing herself a serving and sitting down at the table.

Mrs. Ardelle’s bright eyes skipped from Wood to her as she chattered about the latest gossip going around Lucius, and Hadley had the suspicion that she’d just given the elderly woman a new topic to gossip about.

The presence of Wood Tolliver at Tiff’s.

Vince Jeffries ambled in. Next to Wood, who didn’t really count, Vince was her newest boarder. Typically quiet, the thirty-something balding man sat at the end of the table, barely nodding a greeting at the rest. Even Joanie came in after a fashion, keeping a wide berth between herself and Wood, as if he had been barking at her for the room mix-up when nothing could have been further from the truth.

Hadley couldn’t help wondering what he thought of his lunch companions and was no closer to a conclusion when the pecan tarts had all been eaten and the dining room was clear again, save the dirty dishes, her and Wood.

She tried waving him back when he began helping her clear the table, but he paid no heed, and in less than half the time it usually took, she had the dining room restored to order and the kitchen sink was full of soapy water.

“A lot of service you’re providing for a boardinghouse,” Wood observed.

She gave up protesting his help. The man seemed set on it regardless of what she said. “You’re pretty determined to do whatever you want, aren’t you?” She looked pointedly at the dish towel he’d picked up.

“Pretty much,” he allowed smoothly.

She smiled despite herself and shoved her hands back in the hot, soapy water. “So, what do you do back in Indiana?”

He dried a plate and carefully stacked it on top of the others. “This and that. What time is your special guest coming this afternoon?”

Hadley glanced up at the clock, dismayed to see how quickly the time was slipping past. “A few hours yet. She said to expect her around four. She’s coming up from Wyoming.”

He lifted his eyebrows at that, and Hadley shrugged. “From one snowy place to another. I know. But it’s business, and believe me, if I turn it away, I’ll hear about it from my sister, Evie. She’s on my case enough as it is for being too, well, too—”

“Soft?”

She looked sideways at him and felt her heart skid around in her chest again when their gazes met. “Yes.”

Steely blue roved over her and she felt it like a physical thing. “Soft isn’t necessarily bad,” he murmured.

Her face felt warm, and blaming it on the sudsy water would be an outright lie. “Well.” Her voice was even more breathless. “It is when the profit margin around here is as minimal as it is. She’d have this place listed on one of those Best of shows on television, if she were in charge, and never let any rooms go empty for long.”

He slipped the forgotten plate out of her fingers and ran it through the rinse water. “But you don’t run Tiff’s for the profit, do you.”

She blinked, trying to gather her scattered wits, few as they seemed. “When my mother died, my father and brothers wanted me to take over Tiff’s. Nobody could bear to sell it off. Evie was already married with her own responsibilities, and there was nobody left but me.”

“And what did you want?”

“To run Tiff’s, of course,” she said after a tiny hesitation that she assured herself wasn’t noticeable.

He looked back at the dishes he was drying, and she had to resist the impulse to gasp in a breath of air. The man had a serious impact on people. She wondered if he knew.

From beneath her lowered lashes, she watched his movements. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his casual shirt to his elbows and she might not know the names of the latest Paris designers, but she did know silk when she saw it. And the heavy watch circling his corded brown wrist looked like something that never needed an advertisement.

Who was she kidding? Of course he knew his own effect.

“So what’s Joanie’s problem?” he whispered.

Hadley’s tone turned tart. “Other than being eight months pregnant by a good-for-nothing liar who made sure he beat down whatever self-confidence she had left after her father had already stomped out most of it?”

Then, because she was in no mood to let Joanie’s ex-boyfriend sour her afternoon, she shook her head and grabbed the last of the bowls. “Sorry. I just cannot abide liars. Anyway, you certainly charmed

Mrs. Ardelle. I haven’t seen her smile so much since she moved in here last year after her husband passed away.”

Dane listened to Hadley’s determinedly cheerful voice. She couldn’t abide liars. Ordinarily he’d have said the same. “And Vince Jeffries?”

“He’s been here a few months. He’s looking for work.”

“You take in strays.”

Her head swiveled around to look at him, her soft lips parted.

Soft-looking lips. Soft woman.

His fingers strangled the dish towel for a minute. Had it not been for Marlene, the Rutherford family housekeeper, he wouldn’t have known one towel from another, much less what to do with it around a pile of dishes. But Marlene hadn’t cared that he was Roth Rutherford’s heir and had assigned chores whenever it suited her.

“Everybody needs a place to call home,” Hadley said after a moment. With a quick jerk, she pulled the plug and the soapy water gurgled down the drain. “If Tiff’s provides that, then I’m happy.” She wiped down the counters, rinsed her hands and plucked the dish towel out of Dane’s hands. She stood close enough that he could smell the fragrance of her shampoo. It was clean and soft.

Just like she was.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll get you settled in your new room.”

There was a touch of huskiness in her voice that he was smart enough to take as a warning. She might be useful for his purposes right now, but he didn’t tangle with innocent women.

They were too easily hurt.

He nodded and followed her past the staircase and around to the far side of the house. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share a bathroom,” she said as she pushed open a door and went inside. She picked up an old-fashioned key from the dresser and handed it to him as he entered. “And believe me, considering how nice you’ve been about the accident and all, I’d be happy to keep you in the tower, but—”

“I’m no Rapunzel,” he murmured.

She flushed a little, glancing at his hair. “Prince Charming, maybe.” Then she flushed even brighter. “You’ll be warmer down here, so that’s one advantage. Did you have any luggage?” Her words came so fast they nearly tumbled over each other.

“A duffel. I’ll move it right now. I didn’t unpack or anything up there, so you shouldn’t have to do much to get ready for your other guest.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she assured him quickly as she stepped back into the hall. As if she weren’t comfortable being in his room while he was in it, too. “Except for the regulars, I change the sheets and towels and stuff around here. One more doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

It wasn’t smart of him to think of Hadley and bed sheets. Not when the conceivable reasons for that combination dragged at him in a painfully tantalizing way.

He looked over her head at the door adjacent to his. “That the bathroom?”

She slid her foot backward, putting even more inches between them. It amused him. And relieved him from having to do it himself.

“No, actually.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, but the rich brown strands fell forward again almost as quickly. “It’s my bedroom. The bathroom we’ll be sharing is between the rooms.” She ducked her head and mumbled an excuse before darting up the hallway. Seconds later he heard a phone ring somewhere in the house, only to be quickly answered.

He eyed the two doors.

Too close together.

Dane scrubbed his hand down his face. Christ.

He was in Montana to settle a score that—in his opinion—could never be settled enough. He didn’t have time for distractions.

No matter how beautifully she filled a pair of snug jeans.

Chapter Four

Stu Golightly didn’t just phone with the estimate for the repairs to Dane’s car. He brought it by himself that evening during dinner. When the man shook his head at Hadley’s invitation to stay and eat, Dane excused himself from the dining room table and followed Stu from the room.

The other man didn’t stop until he reached the front door, and then he looked as if he’d have preferred to shove Dane through it, than discuss the estimate.

Dane didn’t particularly begrudge Stu his attitude any more than he did Shane’s. He knew what it was like to feel protective. After all, he was in Montana in the first place because of that very trait. So he looked down the detailed list. “You can get a better deal on the parts. By ten percent, at least.”

Stu visibly bristled. “I don’t pad my charges.”

“I didn’t say otherwise. Call—” Damn, he very nearly said Wood Tolliver, and blamed his unusual distractedness on the pain in his head, rather than the brunette who’d been the cause of it. “Call RTM out of Indianapolis. I’ve done a lot of work with them.”

Stu’s gaze narrowed, obviously recognizing the name of the company. “They’re pretty high end.”

R & T Motor works was high end. It was also the business Dane and Wood started when they were in college and making names for themselves on the circuit. Wood may have been in charge of the day-today operations for years, now, but Dane still kept his hand in.

Some days he thought it was one of the few ways he stayed sane—focusing on something that wasn’t part of Rutherford Industries. “Ask for Stephanie,” he said. “I’ll let her know to expect your call. If she doesn’t beat your prices, don’t use RTM. Simple enough.”

The man looked as if he was trying to come up with an argument. In the end he nodded and settled his ball cap back on his head. “Tell Had that she needs to fill in for Riva on Monday morning.” He stepped out the door, hurriedly closing it against the cold evening air.

Dane slowly folded the estimate, tucked it in his pocket and returned to the dining room.

Mrs. Ardelle was chattering away again. The woman never seemed to run out of things to say. In a way she reminded him of Marlene. The new guest, Nikki Day, had arrived shortly before dinner. The auburn-haired newcomer was beautiful and well dressed and probably about Hadley’s age, he guessed. She was also pregnant, though not as far along as Joanie. Nikki sat beside her, and he gave the new guest credit for getting Joanie to lighten up enough to actually smile a little. Vince was nowhere to be seen.

Dane sat down again. He was sitting across from Hadley. Suited him. The view of her was as fine as her cooking. “Your brother said Riva needs you to work for her on Monday morning.”

She immediately nodded her head.

“Thought you said you’d be filling in at your dad’s church in the mornings for a while.”

“Right.” She passed a platter of roast beef to Joanie, murmuring that the girl needed to eat more protein. “I’ll just have to do a few hours at the garage, then a few hours at the church. Hopefully, it won’t inconvenience either one of them too much.”

Dane wondered if her father or brother had ever considered whether she’d be inconvenienced. Not that any of it was his business anyway. He deliberately focused on his meal, letting the various conversations roll over him.

“Wood Tolliver,” Mrs. Ardelle said. “The more I think about it, the more that name seems familiar to me, somehow.”

Dane smiled noncommittally. Unless she had some insight into the world of custom racing, she wouldn’t have been likely to have heard of Wood Tolliver. “Tolliver isn’t an unusual name.”

Joanie snorted a little at that. “Please. It’s not like people call you Bob Smith.”

Hadley laughed. Dane looked across at her, smiling despite himself. “I’m not the one with the unusual name,” he said. “Not compared to Ms. Golightly here.”

“And your mother’s name was really Holly?” Nikki Day asked, resting her elbows delicately on the edge of the table. “My, um, I had a friend whose parents stayed here at Tiff’s for their wedding night,” she explained. “Your mother had just recently opened for business. They were charmed by her.”

“Most people were,” Hadley agreed. Her gaze flicked to Dane, then she pushed back from the table. “Dessert coming up.”

Dane immediately rose to assist her. She looked ready to protest, but obviously had learned her lesson from earlier that day. In the kitchen she arranged the dessert plates on an enormous silver tray and settled pretty crystal cups of chocolate mousse on them.

Marlene couldn’t have done better herself, and he knew she’d studied way back when in France. “Your mom teach you to cook?”

Hadley nodded. “And I read cookbooks and stuff. A lot.” She grinned, a quick, mischievous little grin that snuck down inside him and plucked hard.

He picked up the heavy tray and jerked his head toward the dining room. “Don’t know when you have the time,” he said hoping his bluntness would dull the sharp desire he suddenly felt. “Considering how you’re always helping out someone else.”

She just lifted her shoulders and pushed open the swinging door to the dining room. “They’re my family,” she said simply.

Dane exhaled and followed her. He loved his sister fiercely. And he loved his mother, though he freely admitted that she was an acquired taste. He loved his stubborn-ass father, too, though Roth had only ever been proud of Dane for the work he’d done at Rutherford Industries.

But he could hardly fathom the simple acceptance that Hadley exhibited.

After dinner Mrs. Ardelle headed for the piano and everyone else headed for their rooms. Dane had plenty of calls stacking up on his voice mail to take care of, but when Hadley pulled on an ancient-looking flannel coat and gloves and said she was going out for a load of wood, he went after her.

“You need to learn the art of relaxing.” He yanked on his jacket as he caught up to her in the rear of the house.

She jerked, dropping the split logs she’d selected and pressed her gloved hand to her chest as she turned to see him. “Well, you know what they say. No rest for the wicked. Or something like that.”

He snorted softly and picked up the wood she’d dropped. “If there’s anything wicked about you, I’ll eat this wood.”

Her shoulders heaved a little and she leaned over, picking up more logs. “That’s kind of my problem, if the truth be known. Everyone in this town knows me.”

He was counting on it. “And the problem in that is what? Wait. Stack those logs on top of mine. You don’t need to carry in the wood yourself.”

It was too dark to see her expression, but he felt the amusement in her smile, nonetheless. “If I don’t, who will?”

He hefted the logs a little higher in his arms. “Hello?”

He could hear bewilderment in her soft laughter. “You’re much too nice to me, given the situation,” she said.

“Then go out with me.”

She bobbled the logs in her arms again, but saved them from falling. “I… excuse me?”

“You need to learn how to relax. I know how to relax. I will teach you how to relax. Over a drink. There’s gotta be a watering hole in this town somewhere.” He knew of one, quite specifically.

“Several, but—”

“It’s just a drink, Hadley. Your virtue is safe.”

She turned away, muttering something under her breath.

“What was that?”

Her shoulders lifted, then fell. She turned around to face him again. “I said that was a pity,” she blurted. “If I were less virtuous, then maybe Wendell wouldn’t be so anxious to fall in with my brothers’ plans for me. He’s called me four times just this afternoon. Four times! The man doesn’t know how to take no for an answer any more than Shane or Stu.”

“So tell them all you’re not interested. Nobody can force you to go out with someone you don’t want to go out with.”

“Go out with? Oh, believe me. If that were only as far as it goes. I told you before. They want to marry me off, and Wendell Pierce is the intended groom.” She shook her head and her dark hair bounced, gleaming in the moonlight. “Wendell knows me from way back. He knows I’m settled and quiet and, and uninteresting!”

“You settled and quiet?” He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Sweetness, you drive like a bat outta hell, and you have more energy than a swarm of ants.”

She eyed him. “Gosh. Flattery indeed.” Then, as if she regretted the impulsive words, she ducked her chin and hurried toward the house. Dust and bits of wood rained down from her armload as she went.

Dane was an expert in negotiations. He ran a billion-dollar corporation. He could sure as hell manage not to offend one twenty-something small-town girl, couldn’t he?

He found Hadley inside, stacking her wood in the iron bin in one corner of the long kitchen. He crouched down beside her and began unloading his own burden. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

She dusted her hands together and pushed to her feet, putting distance between them, and he regretted that. It was painfully obvious that—between her spurts of tart humor—he made her nervous.

“What kind of deal?” Her tone was suspicious enough that had her brothers heard it, they’d have applauded.

“I’m going to be stuck in this town for a while. You introduce me around, and if your Wendell gets the wrong idea about you in the process, we’ll both be happy.”

“Introduce you around to whom? Women?” Her lips twisted. “A man who looks like you doesn’t need introductions from me.” Rosy color filled her cheeks.

It wasn’t like him to be sidetracked by anyone, much less a blushing young brunette. “But then Wendell wouldn’t get word that your interests might lie elsewhere,” he pointed out. “And I didn’t say anything about introducing me to other women.”

Her eyebrows skyrocketed. “You want me to introduce you to men?”

He exhaled, torn between laughter and aggravation. “People,” he clarified. “Just people. Come on, Hadley. I’m a sociable guy.” He felt an unexpected pang of conscience at that particularly bald-faced lie. He knew the social games that went along with his place as CEO of Rutherford Industries, but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed them. “It’ll help pass the time while my car’s getting fixed. You remember the car, right?”

Remorse filled her eyes. “I’m not likely to forget,” she assured.

“Well then.” He rose, too, and stepped closer to her. She held her stance, which was surprising, but good. “We go out. Have a few drinks.” To please no one but himself, he drew a long lock of hair away from her face and settled it against her wood-dusted flannel shoulder.

Her hair felt just as silky as it looked, and it took more effort than it should have to move his hand away.

“But… but aren’t you tired? You were in an accident yesterday, for pity’s sake. You surely don’t want to be going out.”

“I don’t offer to do things if I don’t want to. Agree. You learn how to relax,” he murmured. “I meet some new people. And maybe your problem with Wendell will solve itself.”

Her eyes were impossibly wide. “You talk people into doing lots of things, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Now that was true. Only person he’d never been able to talk into something was Roth.

She exhaled. “I suppose we could go to the Tipped Barrel. It’s fairly popular with some people.”

The Tipped Barrel was exactly where he wanted to go, only he’d intended to go there alone until Hadley began bemoaning her small difficulty with Wendell.

“And you?”

“Oh, I’ve never been there. Never been to any bar in my entire life, for that matter. When people see me there, they’ll be certain you’re corrupting me.” A glint sparked in her eyes and she smiled suddenly. Brilliantly. “Okay. I’ll do it. Let’s go.”

“You don’t want to change clothes or anything?”

Her enthusiasm visibly faltered and he felt like kicking himself when she looked down at herself. “Right,” she muttered. “Of course. How silly of—”

He caught her chin in his fingers and lifted. “You don’t need to change,” he said gruffly. He figured he wouldn’t win any awards by telling her he was used to dealing with far more high-maintenance women. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

She didn’t look convinced. And standing there touching her face—satin smooth and velvet soft and, if he wasn’t mistaken, completely devoid of artifice—wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life. Because he definitely wasn’t soft. At all.

He lowered his hand. “It’s cold out. Do you want to get a warmer coat?”

Hadley nodded. She would probably never have an opportunity like this again. To dissuade Wendell by his own choice without her ever having to tell him she had absolutely no interest in him and hurting his poor feelings. “We’ll, um, need to walk,” she reminded him, ignoring the little voice inside her head that mocked her for not admitting that the appeal here had nothing whatsoever to do with Wendell. “Are you sure you want—”

“Get your coat, Hadley.”

She didn’t wait around for Wood to come to his senses and change his mind. She went and got her coat.

And if she ran a brush through her hair and spritzed on a little perfume that Evie had given her for Christmas to compensate for the sexless bulky parka she donned, then only she had to know.

Wood was waiting by the front door in his leather jacket.

Her steps faltered. She might be warmer, but he wouldn’t be. “You need a coat, too.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll be fine.”

“We could stop by Shane’s and borrow one.”

“And give the good sheriff a chance to talk you out of this?” Wood opened the door and nudged her through. “Don’t think so.”

He had a point. She snatched the black muffler from her own neck though, and held it out to him. “At least use this. If you end up catching pneumonia or something, I’d never forgive myself.”

He took the long scarf and looped it around his neck. “Satisfied?”

“I would be if you had gloves, too.”

He smiled and grabbed her hand, then tucked them both, her mitten and all, in his pocket. “This’ll do.”

She gulped a little, and concentrated hard on not falling down the steps beside him.

The night was clear, the dark sky studded with stars, easily visible despite the glow of the streetlights as they walked toward town. Hadley gathered herself enough to point out different places as they walked. “That’s church row.” She gestured to a tree-lined turnoff. “My dad’s church—Lucius Community—and two others are on that street. It’s really called Poplar Avenue, but with the town’s only churches located there…” She shrugged. Even through her mitten she could feel the warmth of his long fingers wrapped around hers. The sensation was causing her to babble.

“Is there a hospital here?”

“A very small one. And we seem to have enough doctors and dentists to serve the town, fortunately. We even have a chiropractor.” She eyed him. “Stu got laid up a while back after he tangled with an ornery cow. Up to then, he’d never been to a chiropractor in his life. Now he’s a believer, though. I can give you his number if you’re sore from the accident.”

“I’m surviving,” he assured.

“But how does your forehead feel?”

His gaze slanted her way. “Like it tried to go through a windshield.”

She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”

His fingers squeezed hers a little. “Forget it.”

But, of course, she couldn’t. Their accident was the sole reason he was stuck in Lucius, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Just because he’d chosen to pass the time helping her out of her situation with Wendell didn’t change anything, other than to prove what a really nice man he was.

They passed the sheriff’s office. The windows were dark. Shane was undoubtedly working on the house at the edge of town that he’d been building himself. In contrast, when they reached it, the Tipped Barrel was lit up like the Fourth of July. There was a spill of vehicles parked in front of the lively tavern. Her feet dragged to a halt, though, when she recognized one of them.

“What’s wrong?”

Hadley wished she could pretend she hadn’t seen her brother-in-law’s truck. “My sister’s husband is in there,” she said after a moment.

“Judging by the number of cars, it looks like half the county is in there. Popular like you said.”

“Yes.” She tugged her hand out of the warm safety of his pocket. “The last time Charlie went to the Tipped Barrel, he got in a bar fight. My sister and he are still paying off the damages. He’s not supposed to come here, at all.”

“Then call your brother. He’s the sheriff.”

Hadley started through the parking lot. “He is, and he’d probably have to lock Charlie up, and Charlie would lose his job, and Evie and my niece and nephews would be the ones to suffer the consequences. It’ll have to be me. I’ll just see you back at Tiff’s.

He snorted, and caught her arm. “Whoa. Hold on. You think I’m going to let you go in there on your own? You’ve never been in a bar, remember? What was your brother-in-law fighting about?”

“Who knows? If he was drinking, and why else would he have gone there—” she pointed accusingly at the tavern “—other than to drink? Then he wouldn’t need much reason. He’s not really pleasant when he drinks.”

“And your sister stays with him because he’s a great guy when he’s not drinking?”

Hadley sighed. She stepped around a pile of slushy mud. “I really wish you’d go back to Tiff’s.”

“Why?”

She stopped. Flopped her hands to her sides. “Because this is embarrassing, okay? You’re a nice guy, and there is probably nothing but trouble waiting inside that place. I’m not going to… to relax, and you’re not going to meet anyone but Charlie,’ cause I can’t let him stay in there! I think I’ve caused you enough problems. For heaven’s sake, the last thing you should concern yourself with is my problems with my brothers and Wendell Pierce or Charlie

Beckett.”

“How old are you?”

She faltered. “What? I’m twenty-seven. And no, you don’t have to tell me how pathetic it is that I’ve never been into a bar at my age.”

“Your concern for me is commendable but unnecessary,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve got ten years on you, sweetness, and a lifetime of managing my own way. If you’re foolish enough to think I’ll let you go in there to deal with your brother-in-law alone, then you’re not as bright as I thought.”

“I wish we’d never come out tonight,” she muttered. “Well fine, Mr. In-Control, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She marched toward the entrance, not daring to think beyond getting through the front door.

Wood closed his hand over the back of her neck as they went inside. Instead of shivering from the contact, though, she found it comforting.

A couple Hadley had never seen before brushed against them as they hurried out the door, and Wood stepped even closer to her. She could feel the steadiness of him all down her spine, and it gave her enough courage to stop praying that Charlie wouldn’t be inside after all and to start looking around for him.

There was a long, dark bar across the rear of the room. Smoke hung in the red-tinted air, and music blasted from the live group playing on a raised platform, not entirely disguising the clink of balls on the collection of pool tables or the voices from the people bellied up to the bar.

Wood lowered his head next to hers. “Do you see him?”

His cheek had brushed against hers, a hint of rasp in the contact. She shivered inside her coat. “No. I can’t believe how many people are here.”

“Friday night,” Wood dismissed. “Maybe he’s at one of the tables.” Even as he spoke, he was moving forward. Hadley moved with him. They skirted the pool tables. Four in all, and all being used.

“What’s he look like?” His cheek rasped against hers again.

How quickly her thoughts could scramble. She focused with an effort. The cigarette smoke was nearly choking her. “Shorter than you. Medium-brown hair. Kind of a husky build. I can’t believe Charlie would come here again after—” She jumped when the smash of glass sounded nearby.

She’d barely had time to look in the direction of the fracas before she found herself firmly tucked behind Wood, his hand unrelentingly strong on hers as he held her there.

She peered around his wide shoulder to see three men scuffling near the bar, and sagged against Wood with relief. None of them were Charlie.

“Had? What the hell you doing here?”

She whirled around and nearly yanked her arm out of her socket thanks to Wood’s grip. “Charlie.” She tugged at Wood and he turned with her. “I could ask the same thing of you. Does Evie know you’re here?”

Charlie made a face and lifted his drink. “What makes you think she’d care? Your sister doesn’t remember what the word fun even means.”

Hadley stepped closer to him, steeling herself against the stench of alcohol emanating from him. “She’s busy at home taking care of your children,” she reminded, raising her voice over the noise, higher than she’d have liked. “Come on. We’ll drive you home.”

Charlie laughed at that, his bleary eyes looking from her to Wood. “In what? Evie told me you’d busted up your truck again, along with someone else’s. Nosy idiot, is what you are.”

“In your truck,” she said tightly.

“Who says I wanna go home now, anyway?”

“What are you going to do when you do want to go? You’re drunk. You can’t drive.” Frustration filled her. She reached out for him, but he pushed her back. His drink spilled over the front of her coat, and he stumbled.

Wood steadied her and caught Charlie up by the scruff of his neck in one fell swoop.

“Lemme go,” he groused.

Wood ignored Charlie and looked at her. He still held her arm. “You okay?”

She nodded, swiping at the liquid. Now this coat would need cleaning, too.

“Lemme go, I said! Who are you, anyway? Sure in hell couldn’t be a friend of Had’s. She’s buttoned down tighter ’n a nun. Doesn’t even know how to kiss a man, much less spread her legs—”

Wood grabbed Charlie’s arm and leaned forward, speaking softly in the man’s ear.

Charlie’s mouth dropped. “Mind your own damned business.” He shoved out at Wood, as if to hit him, but Wood easily sidestepped it, and Charlie tumbled forward, knocking into the table before him, scattering the occupants and sending glasses flying. He scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Wood.

Hadley cried out. “Stop it!”

But Wood did something fancy when he caught Charlie, halting the other man in his tracks.

He tried shrugging off Wood’s grip and failed. “You pushed me!”

“I should have decked you,” Wood said cuttingly, “instead of letting you fall on your face. You offended your sister-in-law. We’re going now.” He began marching Charlie toward the entrance, weaving around tables and customers without hesitation.

Hadley had a fleeting thought that Charlie would have been better off tangling with Shane’s temper than Wood’s. She eyed the people from the splintered table, offering a hurried apology as she watched Wood and her brother-in-law progress through the tavern. Wood’s only hesitation was to stop and speak briefly to a blond cocktail waitress who was watching them all with a surprised expression. At the door, Wood looked back, clearly seeking out Hadley, and she hurried after them.

Outside, Charlie’s attitude subsided considerably and he handed over his keys to Hadley without a quibble, making her wonder just what Wood had said to him. She half expected some comment from Wood when she got behind the wheel of the slightly battered SUV, but he didn’t speak at all except to tell Charlie to shut up when he started complaining about Hadley driving his precious truck.

Lurching only slightly with the unfamiliar vehicle, she drove out of the parking lot and headed toward Evie and Charlie’s home. When they arrived, Evie came out of the small house, a blanket wrapped tightly around her.

She took one look at Charlie and her expression went tight. Then she glared at Hadley, as if it were all her fault. “I’ll have to get the truck from you tomorrow,” was all she said before she hustled her husband inside and slammed the door shut.

Hadley sank back against the side of the SUV. “Well. That went well. I should have just left Charlie alone.” She looked over at Wood. He was eyeing the small house, no particular expression on his face at all. “Why’d you have to go and make him mad like that? He’ll probably try to sue you or something.” It’d be just like Charlie. Always trying to make a quick buck that didn’t involve an honest day’s work.

Wood spread his fingers, looking at his hand, as if he were wishing he’d punched Charlie just as he’d said. “He’s put the moves on you before?”

She opened her mouth to deny it. “It was a long time ago,” she dismissed. He and Evie hadn’t been married too long. “And nothing happened, believe me.”

“How long ago?”

She glanced nervously at the brick house, but the door was shut tight, the drapes drawn in the windows. “I don’t know. I was sixteen I think. I don’t know why I even admitted it to you. Nobody else knows about it, so I’d appreciate you not saying anything to—”

“Did he hurt you?” His hand curled.

“Lord, no. And he didn’t try again.” It was humiliating even recalling the event. “Not that he’d want to. You heard him. He doesn’t find me appealing at all, fortunately.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “You know there’s only one man in town who does find me appealing. And fighting that doesn’t seem to do anything but cause problems. My accident with you. Going out together tonight.” She pulled open the truck door and climbed in again.

After a moment Wood rounded the vehicle and got in, as well. She started the engine, but didn’t put it into gear. She sighed after a moment. “Would you prefer to drive?”

“Yes. But I’ll live with the disappointment.”

She exhaled on a bewildered laugh at his dry assurance. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“Is your sister happy with him?”

Under any other circumstances, Hadley would have choked before she’d discuss family business with a stranger. But, even after such a short time, she couldn’t view Wood Tolliver as a stranger.

If that made her foolish, so be it.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “She used to be. They were college sweethearts. But Evie doesn’t share much these days. All I know is that she hasn’t seemed happy about a lot of things for a while now.” She shook her head. “Trying to talk to her hasn’t done much good. She’s always busy with the kids, or trying to fix something around that house, or telling me how I should be running Tiff’s. I haven’t seen her smile in a long time, and she has a beautiful smile. Her birthday is next week, and it just seems a sin that she’ll be celebrating another year without that smile on her face. She isn’t even having a party or anything. Says she’s too tired and busy.”

“Throw one for her. Just lose Charlie’s invitation.”

“If only.” Hadley finally put the truck into gear. The vehicle rocked and jolted over the rutted drive before she turned onto the smoother, paved road. But Wood had a point. Maybe a surprise for Evie—one where she didn’t have to do a single thing but sit back and enjoy—would be good for her. They could probably use the fellowship hall at her dad’s church. Hadley would have to enlist Charlie’s help in getting Evie there.

The parking lot outside of the Tipped Barrel was still clogged with cars when they passed. “What did you tell the cocktail waitress when we were leaving?”

He looked a little surprised that she asked. “How to reach me if Beckett doesn’t pay any damages for tonight’s episode.”

She gave him a quick look. “Why?”

“I pushed him,” was all he said.

She absorbed that as she drove the rest of the way through the quiet town. She made a U-turn on the street to park in front of Tiff’s, and winced a little when one of the wheels bumped up over the curb and then back down again. So much for impressing the man.

The evening was officially a total bust.

She turned off the engine and climbed out, joining Wood on the sidewalk. He took her arm as they walked toward the house. Probably because he was afraid she’d fall on her face or something.

The front door was unlocked, as it always was, and she pushed it open. But Wood didn’t release her arm right away when they entered, and she looked up at him. The porch lights behind him set off auburn glints in his hair. “Something wrong? Other than a genuinely unpleasant evening, I mean?”

He pushed the door shut until it latched softly. “Don’t go back to the Tipped Barrel,” he said. “The place is a complete dive.” Then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

She went stock-still. Shock, surprise, amazement. All three whisked through her with lightning speed. Then his hands—cool against her skin—cradled her face. Heat, want followed.

A soft sound rose in her throat and she leaned into him, nothing else existing but the feel of his lips softly caressing hers. “Wood—”

He broke the kiss with a soft oath. “For the record, Wendell Pierce isn’t the only one to find you appealing.” Then he stepped back from her. “Good night, Hadley.”

Thank heavens for the wall behind her. It held her up. “Good night, Wood.”

But he probably hadn’t heard her shaking response. He’d already disappeared down the hallway.

Chapter Five

“Heard there was something of a ruckus last night at the Tipped Barrel.”

Dane looked up from the bumper he was removing from the Shelby. Shane Golightly stood in the sunlight streaming through the open bay of Stu’s garage. “So?”

Shane’s jaw cocked to one side. He looked over his shoulder to where Stu had his head under the hood of Hadley’s pickup, then walked closer, ostensibly studying the Shelby up on the rack. “Why are you still in Lucius?”

Dane pulled off the safety goggles Stu had loaned him, letting them hang loose around his neck. “You treat all visitors to such a welcome? No wonder this town is no bigger than my thumb. Chamber of Commerce must love you.” He jerked his head toward the window between the office and the service bays. “Your sister is in there, talking to Riva.”

“Stay away from her.”

“I’ve never been one to follow other people’s orders.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Shane kept his voice low. “It may suit me, for the moment, not to run you out of town, but don’t expect that to last. Hadley doesn’t need someone like you messing in her life.”

“Maybe she doesn’t need her brothers messing in her life, either. Ever thought your attention might be better focused on Evie?” As far as Dane was concerned, it was the blond-haired sister who needed some intervention in her life, not the thoroughly engaging Hadley.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dane donned the goggles again and picked up the crowbar. “Ask Hadley. I’m just a guy trying to get his car fixed.” He knew Evie had retrieved the SUV early that morning, because he’d overheard the sharp words the woman exchanged with her sister and had barely contained his urge to interrupt them and defend Hadley since Hadley didn’t seem to do much of it on her own.

The sheriff snorted. “Yeah, and I wear a pink tutu on Friday afternoons.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Sheriff.” Dane attacked the mangled bumper again.

Shane leaned in a little closer. “Just a warning here, Tolliver. You’re hiding something and we both know it. If you hurt my sister, you’ll regret it, I promise you.” Then he straightened and headed around the car toward the cramped office.

Dane finally found purchase with the crowbar, and the bumper peeled away with a screech. He dropped the crowbar and caught the ruined bumper and dumped it to one side.

The god-awful racket he created felt curiously satisfying.

He pulled off the work gloves and goggles and left them on the workbench. He lifted a hand in a wave to Hadley, who was watching him through the office window, and told Stu he’d check back later on the car’s progress.

Stu nodded. He’d already agreed to get Hadley’s truck fixed before putting his attention to the Shelby with the provision that Wood loan some of his elbow grease to the autobody repairs. Lord knew Stu didn’t want him having any reason to be in Lucius a minute longer than necessary.

With the Golightlys seemingly occupied, Dane returned to his room at Tiff’s where he spent a few solid hours on the phone with his assistant, Laura. It didn’t matter that it was a Saturday. Most weeks they worked seven days straight. What was inconvenient, though, was dealing with business without aid of a fax or computer or anything other than his cell phone and his own notes spread across the foot of the bed. But they managed to keep the necessities under control. And dictating letters was pretty much the same regardless of the setting.

“Oh. One more thing.” He told her about his conversation with Mandy Manning at the Tipped Barrel.

“Be sure and wire her the funds today to cover the damages,” he said when she finally started winding down. “And don’t send enough that someone accuses anyone of bribery,” he muttered. A soft knock on his bedroom door interrupted the annoyingly fresh memory of Shane Golightly’s accusation of bribery. He ended his call and pulled open the door.

Hadley stood on the other side, her arms filled with linens. “Hi.”

He’d done no more than wave hello and goodbye at Stu’s garage, and had deliberately gone to the Luscious Lucius for breakfast in order to avoid her.

Not exactly chivalrous behavior, nor adult. But kissing her the night before hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done, either. One of the most pleasurable? Yes. Smart? No.

“What’s all that?” He gestured to her burden.

“Emergency candles and clean linens. And an extra blanket for your bed. The temperature’s supposed to drop again in the next day or two.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she looked past him into the room. “If it’s not an inconvenient time, I’ll get you all set up.”

He knew there was no way she could see the contents of his notes spread on the bed from where she stood, or the engraved Rutherford Industries logo topping them. But he didn’t intend to chance a closer look from her, either.

“I won’t get cold.” Particularly not now, knowing that her lips tasted sweeter than they looked. Or knowing that she slept as close as the other side of a wall. That when she’d risen that morning, he’d listened to the sound of water running in the old-fashioned bathroom tucked between them and had cursed his imagination that had never before plagued him with such painful vividness.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble. And I know how many blankets are on your bed, Wood. Same as were on everyone else’s.”

“Yours?” He was a glutton for punishment.

She blinked. “Well, yes. And truly, the weather forecasters are all saying the temperature—”

“Fine. Give me the stuff.” He reached for the blanket and she tried handing it to him, but the entire bundle in her arms fell in the process. Fat white candles rolled across the hall and yellow terry cloth towels, white sheets, and soft blue wool surrounded her, an ocean of color. “Sorry.” He knelt and she knelt and their heads knocked.

He cursed, feeling the slight impact against his injured forehead with the force of a sledgehammer.

“Oh, Lord.” Her hands caught at his shoulders. “I can’t believe I did that. Sit down.”

He didn’t have much choice with her tugging at him the way she was. He sat down, leaning his head back against the doorjamb. He’d never really seen stars before, but when he closed his eyes, pricks of light sparked behind his eyelids.

He was vaguely aware of Hadley stepping over him, dislodging the jumble of linens. He heard water running and then she returned.

“I’m going to take off the bandage, okay?” Her fingers were cool and gentle on his face as she peeled it away, then she sucked in her breath. “Oh, Wood.

This cut looks terrible. Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital, right now. We should have done it right after the accident, no matter what you wanted.”

She pressed the wet, cold washcloth to his forehead, then tucked her hands under his arms, as if she fully intended to lift him up if he didn’t cooperate.

“I’ve had worse cuts.” And he hadn’t seen stars then because he’d generally been out cold after the fact. He stopped her efforts by closing his hands around her slender waist. “Stop.” He pulled her down, and her slight weight settled over his thighs. It went some way to alleviating the throbbing in his head, since his blood immediately headed south. He kept her in place with one arm and held the cloth to his head with the other.

Nirvana.

“Worse cuts from what?” Her voice was breathy. Soft.

He opened his eyes a slit and looked at her. “From a long time ago,” he admitted. “Racing days.”

She sucked in the corner of her lip for an infinitesimal moment that nevertheless felt indelibly etched in time. “Horse racing? Foot racing? Car racing?”

“Car.” NASCAR, to be exact. And one of the happiest times in his life. Time that had been too short because other responsibilities had taken priority. Responsibilities that grew with each passing year.

She lifted her hand, only to curl her fingers tightly together and drop it to her lap again. “Were you hurt very badly?”

He closed his eyes again, imagining her fingers touching him. “Nothin’ I couldn’t recover from,” he drawled.

“That’s how you got these?”

He went still when imagination became reality and her fingertips gently grazed over the scars near his eye. “Yeah.”

“I’d be too afraid to race a car.” Her voice was whisper soft.

He smiled. “Sweetness, you could race. You’d just have a hard time finding drivers to get on the same track with you.”

Her touch fell away. “I’m really bad.”

He opened his eyes. “You could be better,” he said honestly.

To her credit, she didn’t take offense. “Maybe you could teach me. Give me some pointers. Not for free or anything,” she added hastily. “I’d be willing to pay you.”

“I don’t want your money, Hadley.” He was starting to want something far more personal than that, which was so far out of the question he felt lower than pond scum even thinking it.

It wasn’t a sensation he was used to experiencing.

“Right.” She shifted, but his arm still anchored her in place. She started folding a towel across her splayed legs, her movements jerky enough that he knew she was not entirely comfortable sitting there on the floor in the hallway the way they were. “You just want to be on your way as soon as possible,” she said. “I understand, believe me.”

He didn’t deny it, and knew she’d assume she was correct. “You’ve wanted to leave Lucius yourself?”

“I did leave for a while. For college. Then my mom got sick so I came back home.”

And stayed to run Tiff’s. His palm spread over the small of her back. God, she was so slender. Yet she didn’t feel made of bones and snobbery the way his usual women did.

Hadley’s not usual, and she’s not your woman.

He mentally kicked the conscientious whisper in the teeth. “What’d you study?”

“Hmm? Oh. Business courses.”

“Dull.” He oughta know. Business for him hadn’t been interesting since he’d left behind the company he and Wood had formed to take on the mantle of Rutherford Industries.

She laughed a little and reached for another towel. Her soft breast brushed against his chest, feeling fuller than he’d have expected giving her habitually too-large clothing. “Dull is right. You probably studied something very exciting.”

The pain in his head had subsided to a muted throb. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you just said you were a race car driver, right? You don’t seem the kind of man who would be satisfied putting on a tie every morning and going to some stuffy nine-to-five.”

“I do wear a tie most days,” he assured dryly. Hell, Darby had called him the king of Armani. And he couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, his business day had been concluded by five o’clock.

“What is it that you do?”

“I own a business.”

“In Indiana?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. RTM was based there.

“Do you like it?”

“I’m good at it,” he said after a moment. “Liking it doesn’t have much to do with that.”

“Rather be racing?”

“Racing. Building cars. Fixing cars.” Exactly what he and Wood had planned so long ago.

“Hmm.” Her fingers plucked at the tidy stack of towels that had been growing on her lap, and her cheeks looked rosy. “Are you married?”

“Do I act married?” Irritation skittered down his spine.

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“I kissed you, remember?” Had he read her so wrong, then? Was that moment of insanity only memorable for him?

“And you stopped.” Her cheeks were even redder, but her soft mouth was set. Resolute.

“Would you have preferred I continue?” He slid his palm up her spine. Threaded his fingers through her abundantly silky hair and cupped the back of her warm, slender neck. “Believe me, sweetness, it would’ve been no hardship.”

“You were just being nice. Kind. Because of what Charlie said and all.”

“I’m not nice, or kind,” he said evenly. Nice hadn’t gotten Rutherford Industries to where it was today. Kind hadn’t been the words used by the companies he’d taken over. And nice sure in hell wouldn’t involve lying about his reason for remaining in Lucius. “I’m manipulative and controlling and I get what I want.”

The power of being a Rutherford. The name was pretty much synonymous with American royalty.

She looked skeptical. “It’s not a sin to be kind, you know.”

“It is in my father’s world. There’s no time for kindness there.” Only the business. Always the business. Whether he liked it or not.

Her lashes dipped. She nibbled her lip with the slightest edge of her pearly, white teeth. “I think that’s sad,” she said after a moment.

Dane didn’t want sympathy. He wanted payback. Pure and simple. And nice, kind men didn’t use perfectly innocent young women to achieve it.

Then her lashes lifted and her gaze found his. “Well? Are you married or not?”

He’d borrowed Wood Tolliver’s identity. He could easily have borrowed Wood’s wife, at least in name. It would solve one thing, at least. Hadley Golightly wasn’t likely to give him a second glance if she believed he had a wife somewhere. She’d do her level best to make up for the inconvenience of their accident, and she’d be hospitable while she was about it, but that would be all. He knew it in his bones. He could easily remove her from his own temptation, just by telling her one simple three-letter word.

Yes.

“No,” he said. “I’ve never been married.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes softened. She covered his hand, gently pressing against it, directing the damp washcloth more carefully against his cut. “That’s… good,” she finally whispered.

Oh, yeah. It was good all right. He felt her body against his from chest to thigh and felt as randy as a teenager as a result.

“What’s going on here?”

Hadley nearly jumped out of her skin at the tight voice. The stack of towels she’d refolded tumbled right off her legs and she scrambled from Wood’s lap, looking up at Shane and feeling as guilty as if she’d been caught running naked down Main Street.

Wood closed his hand over hers, preventing her from going far. “Your sister’s been rendering first aid,” he said smoothly.

Hadley’s face felt on fire. Her entire body felt flushed, for that matter, and not all of it stemmed from embarrassment at her big brother catching them.

“Mebbe you need to go to the hospital. I’ll drive you on over.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a decree.

Wood pushed to his feet, bringing her with him. “Sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff. I’m pretty comfortable right here.”

Hadley looked from Wood to her brother. He hardly showed it, but she knew Shane was furious and for some reason Wood was egging him on. “Shane, what are you doing here?”

He eyed her. “You wanted me to split more logs for you before tonight, remember?”

Of course. She felt even more idiotic. Shane always went out of his way to make sure she had plenty of wood on hand in case the power went out, something the old house often suffered during a storm, and she’d specifically asked him to help her, given the current weather forecast.

“Mr. Tolliver can help me,” Shane went on.

She made a face. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. If anything, Wood should be resting. I nearly boxed Stu’s ears for letting him work at the garage this morning on that poor car of his.” She crouched down and swept up the linens in one huge armload and dropped the candles on top. “And I have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

She shouldered past Wood into his room. She dumped the blanket and fresh sheets on the head of the bed and rapidly folded the clean towels, yet again, to leave in a stack on the dresser near the bathroom door. She set out the candles, checked that there were still plenty of matches in the antique silver box of them on the dresser and then turned back to the bed, only to find Wood was already scooping up his paperwork that was scattered over the foot of it.

Aware of her brother still standing near the doorway watching with plain displeasure, she whipped off the green-and-yellow quilt. In minutes, she’d stripped and remade the bed with clean linens and the extra blanket. Then she smoothed the quilt top back in place, plumped the pillows a little and hurried to the door, the old sheets in her arms. “Sorry for interrupting your work,” she murmured to Wood, nodding at the sheaf clenched in his long fingers.

She sailed past her brother and dumped the sheets down the laundry chute hidden behind a panel in the hallway. They’d land smack dab in the center of the laundry room in the basement. When Shane didn’t move, she turned and glared at him. “I can call Dad about the logs if you prefer. He’s forever offering to help.”

“I said I’d do it,” Shane groused. His boots scraped along the fussy carpet runner as he stomped past her, then out the back way through the kitchen. If the slam of that door was anything to go by, Hadley knew his temper was in fine form.

She let out a long breath and cast a sideways look at Wood. “He’s not usually so disagreeable.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for anyone, Hadley.”

Maybe she didn’t. But he was certainly the first person to tell her so. She didn’t know what it was about the man that alternately made her feel strong and brave, then… not.

So she fell back on the safe and familiar.

“I’ll have lunch out within the hour. Sorry to have disturbed you.” She turned to go. She needed to change the linens in the tower room also, and leave out extra blankets for all the regulars, who took care of their own laundry. But she stopped. “Are you sure your head is all right?” She looked at him.

His expression seemed stark.

“Save your worry, Hadley, for someone who needs it.”

Something curled inside her at the words. Not a command or a rebuff.

But a plea?

She dismissed the very notion of it. Her imagination had clearly shifted into overdrive.

She nodded and went to finish her tasks and when she set out lunch that day, she resumed her usual custom of spending the peaceful hour in her room with her papers and pen. But instead of furiously scribbling out the stories that were forever tumbling around inside her head, she sat on her cushioned window seat and stared blindly out the window, the pen seemingly forgotten in her hand.

The only character in her thoughts was a real, live person named Wood Tolliver.

The weather forecast proved correct and a fresh snowstorm hit that evening after dinner. Vince kept the fire stoked with the additional split logs Shane had left. Hadley mixed up a large pot of hot cocoa, and most everyone congregated in the parlor where the fire cheerfully blazed despite the howling wind that rattled the windows.

Everyone except Wood.

When she’d finished up the phone calls of arrangements for Evie’s surprise birthday party, Hadley tried not to let his absence concern her. But it was a hopeless endeavor, doomed to failure from the very start. And finally, while everyone else was occupied with a raucous game of charades, she set aside her party notes and went to the kitchen. She fixed a tray of cocoa and cookies and carried it down the hall. She rapped her knuckles softly against the door panel.

He didn’t answer, and standing in the hall far longer than necessary only ended up making her feel particularly pathetic. The man was finally getting some well-deserved rest.

Who could blame him for that?

She returned the tray to the kitchen and bade a good-night to everyone in the parlor. She noticed that Nikki Day was no longer there. Mrs. Ardelle told her that she’d retired. Apparently during Hadley’s futile wait outside Wood’s door.

As far as Hadley had been able to determine, Nikki—while friendly and polite—didn’t seem to be having a particularly enjoyable time. She was clearly pregnant, but had only picked at her dinner. And Mrs. Ardelle had said she’d done the same during lunch.

If only to ease her concern about someone, Hadley went up the tower and knocked softly on that door.

After a moment it opened. Nikki’s face looked pale and drawn. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to make certain you were warm enough up here. If you’re not, I could start a fire in the fireplace for you.”

Nikki pushed up the sleeves of her dark-green sweater. “I’m fine without it. And the room is lovely.” She looked away for a moment.

Hadley had to curtail the impulse to give the woman a hug. She looked as if she needed one just as badly as Joanie ever had. But she also recognized the woman’s innate sense of privacy and didn’t want to cause her any discomfort. “If the storm doesn’t deliver too much snow, you’ll be all set for the sleigh ride you requested. Tomorrow after lunch.”

A shadow came and went in the other woman’s eyes. “You must think it very odd that I’ve come here this way. Going on things like sleigh rides alone.”

“I think you have your reasons,” Hadley said honestly. “And it’s a pleasure for me to make your stay special in the same way my mother must have for your relatives who were here before.”

“My fiancé’s parents, actually,” Nikki said. “They were here on their honeymoon. Cody always talked about us coming here.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I never thought I’d be coming by myself.”

Forget privacy. Hadley reached out and gently squeezed Nikki’s cool hands. “If there’s anything I can do, you just ask. I have all of the guest registers that my mother used. Maybe you’d like to look at them sometime. I’m sure we’d find their visit listed.”

Nikki’s eyes looked moist. She nodded. “Thank you.” She squeezed Hadley’s hands in return, then reached for the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Hadley headed back downstairs and went to her room. It was chilly and she added a blanket to her own bed the way she had the others, then—since there was no sound at all through the door to Wood’s room—she indulged herself with a hot bath and a book. No matter the fact that she’d retired for the night, her mind was simply too busy to sleep.

The book was good, and the bathwater was cold, the bubbles long gone when the lights flickered and went out.

She stared into the inky darkness. Well, great. But it wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a power outage, and as long as she ran Tiff’s, it would undoubtedly not be the last.

She tossed aside her book, well out of the way of any water splashing, and climbed out of the tub, racing the towel over her chilled skin and fumbling into her robe again. Going by feel, she pulled the stopper in the tub and padded into her bedroom. She lit the oil lamp on her dresser and went back into the bathroom, tidying up by the dim light there. Then she went out into the hallway and checked the rest of the house.

All was still. Silent, save the slow tick of the windup anniversary clock sitting on the mantel in the parlor.

She pulled back the lacy curtains to look out the front.

The entire street was dark, meaning it wasn’t just Tiff’s that suffered a power outage this time. By the moonlight, however, she could see the fresh drifts of snow in the street.

It took her a moment to make a shape out of the shadows. But she realized when the shadow moved, becoming two distinct forms in the middle of the street where the snowfall wasn’t quite as deep, that it was two people.

One headed off down the street, a genderless blob of dark coat and hat. One headed toward Tiff’s.

She straightened abruptly, letting the curtain fall back into place. She had no time to escape down the hall to her room, and in seconds, she heard footsteps on the porch, followed by the creak of the front door.

Great. Just great.

She didn’t even have the sense to extinguish her oil lamp. She just stood there in the parlor, listening. Visualizing his motions, along with his sounds—closing the door behind him, the creak of his leather jacket being removed, the nearly soundless tread up the hallway, passing the parlor doorway.

Pausing.

“So you’re the glow in an otherwise dark night.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. The lamp bobbled in her hand, and she quickly steadied it before she dropped the infernal thing and set fire to the place. Her other hand clutched the lapels of her robe together. “The power is out.”

He was kind enough not to point out that he’d undoubtedly noticed that particular point. “Is everything okay?”

She wanted to ask him about the person he’d been with. An assignation? She’d never before used that word. Never had cause. She didn’t have cause now. The man was only a guest—a reluctant visitor in Lucius—a situation for which she was responsible. “Everything is fine. I was just, um, checking the place over. To be safe.” It was the gospel truth, yet she still felt as if she’d been caught spying on him. She hurriedly left the parlor. “Here.” She extended the lamp to him. “You’ll need this to get around.”

“It’s late.”

So, he could state the obvious as well as she could. “Yes.” And maybe that was why she felt unaccountably emotional. “Do you want the lamp or not? I can find my way around here with my eyes closed.”

He still didn’t take it. He took another step, entering further into her small circle of light. She could see her black scarf hanging from one hand, his jacket from the other.

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m not. I have nothing to be upset about.”

Another step. His head tilted a little to one side. “Hadley, it’s just a power outage. Nothing to worry about.”

If only she’d been quick enough to use that as an excuse. “Right. I know.” Did she smell perfume on him? “Well, here. Take the lamp. Don’t want you tripping on something and cracking open your head more than it’s already been.”

“I don’t need the lamp.” He tossed aside the jacket and scarf and closed his hands over her forearms beneath the wide sleeves of her robe. “I want to know what’s got you so jumpy. Is it your brother-in-law again?”

“What? No. Charlie never bothers me. Last night was just because, because he was drunk.” His fingers were cold, yet they still made her skin heat, particularly when his hands slid farther up, curving around her elbows. “I told you that.”

His thumbs glided over her skin. “Then, what’s wrong, Hadley?”

Each gentle brush of his thumbs yanked her nerves tighter. The lamp’s flame danced inside the tall glass globe, and she tightened her shaking grip on it, holding it sternly between them. But keeping control of one part of her left her tongue unfortunately unguarded.

“Who was that woman? I thought you didn’t know anyone in Lucius.”

Chapter Six

Dane cursed himself. He had no desire to upset Hadley. “I went to the Tipped Barrel.” Which didn’t answer her question at all.

Her eyes looked liquid in the flickering light. “You probably shouldn’t drink with a head injury.”

He forced himself to keep his touch light on her arms, though his fingers didn’t want much more in life at the moment than to keep exploring. To see if her skin was as exquisitely soft everywhere else. “I wasn’t. I played some pool.” And got Mandy’s latest report on the investigation.

She looked disbelieving. “Oh. Well. Hope you didn’t lose your shirt or anything. Vince plays pool there sometimes. And Palmer Frame. He was one of the EMTs who came with the ambulance.”

“Yeah. I saw him there. He mentioned the surprise party you’re throwing for your sister. Sounds like you’ve invited half the town. I didn’t see Charlie.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” she murmured. She lightened up her guarded hold of the lamp, moving one hand to clutch the overlapping lapels of her pale robe tightly together. As if he needed any more reasons to wonder what she wore beneath it.

The thick terry cloth covered her from head to toe, and the only breach in it—which he’d already taken advantage of—seemed to be the wide sleeves. He needed her to go to bed so he could stop letting himself be distracted by her.

“The place was pretty quiet, actually. Probably because of the storm.”

She nodded. Pressed her lips together and nodded again. “Well.”

Yeah. Well. He let go of her and grabbed up his jacket from the back of the chair where it had landed. “Lead the way,” he said. “I’ll follow.”

She moved past him, and he got a heady hint of some warm, feminine scent. Flowery, but not sweet. And her hair was damp at the ends, he realized as she walked down the hall, turning back now and again as if he were likely to get lost along the way. Shower or bathtub, he wondered, and kicked himself for it, since he was the one to suffer the consequences of wondering.

She paused near his door until he’d opened it, then followed him inside when he did. He went stock-still for a moment, but she didn’t look at him as she crossed to the dresser and set the lamp on it long enough to light the two fat candles she’d left there earlier that day. Then she slipped out of his bedroom again.

“Good night, Wood.” In a half-dozen steps, she disappeared behind her own bedroom door, giving him no hint whatsoever of the room beyond her door.

Probably pure innocence, to suit its occupant.

He closed his own door and curtailed the impulse to thump his head against the wood in frustration. The candlelight flickered over the walls, casting enough light for him to see by. He dumped the jacket on the end of the bed, grabbed one of the candles and went into the adjoining bathroom.

The delicate sent of flowers hit him with the subtle finesse of a two-by-four. He shoved the candle on the glass shelf above the sink and sat on the edge of the old-fashioned, deep tub. He knew if he reached down and touched the bottom, it would still be wet.

His mind filled with the image of Hadley in the tub and he deliberately eyed his dim reflection in the mirror across from him to banish the thoughts. He was losing it, pure and simple.

He didn’t like it.

He yanked off his shirt and went to the sink, flipping on the faucet to douse his face with the frigid water.

It seeped beneath the bandage on his forehead, setting off a fresh new pain, and it didn’t do squat to cool anything else. Swearing under his breath, he returned to the bedroom.

There wasn’t even room to pace, and for a minute he wished he’d never started this damn quest. That he was still in Kentucky. He had plenty of space to pace there.

In his office at Rutherford Industries.

In his spacious, empty apartment where the only scent left behind by any woman was the expensive one his mother wore on her very rare visits.

The women Dane knew didn’t smell of a field of wildflowers in the middle of the bloody damn winter. They wore designer clothes and designer scents and lingerie created with the sole intent of sophisticated seduction. They knew how to use others just as much as he did, he never invited them into his personal space, and he never had to worry that he’d hurt a single one of them.

He wasn’t into hurting innocents.

So he needed to get his head back in the game. He needed to find his control again. He needed to find Alan Michaels, since the police were clearly incapable of it, and make him finally pay for what he’d done all those years ago.

Maybe some would consider being institutionalized punishment enough for kidnapping Dane’s little sister, but Dane didn’t. Darby had only been nine. And even though she’d been recovered, the effects of that time had torn apart their family. Michaels should have been rotting in jail because of it, not strolling the green lawns and calming corridors of an institution too sensitive and lax to even keep hold of one of their more notorious “guests.”

Michaels would pay, and once he had, Dane’s life would be on course again.

All he needed to do was keep himself focused.

* * *

“I think the focus is off.” Hadley peered through the binoculars that Wendell had stuck in her face. He’d shown up at church that morning, scooting into the pew beside her, and she hadn’t shaken him since. Not during church. Not after church when he’d insisted on driving her back to Tiff’s. And certainly not since then, because he’d pulled the binoculars out of his glove box and trooped after her into Tiff’s, despite her warnings that she needed to get lunch on for her guests.

She started to adjust the binoculars again, but Wendell clucked and whipped the glasses out of her hand and looked through them himself.

“No, I think it’s perfect,” he assured. His dress boots crunched in the snow as he stepped behind her. He lowered the binoculars back to her face, his arms circling her from behind. “Now look again.”

Hadley didn’t want to look, and she didn’t want Wendell having his arms virtually surrounding her. But there the heavy black binoculars were, two inches from her nose, held firmly in place by Wendell’s knobby fingers.

Which made her feel unkind, so she leaned forward, stifling a sigh. All she saw through them was a reflection of her own eyelashes and a blur of tree branches.

“Well? It’s a perfect view of the cardinal, Had.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, crossed her fingers inside her mittens. “A perfect view,” she agreed. Then she ducked underneath his circling arms and faced him. She’d tolerated him all morning, and she had things she needed to do. Important things. Like rearranging the soup cans in the cupboard.

She felt unkind all over again. “So, Stu happened to tell you how much I enjoy bird-watching?”

“Just yesterday.” Wendell lifted the binoculars to his nose and peered intently at the trees in the distance. His smile was so wide it nearly reached around his head. “I never thought I’d find a woman who’d fit so well into my life, Had. I knew we were well suited. When we’re married, we’ll be as comfortable as old socks.”

She tugged on her ear. Hugged her arms closer, though the sun was climbing bright and warm against the cold day. “Wendell, I haven’t agreed to marry you.” Much less date the man.

He waved a hand though the binoculars stayed glued to his narrow face. “Oh, I know, dear. Take all the time you need.”

His tone was clear that he considered her capitulation a foregone conclusion. “I don’t really like old socks, Wendell.”

“Did you say something, dear?”

She shook her head. If he called her dear one more time, she might run screaming all the way to the state line. “I have to get lunch finished, Wendell.” She hoped to heaven he didn’t take that as an invitation.

“Hmm.” He continued watching his beloved cardinals. She figured when she wasn’t standing there holding him back, he’d probably traipse considerably closer to the woods to get a better look.

She stomped the snow from her boots and went up the back steps and in through the kitchen, tossing her good wool coat on the hook and not much caring when she missed. “I’m going to strangle him,” she muttered under her breath as she went to the stove and gave the homemade chicken soup a vicious stir. “Maybe whip him a time or two.”

No wonder Stu hadn’t shown his face at church that morning. He probably wasn’t working at the garage as she’d heard from Wendell. More likely, he was just hiding out from her, knowing she’d be furious when she learned what he’d told Wendell.

“Attack him with that deadly wooden spoon you’re wielding. Ought to be punishment enough for whatever he’s done.”

She whirled around. Chunks of celery and carrot flew off her spoon and hit the counter with a splat. “Wood. I didn’t see you.”

He lifted the newspaper in his hand. “Just walked in to get some coffee. Who are you plotting against?”

She wished she didn’t recall so vividly what his fingers felt like stroking the tender skin on the inside of her elbows. “Stu. He sicced Wendell on me again.” She wiped up the spill and rinsed the spoon at the sink. “Telling him I like bird-watching. It’s just mean, that’s all. Wendell loves bird-watching and frankly, well, frankly I couldn’t care less!” She craned her neck, peering out the window over the sink. “He’s out there right now, imagining us rocking away on the front porch, twin binoculars in hand.”

“Thought women liked to hear it when a man wanted to grow old with her.”

“Ha! I’m not talking about future years, Wood. That’d be us right now if he had the chance. He’s convinced we’re suited like two ‘old socks’ for goodness’ sake, and it’s all my brothers’ fault!” She wiped her hands and yanked the towel into a neat fold over the oven handle. “Old socks. No thank you.”

“Probably would do better to tell Wendell and your brothers that,” Wood murmured.

“I have! I’ve told them all that. But does it matter? Heck no. They just keep telling good little Hadley what to do, making her decisions for her, choosing her paths—” She cut off the mindless rant. Drew in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Focused on Wood. “Coffee,” she remembered, and reached for the mug and the pot. She hadn’t seen him earlier that day, and she’d told herself that she hadn’t missed him.

Of course, she’d had to ask forgiveness during the silent prayers in church for that particular lie.

“Here.” She already knew he took it black, so didn’t offer milk or sugar when she handed it to him. “Wendell’s going to come in here any minute, call me ‘dear,’ and go through the rest of the day, secure in his mind that one day, he’ll have his old-sock wife handily nearby. And why wouldn’t he? It’s not as if he’s ever seen me with another man.” So much for stopping the rant. “There are hardly any single men around here and of the decent ones, two are already my brothers and right now, I’m not feeling so kindly toward either one that I’m still certain they’re decent! Don’t suppose you’d kiss me again or something right here in God’s broad daylight so he could see, would you?”

She didn’t dare look at him, so embarrassed was she at her own plea. “I know I have no right to ask any favors of you, but I swear, Wood, they’re going to marry me off to him.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “And that’ll be my life. I’ll be organized right into it, just like I was organized into running Tiff’s.”

“Sit down.” His hands closed over her shoulders and she found herself being nudged inexorably toward one of the iron chairs around the small table in the sunny bay of windows. “This place was your mother’s, wasn’t it? I thought you wanted to run it.”

She curled her fingers into her fists until she could feel the pricks of her nails. He crouched down in front of her, his hands resting lightly on the seat on either side of her knees. And she ought to have felt hemmed in, just the way she’d felt by Wendell, but she didn’t.

“I didn’t mean that.” How could she? Tiff’s had been her mother’s dream. Tiff’s and marriage to Beau Golightly, who’d been the only father Hadley had ever known. “I’m just… I don’t know what I’m saying. See? I’m so frustrated. Would you—” she swallowed “—be willing to try the Tipped Barrel again? I know it wasn’t much of a success the other night, and you wouldn’t have to really, you know, act interested in me or… or anything.” She was humiliating herself right and left. “You could play pool like you did last night, then the evening wouldn’t be a complete bore!”

He exhaled. “Nothing about you is boring, Hadley.”

She laughed, wanting to cry. “Everything about me is boring,” she whispered fiercely, “and that’s why Wendell thinks we’re so perfect for each other!” And she’d just asked this man to kiss her, this man who’d been nothing but nice to her, who clearly had some other interest already given the woman—and she was sure it had been a woman—he’d met the night before.

And the most embarrassing part of it all was that she wasn’t sure asking him to kiss her had anything really to do with Wendell at all.

“First,” he said gruffly, “you need to stay out of the Tipped Barrel. I shouldn’t have taken you in there in the first place. It’s a dive. And secondly, stop worrying. You can’t be forced into marrying someone.”

She pushed his hands away and rose, yanking down the hem of the beige cable-knit sweater she wore over a long beige skirt. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably never done anything in your entire life that you didn’t choose to do.”

His lips twisted as he rose. “Then you’d be wrong, sweetness, believe me.”

When nothing else seemed fit to stop her runaway rant, his flat voice did the job. And she could tell by his expression that asking him what he was referring to would get her nowhere. She exhaled. Switched subjects. “How does your head feel today?”

“Like the drum corps beating inside it have finally taken a breather.” He lifted his hand. “And don’t start in with the apologies again.”

He didn’t have knobby fingers. They were long, blunt tipped and capable looking. Capable of wielding tools, steering wheels and willing women.

She swallowed and turned back to the stove once more. “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better,” she managed evenly. “Will you be staying in for lunch?”

The back door opened without ceremony, and Wendell trooped in, his binoculars hanging from the long strap around his lanky neck. His orange-andblue-plaid scarf straggled around his serviceable parka, and Hadley felt her nerves tighten up even more when he didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow at Wood’s presence in the kitchen.

Why would he? After all, Hadley ran a boardinghouse. There were plenty of people who were often around. Just because Wood was six-plus feet of palpitation-inspiring masculinity, it didn’t mean diddly to Wendell.

Wendell rounded the counter and bussed Hadley’s cheek. “See you later, dear.”

Her molars ground together and she just stood there, mute, as he bounded through Tiff’s. Even when she heard the front door slam shut, she didn’t move, because if she did, she very much feared she was going to scream her head off.

“Hadley?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. Prayed for sanity. She wasn’t going to be anyone’s old sock. She just wasn’t. “Yes, Wood?”

“Your soup is boiling over.”

She jerked. Looked. “Oh, rats, bats and spiders,”

She muttered as she hurriedly turned off the flame under the pot. The stovetop was a mess. She yanked the pot off and stuck it in the sink, cleaned up the stove, then ladled the soup into the tureen that she’d already set out.

When it was full, she started to lift it, but Wood nudged her hands away. “I’ll get it,” he murmured.

Kindness. More kindnesses. Instead of warming her, it made her want to throw something.

She gathered up the rest of the lunch items and carried them out to the dining room. Arranged it mindlessly, rang the bell and grabbed her coat again.

She went out the back door, stomped around the side of the house, and headed up the street. By the time she made it to Stu’s garage, her temper—rather than being walked out—had only increased.

Her truck was sitting in the lot, hood closed, and she was headed for the office when she saw Evie’s trio of kids playing on the snow drifting up the side of the building.

Her irritation with Stu took a hiatus and she headed over to the kids. She hadn’t seen them at church that morning, either. Not that their absence was particularly unusual. Charlie—to Beau’s dismay—wasn’t a very church-going man. “Hey, guys. What’s up? How’s the arm?”

Alan, the eldest at ten, shrugged. He’d broken his arm before Christmas playing football with some bigger kids. “It itches.”

She nodded sympathetically. Julie and Trev, eight and six respectively, were using a plastic cup to dig holes in the snow. “Your mom inside?”

“Yeah.” Alan leaned against the wall and kicked his foot desultorily back against it. “She wants Uncle Stu to watch us while she goes to Billings.”

“I wanna go to Billings,” Julie complained.

“I wanna go to Auntie Had’s,” Trevor said. He smiled his winsome smile up at Hadley. He’d lost his front teeth recently and couldn’t have been any cuter if he’d tried.

“Last time you went to Auntie Had’s, you broke a window, dipwad,” Alan said.

“Come on, now,” Hadley winked at Trevor and chucked Alan under the chin. “You once broke a chair,” she reminded him humorously, and Trev made a so-there face at his big brother.

Hadley looked at Julie. “So what’s so special in Billings?”

“I want a new dress.”

Hadley nodded, taking the announcement with due seriousness. Julie always wanted a new dress. She was the definitive girly-girl. “And there are no new dresses here in Lucius?”

Julie sighed. “I’ve seen them all.”

“Ahh. A problem, indeed.” She looked over when the door to the office squealed open and Evie stomped out. “Hi.”

Evie stopped, clearly not expecting to see Hadley standing there. The expression in her blue eyes closed. “Stu can’t watch you guys today,” she said.

“Then we can go with you.” Julie looked delighted. Evie, however, did not.

“The kids can stay with me, if you need them to, Evie,” Hadley offered. There’d been a day when her sister would have told her that she was going to Billings for some reason. A day when she’d have just dumped off the kids with no warning, in fact. But those had been days when Evie smiled, when she seemed happy and that hadn’t been the case for more months than Hadley cared to acknowledge.

Evie let out a breath. “It’ll have to do,” she said abruptly. She leaned over and kissed her children’s foreheads, one after the other, and pulled her key chain out of her pocket. “Charlie left a little bit ago for a job in Miles City. I have to pick up his father from the airport in Billings. I won’t be back until after suppertime, so Charlie’ll have to pick up the kids.” She hurried off to her car, parked on the far side of Hadley’s truck.

“Drive safely.”

Evie waved but didn’t look back.

Hadley looked down at the kids. At least now she knew what Evie’s reasons were for the trip. Even if it did seem spur-ofthe-moment. “Well. Have you had lunch?”

They all shook their heads. “Mom told us Uncle Stu would take us to Luscious,” Alan said hopefully.

Hadley grinned a little. “Much as I like Luscious, I don’t have time for lunch there. But you guys can have lunch at Tiff’s, then you can help me bake some cookies. And Ivan is bringing out his sleigh and horses for one of my guests, so you’ll get to see that, too.”

Julie perked up a little at that. Trev was always happy to see her at Tiff’s. And even Alan didn’t look particularly peeved at the notion. So Hadley stuck her head quickly in the office. Spied Stu. “I’m taking Evie’s bunch home with me. Since when is Charlie’s father coming to visit?”

Stu shrugged and kept right on stacking small boxes of auto parts in their places. “Who knows? I gotta get this delivery stocked and then I’m meeting a guy about a truck I want. Couldn’t have taken her kids with me if I’d wanted to.”

“How is Wood’s car coming along?”

He finally looked over at her. “Slow. Original parts are hard to come by, and he’s insisting on them. The guy’s a pain, but he does know cars. Heard you and Wendell went to church together this morning.”

“Don’t go there, Stu.” It wouldn’t take much for her anger to rear its head all over again. “I’m not doing anything together with Wendell.”

“Aw. Come on. You’re perfect for each other. He’ll take good care of you, Had. He’s a good guy. And you’ll never have to worry that he’ll treat you like Charlie treats Evie.”

That was probably true, but hardly the point, as far as Hadley was concerned. She also knew that Evie didn’t allow interference in her life from their brothers, no matter what. Even though Hadley’s concern for her sister lately was increasing, she still envied her sister that ability. “Why are you so set on pushing me at him, Stu?”

He shoved a few more boxes into place, though she hardly could see how, considering how full the stock shelves were. “Maybe ’cause we want to see you happy, Had, and not flitting off somewhere again like you did last summer!”

“I didn’t flit off. I was taking a class!”

“Class,” he muttered. “Like you’re gonna be some famous writer someday. Run off and find your fame and glory or something.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach. “I’m not planning to run off, Stu.” Not like his mother had. Beau’s first wife, Evelyn, had left him with three children well before Hadley’s mother had come on to the scene, and she’d never come back. “And even if I were, shoving Wendell down my throat at every corner isn’t likely to make me want to stay!”

“You oughta be married and having kids of your own by now,” he said gruffly.

“Well, you’re thirty-five. Where’s your wife and kids?” She shook her head, annoyed all over again, and not even having some sympathy for the roots of his behavior was mitigating it. “Stop messing in my life, Stu. I’m warning you.”

At that, he smiled. “I’m quaking in my boots, Had.”

She turned on her heel and strode out, slamming the door behind her hard enough to knock some of his carefully towered boxes right back down again. “Come on,” she gestured to the kids who were waiting. “Let’s go.”

“Had, wait.” Stu had followed her out. “Your truck is good to go.” He tossed her the key. “Until next time, anyway.”

Hadley caught the key and waved the kids toward her truck. Having her transportation back in working order was something, at least.

The kids piled in and she drove back to Tiff’s.

Once the children had left no question that there would not be any leftovers from the lunch Hadley had prepared, she settled them in the kitchen with cookie makings. Before long, Mrs. Ardelle and Joanie joined them, and within an hour the smell of sugar cookies was filling the kitchen.

Hadley left them long enough to finally change out of her church clothes and into her usual jeans and a white T-shirt. Then the phone rang. She stared at it for a moment, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be Wendell. Didn’t matter. She still had to answer the thing.

“I’m looking for a, um, Wood Tolliver?” The voice was feminine and very husky. A phone-sex voice.

Not that Hadley knew what a phone-sex voice sounded like. “Can you hold on for a moment and I’ll see if he’s in his room?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Hadley carried the cordless unit with her and knocked on Wood’s door.

He yanked it open a moment later, looking a trifle harried. As if he’d been raking his fingers through his hair a few dozen times. His sleeves were shoved up his arms, and she could see papers scattered again all over his bed. She wondered anew what it was that necessitated so many notes. He seemed to have more of them than her latest manuscript attempt did. “Phone call for you.”

He stared at the phone she extended as if he’d never seen one before. “Who is it?”

“I didn’t ask.” Some woman. Maybe the woman you were with last night. “And I’m busy.” She pushed the phone into his hand and turned away.

Unfortunately, she didn’t move fast enough to miss his impatient “Hello” followed by his much less impatient “Hey, there, sweetheart.”

Well, of course, she told herself.

Guys like Wood Tolliver naturally had a “sweetheart” somewhere. She was just fooling herself to think otherwise.

He may have kissed her, but she was the type of woman the Wendell Pierces of the world wanted, not the Wood Tollivers.

Chapter Seven

“Your sleigh, Miss Day.” Hadley grinned and waved her hand at the horse-drawn sleigh waiting beside Tiff’s.

Nikki Day’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. “I didn’t think it would be so—” She broke off and waved her ivory-gloved hand expressively.

Alan and Trev and Julie were all practically dancing around the sleigh, and she knew one of these days she was going to have to make arrangements to have them taken out.

“It is pretty grand,” she agreed. “Every time I see it I get a little shiver.” The ornate blue sleigh was like romance on gleaming runners with a plush red seat and velvet blankets with gold tassels. “And Ivan, here, will make sure his horses don’t get too rambunctious, right, Ivan?”

The old man standing beside the two beautifully matched Morgans smiled and tipped his hat. “We’ll take good care of you, miss. I’ve been running sleigh rides in the winter and hayrides in the summer since I was a lad.”

Nikki smiled, but to Hadley it seemed forced. And the other woman’s face, surrounded by a long cloud of auburn hair, looked pale. But maybe that was just because Nikki wore ivory from head to toe.

“Thank you.” Nikki took Ivan’s hand and stepped up into the sleigh and arranged a blanket over her legs. Hadley called back the kids and they reluctantly moved out of the way while Ivan climbed up onto the slanted driver’s bench and picked up the reins. With a cluck of his tongue and a jingle of the horses’ riggings, the sleigh set off over the open field, toward the line of trees in the distance.

“It’s so pretty,” Julie sighed. She was a dreamer. Like her aunt. Hadley hugged her narrow, young shoulders, and steered everyone back inside.

“Wash your hands before you touch any more cookies,” she ordered when they got to the kitchen.

“What are all the cookies for?” Alan had asked the question a few times already. He wasn’t satisfied with Hadley’s explanation that she’d just felt like baking. Not with Christmas and dozens of cookies still a recent memory.

But she couldn’t very well tell the children they were for their mother’s surprise birthday party, or there would undoubtedly be no surprise. “We’re making them for Grandpa Beau,” she blatantly lied, and hoped it wasn’t a terribly punishable offense.

And despite the holidays just past, she knew Evie would still appreciate the homemade storybook cookies. They’d always been her favorite.

Fortunately, the explanation seemed to satisfy Alan, who—along with his siblings—was sitting on a high stool at the counter, using paintbrushes to add colorful splotches of egg-yolk “paint” to the trays of unbaked cookies.

“That child looked peaked to me,” Mrs. Ardelle observed when Hadley finished washing her own hands and sat down at the table beside Joanie. She pointed the end of the rolling pin out the back window where they could see the tail end of the sleigh gliding through the snow. “Mark my words. She’s got troubles.”

“She seems lonely to me,” Joanie said. “And I know she’s not married,’ cause I asked her.” She picked up another cookie and put half of it in her mouth.

“You’re supposed to be icing them, not eating them,” Mrs. Ardelle said, laughter in her voice.

Joanie shrugged and smiled around her mouthful. “If Alan and Julie and Trev get to eat some, why can’t I?”

Hadley added some blue piping onto the square cookie, and fashioned a little bow so it would look like a birthday gift. “I’m going to the Tipped Barrel tonight.” She reached for another cookie to decorate.

Silence met her announcement.

Mrs. Ardelle finally broke it. “Excuse me, dear, but aren’t they closed on Sundays?”

Hadley paused. “Well, yes, I suppose they are. Tomorrow night, then.”

“But why?” Joanie’s eyes were wide. “The sheriff will have a conniption fit and fall right in it.”

“I don’t care.” And, Hadley realized, she didn’t care if Shane disapproved. Or Stu. Or Evie or Beau or Wood. She kept trying to write stories about women, capable women, making their own way in life. How could she do that if she weren’t making some similar effort in her own life? “Until this town starts seeing me as something other than the thoroughly boring and settled Hadley, nothing’s going to change. Maybe Wendell’s not the only one I have to convince that I could possess a wild side. Right?”

She looked up to see Joanie’s and Mrs. Ardelle’s twin expressions. “I know. I don’t look like I belong in the Tipped Barrel.” She’d figured that when she and Wood had gone there, only to find Charlie instead.

“Well,” Joanie pondered. “I can help you with that. Some. I’ve been watching the girls doing hair at Curl up and Dye. Maybe we could do something with your hair. You know. Something a little outrageous. Sexy.”

Hadley stomped out a sneaky whisper of unease. “I don’t want to dye it or anything.” Joanie was a receptionist at the hair salon, not a stylist.

“Joanie knows that.” Mrs. Ardelle bustled over to the table and sat down, her floury hands fluttering. “But I know what she means. Fluff it up, or something. Your hair is lovely, Hadley, but it’s… well, it’s so—”

“Boring.”

“Nice,” Mrs. Ardelle finished. “You’re a nice girl, Hadley, and you look like one. I’m just not sure changing your image for a night is likely to dissuade Mr. Pierce in his pursuit.”

“I have to do something,” Hadley muttered. “I can’t seem to get my brothers from helping him along. So, unless Wendell decides himself that I’m not as suitable as he’d always figured—” She broke off when she heard the front door open, followed by a yell.

She pushed away from the table and hurried to the hall. Ivan stood there, his weathered face flushed. “Call the ambulance,” he barked.

Dismay streaked through Hadley. She pointed Mrs. Ardelle toward the phone, but the woman had already yanked the receiver off the wall.

She hurriedly followed Ivan outside. “What’s wrong?”

His boots clumped down the steps. “That Miss Day. She just passed out. We were nearly to the creek. Saw some deer there the other day and thought she’d enjoy seeing them. But when I looked back, she was all sort of slumped over—” He waved his hand at the sleigh, parked askew beside the house. Even the horses looked nervous, shifting and tossing their heads.

Hadley ran to the side of the sleigh and climbed up. Nikki’s face was cold, her eyes closed. She was breathing, but she clearly was not waking up.

“Should we try and get her down from the sleigh?” Ivan sounded as worried as Hadley felt.

“I don’t know.” If something was wrong with the baby, would she be bleeding? Even though Hadley dreaded looking, she pulled back the velvet blanket. There was no visible signs of anything wrong. Which, Hadley knew, didn’t mean much of anything.

She covered Nikki up again, chafing the woman’s hands and nearly groaned with relief when she heard the sound of a siren. Moments later the ambulance arrived, and Palmer displaced Hadley in the confines of the sleigh as he checked Nikki over.

“Had, pull out the stretcher for me.”

She was shaking like a leaf, but she ran over to the rear of the ambulance and threw open the wide door. Her hands closed over the end of the stretcher and she pulled. But it didn’t move. Frustrated, she tried again.

“Here.” A hand reached up and flipped the lock holding the stretcher in place. Then Wood closed his hands beside Hadley’s, and they pulled the stretcher successfully from the vehicle. The legs dropped down automatically and they pushed it quickly through the skiff of snow on the sidewalk toward the sleigh from which Palmer was lifting the unconscious woman.

“Thanks. Noah’s on another call already.” He settled Nikki on the stretcher and fastened the safety straps carefully over her. “Hospital’s gonna want her ID.”

“Of course.” Hadley raced up the stairs, through the house, and up to the tower. Inside Nikki’s room it took her a moment to find the woman’s purse, and then to make sure the wallet was inside. Then she raced back down the stairs. Palmer was already behind the wheel, clearly impatient to be on his way. She tossed him the purse through his open window, he caught it, and the ambulance drove off, siren wailing.

Hadley leaned over, pressing her palms to her stomach. “Oh, God. I should have known better than to let her go off on that sleigh ride. I didn’t think she looked quite right. I should have said something to her. Done something. But I just let—”

“Stop.” Wood closed his hands over her shoulders. “You’re freezing. You don’t have on a coat. Come inside.”

She blindly followed when he urged her up the stairs. “This has never happened before. Guests don’t come here and collapse, Wood.”

“Shh.” He pushed her into the chair in the hallway. “Take a breath before you pass out yourself.”

“Auntie Hadley, are you okay?” Trevor snuck around Wood and patted the back of her head. “Why’d that lady go in the ambulance?”

She willed herself to settle down. “I’m fine, Trevor. And that lady is going to be fine, too.” She hoped.

“Who’s he?”

She realized her nephew was eyeing Wood. “His name is Mr. Tolliver. He’s staying here while his car gets fixed. Wood, this is Evie’s son, Trevor. And that—” she looked over his blond head toward the kitchen doorway “—is Julie and Alan.”

Wood shifted abruptly. “Cute kids.”

“Yes. You guys go on back to the kitchen and finish the cookies with Mrs. Ardelle, okay?” She caught that woman’s eye, who nodded immediately and capably distracted the trio back to their cheerful task.

As soon as they were gone, she leaned over her knees, covering her face with her hands. “It’ll only take Palmer a few minutes to get her to the hospital. I should go over there. Someone should be called. But I don’t know who.”

“What sort of information did she leave when she registered? Or made her reservation?”

“Right. Of course.” She sat up. Pushed back her hair. “I have home and work numbers for her.” She went downstairs to her office and pulled out the paperwork. But since she didn’t know what she’d be telling whomever she might reach, she jotted down the numbers to take with her to the hospital. She wasn’t even sure if the hospital would try to reach someone for Nikki. They probably would.

Wood was waiting by the door, her parka in his hands, when she went back upstairs. She didn’t look at him as she slid into the sleeves and pulled it closed around her. But when he followed her out the door after opening it for her, she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m going with you,” he said.

Her fingers closed more tightly around her keys. “Why?” she asked baldly.

Dane stared down at Hadley’s confused face for a moment. Why, indeed? He had no love of hospitals, not having spent so much time in them recently. “Not because I don’t think you’re capable on your own,” he assured evenly. “Now, do you want to stand here on the steps arguing about it, or shall we get going?”

For a second, he wasn’t all that sure she wouldn’t choose arguing, which surprised him. But she nodded, and they went to her truck, which she drove with extreme care, to the hospital. It was located on the east end of town, where the buildings didn’t appear to be stuck in a fifties time warp like so much of Lucius seemed to be.

They went in through the emergency room entrance, and Hadley explained the situation to the receptionist.

Then they waited.

And waited.

And finally he couldn’t sit in the molded plastic chair in the minuscule waiting room a minute longer, and he rose.

“Are you all right?” Hadley looked up at him. The harsh light from the utilitarian fixtures overhead shined in her gleaming brown hair and ought to have made her natural features look pale. Yet there wasn’t a single flaw visible in her creamy skin. And her brown eyes simply looked deeper. More liquid. “Wood?”

“My father’s in the hospital,” he said abruptly.

Her soft eyebrows drew together, forming a tiny crease over her nose. “Oh, Wood. I’m sorry. You must hate being here. Is it serious?”

“Enough. He’s had more than one heart attack in the past two weeks.”

“Good heavens.” She pressed her hand to her throat. “It must be hard for you to be away from him right now.”

“He’s been unconscious for most of that time.” He didn’t want her asking why he’d leave his father at a critical time. “My sister said he’s showing some signs of coming around again.”

“She’s the one who called Tiff’s this afternoon?”

He nodded. Darby hadn’t been able to reach his cell phone, because he’d been tied up on a conference call with Laura and the head of his West Coast operations. “Darby,” he said after a moment. It was a family name for her. Not the one most of the world had known her by. Debra White Rutherford, the little girl who’d been kidnapped right out of a crowded elevator, outraging the entire nation.

The little girl who’d been kidnapped right out from under her brother’s nose, more like.

He pushed aside the thoughts. It was being in the hospital that was doing it. Eroding his objectivity. His remoteness.

“Well, that’s really good news about your father, isn’t it?”

He supposed it was. Only if Roth did fully regain consciousness, he’d just continue fighting his doctors every damned inch of the way. Nobody could convince his father to do anything he didn’t want to do, particularly undergoing a surgeon’s scalpel.

“Yes. It should be good news.”

She ran her finger back and forth over the neckline of her T-shirt. To date, it was the snuggest thing she’d worn, yet it was still too big. He had an unbidden vision of her in threads designed just for her racehorse-lean body.

“Wouldn’t you rather be with him right now?” she asked, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. “You can trust Stu with your car, you know.”

“My father and I don’t see eye to eye,” he hedged. Roth had refused the quadruple bypass the moment he’d been able to speak after his first heart attack. “So, tell me about your nephews and niece. They the only ones?”

She was distracted for a moment by the abrupt shift. “Yes. Evie had to go to Billings today and needed someone to watch them.”

He wanted to ask how the oldest boy had come by the name Alan. But a nurse came out just then, asking for Hadley, and she gulped a little, and followed the nurse through the swinging double doors behind the reception area.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Evie and Charlie’s last names were Beckett. Not Michaels. It was probably too much of a stretch to think young Alan Beckett had some connection to Alan Michaels. Simply because of the similar first name?

Nevertheless, he pulled out his cell phone and went outside to the parking lot for some privacy. And there, he called Mandy Manning. If anyone could ferret out a connection, it would be her. She’d been doing investigative work for Rutherford Industries for several years now.

When he returned inside, Hadley was just coming out from the double doors again. She looked peaked and worried.

“Well?”

“It’s something with her pregnancy,” Hadley murmured. “The doctor didn’t share too much with me, other than that she’s in and out of consciousness, but the baby is stable for the moment.” She pulled on her coat. “I didn’t want to just leave a message on her answering machine at home. I mean, how cruel would that be to whoever gets it? I got the impression that her fiancé passed away. But I did leave a message on her work number to call me. Hopefully someone will get it since tomorrow’s Monday. In the meantime, I’ll just keep trying her home number.”

They left the hospital, and Hadley’s feet dragged to a halt. “Good grief, look at the sun. I had no idea it was so late.” She looked up at him. “I guess supper’s going to be late tonight. I hope nobody is too inconvenienced.”

As far as Dane was concerned, she had a houseful of people perfectly capable of scaring up a meal for themselves if need be. He pulled open the truck door for her and she climbed up on the high seat, which put them pretty much eye to eye.

“You’re too nice,” he murmured.

She pressed her soft lips together and rolled her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m a wimp. We both know it.”

He shook his head. Looked out over the parking lot. In one direction he could see a brightly lit supermarket. In the other, nothing much but winter-bare land. “Do you have

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