Rave reviews for New York Times bestselling author
Susan Mallery

Praise for Sweet Spot

“Mallery is in top-notch form as she takes troubled and stubborn individuals and portrays their emotional growth. Drama and trauma abound in this winner!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“I strongly recommend Sweet Spot, especially to readers who like their family melodramas spiked with lots of laughter and hot romance.”

—The Romance Reader

Praise for Sweet Talk

“Sweet Talk is one sweet read! Susan Mallery delivers a deliciously satisfying first book in her new wonderfully written Bakery Sisters trilogy.”

—The Romance Readers Connection (4 1/2 stars)

“Amusing, heartfelt and wildly romantic, Sweet Talk is the perfect romance.”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“Susan Mallery provides a powerful passionate backdrop to a fine contemporary romance.”

—Harriet Klausner

Praise for Accidentally Yours

“Mallery has once again proven to be a superb writer; romance novels just don’t get much better than this.”

—Booklist

“If you’re looking for heart-tugging emotions elaborately laced with humor, then Mallery is the author for you.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Praise for Tempting

“At turns witty and poignant, this hard-to-put-down book will appeal to a broad spectrum of readers.”

—Booklist, starred review

Praise for Sizzling

“[A] tasty dish…Mallery’s prose is luscious and provocative, and her characters worth following from book to book.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Sizzling is simply dazzling! You’ll laugh, you’ll hoot, you’ll raise your eyebrows, and yes, you’ll cry buckets, so have those tissues handy…. Highly Recommended!”

—The Romance Readers Connection

Lip Service
Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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LIP SERVICE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

“I’D LIKE YOU to marry my daughter.”

Skye Titan was having enough trouble balancing a small tray with two drinks and a plate of appetizers in one hand while reaching for the study door with the other. A sudden inability to breathe only complicated the stability problem.

Thirty seconds ago she would have thought that nothing her father said could surprise her anymore. She would have been wrong.

Talk about humiliating, she thought, wondering if Jed Titan’s statement was meant to buy a son-in-law or sell a daughter. With him, she couldn’t be sure.

“Izzy?” the other man asked, his voice clearly audible, despite the thick door between them.

“No. Skye.”

“Oh.”

Skye waited impatiently.

“Oh?” Was that the best he could do? Annoyance grew as time ticked on.

“I guess that would work, too,” the other voice said at last.

Skye practically growled in irritation. Words to make her heart beat faster for sure. So charming. How was she going to keep from throwing herself at T. J. Boone when she walked into the study?

If she had been any less the well-trained hostess, not to mention a dutiful daughter, she would have pushed open the door, tossed the drinks in both their faces and left the house, never to be heard from again.

“Egotistical jackass bastard,” she muttered, not sure if she meant the insult for T.J. or her father. They both deserved it.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, then imagined herself sinking into the big tub in the bathroom off her bedroom. Bubbles up to her chin, a glass of white wine to take off the edge. She was calm and in control. She was going to do the right thing, because that’s who she was. The good girl, dammit. The one who served drinks to men like T.J. and her father.

Skye opened the door to the study and stepped inside the room. The two men stood next to the pool table. Jed didn’t bother acknowledging her while T.J. looked momentarily uncomfortable. As if he wondered whether she’d heard him condemn her with faint praise.

She smiled as she offered the successful businessman his drink, wishing she’d thought to spit in it first.

“T.J.,” she said.

“Skye.”

He was good-looking, in a blond, blue-eyed sort of way. Tall and well dressed. He was a Texas boy and was probably charming, but it was hard to notice when the unenthusiastic “I guess that would work, too” was bouncing around in her brain.

She set the appetizers on the table in the corner. “Is there anything else, Daddy?” she asked.

“That’s all, Skye.”

“Then I’ll say good-night.”

Her hostess duties completed, her temper still firing, albeit silently, she left the room and walked to the stairs. Once on the third floor, she made her way to the last room on the left. During the day, it was a bright open space done in primary colors. A big bed sat by the window overlooking the main pasture. At night, shadows closed in, but seven-year-old Erin was never afraid of the dark. She wasn’t afraid of anything. A quality she must have inherited from her father, Skye thought enviously.

Now Erin lay sleeping, a tiny curled-up bump under the covers. Skye sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at her child.

“I love you, Bunny Face,” she whispered.

Erin didn’t stir.

Skye rose and walked the few feet to her own bedroom. Her younger-by-a-year sister, Izzy, sprawled on the big bed, watching television. She muted the sound when Skye entered.

“Don’t you have a TV in your own room?” Skye asked.

“Sure, but using yours is more fun. Who’s the guy?”

“T. J. Boone. You’re the one he wants.”

Izzy sat up, her dark curly hair a halo around her head. “What are you talking about?”

Skye walked to the bathroom and turned on the tub. While water thundered out, she poured in jasmine-scented bath oil that foamed and made bubbles.

“Jed told T.J. that he’d like him to marry his daughter. T.J. asked about you but Jed informed him that I was the daughter being auctioned off. T.J. paused for a very long time before agreeing that I would do.” Skye returned to the bedroom, then swore softly. “Did I remember to bring up a big bottle of wine? Of course not.”

Izzy bounced to her feet. “What are you talking about? Of course he wants you. You’re gorgeous.”

That was stretching it, but Skye wasn’t going to refuse the compliment.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not letting Jed pick a husband for me. Been there, done that.”

“Bought the T-shirt,” Izzy added helpfully.

She’d done more than that. She’d married the man in question because it was what her father wanted. Because it was the right thing to do, or so it had seemed at the time.

“I have a backbone,” Skye said, feeling dissatisfied with her life and not clear on why. “I’m sure of it. If I didn’t have a backbone, I couldn’t walk upright. I’m twenty-six years old, a widow and single mother. Shouldn’t I be the one running my life?”

“You are,” Izzy said, then shrugged. “Sort of.”

“How wonderful. I’m a role model for doormats everywhere.”

“You’re not a doormat.”

Skye shook her head. “Sorry. This should be a pity party for one. I didn’t mean to include you. Why don’t you go downstairs and flaunt yourself in front of T.J.? Show him what he’ll never have.”

Izzy frowned. “Are you okay? I can stay and keep you company.”

“No, thanks. I’m going to take a bath where I’ll be floating in a sea of denial.” Because her bad mood wasn’t just because of T.J.’s obvious rejection. She wasn’t interested in him or any man. It was her father assuming once again he could control her life. Because she’d let him…more than once.

“Sk-ye.” Izzy drew the word out into two syllables. “Don’t make me sing ‘The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow’ until you beg for mercy, because I will.”

Skye laughed. “Okay. I’ll be good. Now run along and make trouble. We’ll both feel better for it. I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep. Everything will look better in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

Izzy hesitated, then left. Skye returned to the bathroom and turned off the water. She pinned up her hair, then undressed and climbed into the tub. But no matter that she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, she kept hearing the conversation between T.J. and Jed. And kept getting mad. Mostly at herself. For being the kind of person who did what she was told.

Because she was the good sister. The one who followed the rules. Who did the expected.

“I hate people like that,” she said aloud into the empty room. So why had she become one of them?

IZZY WAITED until T.J. stepped out onto the front porch of the house. She’d grown up lurking in shadows, spying on her older sisters, who seemed to have all the fun. She was used to being stealthy.

When she was sure he hadn’t noticed her, she crept up behind him and said, “Hi,” in a loud voice. It was hard not to laugh when he jumped.

“Jesus,” he yelled as he turned. “You scared me.”

“Good. I understand we’re soon to be brother and sister. That’s very cool. I’ve always wanted an older brother. You can teach me all kinds of things.”

T.J. stood a good ten inches taller than her, but Izzy wasn’t the least bit intimidated. She wasn’t there to fight fair and would use every advantage to bring the jerk to his knees. Scaring him had just been a happy bonus.

“Brother and sister?”

“You’re marrying Skye, aren’t you? At least, that’s what she said.”

T.J. swore, this time more aggressively. “She heard. I didn’t mean for her to.”

He was standing at the top of the stairs. Izzy thought about giving him a big push, just for the thrill of watching him tumble. “You hesitated when Jed offered you Skye. I can’t believe you had the nerve to think about it. She’s worth ten of you.”

“Wait a minute. My hesitation wasn’t about Skye. She’s a beautiful woman.”

“So were you concerned about the size of your equipment?” Izzy interrupted with a smirk.

“I was making a point with your father.” He leaned against the post by the stairs. “And for future reference, I’ve never had complaints about the size of my equipment.”

“Most women are too polite to complain in person. We only tell each other when we’re disappointed.”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “You have sass.”

“I have a lot of things you’ll never see.”

“Want to bet?”

Izzy liked that he gave as good as he got, but not that he was consorting with Jed, talking about marrying Skye and flirting with her.

“Jed won’t take kindly to you playing his daughters against each other. Trust me, he’s not a man you want to piss off.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care which of his daughters I marry.”

“You couldn’t catch me and even if you could, you couldn’t handle me.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

She ignored the statement. “Let me be clear. Hurt my sister again, T.J., and looking eye to eye with a snake will seem like a step up for you.”

He stared at her feet, then worked his way up. “You think you could take me?”

“Even on a bad day. I fight dirty.”

“So do I, little girl.”

She filed that piece of information away for future reference. “I’ll be reporting our little conversation to my sister. The Titan girls are very loyal to each other. Keep that in mind.”

“You’re full of advice. What makes you think I need it?”

“You have amateur written all over you.”

MITCH CASSIDY PULLED to a stop at the entrance to the ranch. Although he’d grown up here, he hadn’t been back in nearly nine years. He’d expected a few changes—life had a way of moving forward whether he wanted it to or not—but not this.

He stared at the words over the open metal gates. The gates, connected to nothing, were just there for show. “Cassidy Ranch. Home of certified organic beef and free-range poultry.”

“What the hell?”

He wasn’t sure what offended him the most. The phrase “certified organic” or the word poultry.

“Chickens? We have goddamn chickens?”

He hated chickens. They were loud and messy. And this was Texas. His family ran beef. They had for nearly a hundred years. It was the source of the Cassidy fortune. If some ranch wife wanted to raise a few chickens for eggs or deep frying, the stupid birds were kept out of sight and never talked about. They weren’t bragged about in a sign.

His left foot ached. He reached down to rub it only to remember a half second later that he didn’t have a left foot anymore. The below-the-knee amputation was the reason he wasn’t a SEAL these days. It was the reason he’d finally come home.

He swore again, put the truck in Drive and headed for the main house. In a perfect world, he would quietly reappear at the ranch, easing into a normal life, without anyone noticing. However, though life was a lot of things, it wasn’t perfect.

He drove down the nearly mile long private road. White fences lined both sides. There were horses on the right and prize bulls on the left. Prosperity on the hoof.

He rounded a curve, past a grove of trees and saw the house where he’d grown up. It was a sprawling two-story structure with a wraparound porch. Flowers grew waist high, swaying gently in the breeze. It could have been a picture from a postcard. Mitch almost wished it was.

Fidela stood on the porch, straining forward, as if wanting to know the second he arrived. She took off at a run toward the truck, forcing him to stop short of the house.

She might be pushing fifty, but she had the speed of a six-year-old and got to him before he’d awkwardly clambered out of the truck. He landed on gravel and nearly lost his balance as his leg muscles struggled to keep him upright on his new and painful prosthesis.

“You’re back!” she said, tears filling her brown eyes. “Finally. I’ve been praying and praying since you left. God is tired of me asking for your safety. You could have helped, you know. Not done such dangerous work. But no. You like to test my faith.”

She cupped his face, then ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, as if wanting to make sure he was real.

“You’re taller since you left, but so thin. Mitch, such sadness in your eyes. But you’re home now, yes? Home with me and Arturo. The ranch will heal you and I will cook all your favorites until you are too fat to ride a horse.”

She smiled through her tears, then hugged him with a fierce strength that squeezed the air out of him.

She’d been a part of his life since before he was born. Arturo had brought her to the ranch as his young bride. She’d helped his mother and Arturo had managed the ranch. His parents had never enjoyed staying in one place for very long, and when they’d left on their many trips, Arturo and Fidela had been the ones to take care of him.

He hugged her back, slowly, tentatively, remembering and wanting to forget at the same time. He was careful to focus on staying balanced, with his center of gravity where it was supposed to be. All the easy things he’d once taken for granted.

“I made enchiladas and beans the way you like. There’s pie and flan and all your favorite foods. Your room is ready, on the main floor. Just for now, though. That is what the doctor said when he called. Just for now.”

Mitch wondered what else the doctor had said. Mitch knew he’d been a difficult patient. He wasn’t interested in all the bullshit about how things happened for a reason and even when God closed a door, He opened a window. Mitch wasn’t interested in a window. He wanted his life back the way it had been before the explosion that had taken off the bottom half of his left leg.

“I gotta go,” he said, pushing away from Fidela and returning to the truck. “I’ll be back.”

She stared at him, her mouth trembling with an emotion he didn’t want to identify. Pity, most likely. And why not?

He slammed the driver’s door and started the engine. He didn’t know where he was going—as long as it was away from here.

He circled the barn and followed the dirt road toward the pastures. The fencing was new and in good repair. To his right he saw something that looked suspiciously like a whole lot of chickens, so he stared straight ahead until he’d crested a rise. From there he could see Cassidy land and the dark shadows that were the cattle. At this distance, the changes wouldn’t be so noticeable.

He got out of the truck, then winced when he took a step. His stump ached. He’d done too much, too fast, ignoring the advice from his doctor and therapists. He was supposed to get used to the prosthesis over time, to use crutches or a walker. Not that he would.

He limped over to a big rock and sat down, then pulled up his jeans and unhooked the plastic and metal replacing what had once been flesh and bone.

His knee was all banged up, scarred and still red in places. The field surgeon in Afghanistan had done his best to save Mitch’s leg, or at least what had been left of it. For that Mitch would always be grateful. Not happy, exactly, but grateful.

He hurt everywhere and on the days when he didn’t want to bother getting out of bed he reminded himself that, compared to a lot of soldiers, all he had was a scratch and he needed to get over it. His buddy, Pete, had risked his life to drag Mitch to safety and had gotten shot for his efforts. So Mitch owed him, too. There were…

The sound of steady hooves caught his attention. He started to stand, remembered too late he was missing a foot and nearly fell over. He grabbed for the rock and managed to stay upright. But before he could strap his prosthesis back in place, a horse and rider joined him on the rocky ledge.

Mitch stared at the one person in all the world he never wanted to see again. Did it have to be now? With him holding his fake leg in one hand? Did he have to look like the cripple he was?

Anger welled up inside of him. Living, hot anger that wanted to explode and burn and destroy.

“Get the hell off my land,” he growled. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Hello, Mitch,” she said, not acknowledging his order. “I just heard that you were back.”

Skye Titan drew her horse to a halt, slid from the saddle and onto the ground. She pulled off her cowboy hat.

Despite the years that had passed, she looked exactly as he remembered. Her dark red hair contrasted with her pale skin. Eyes the color of spring grass stared into his. She looked good. Too good, all curves and temptation.

“How are you?” she asked.

He motioned to the prosthesis. “How do you think I am? Go away. You’re not anyone I want to talk to.”

She wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, one that hugged her breasts in a way that irritated him even more.

“I don’t think I’m leaving just yet,” she said.

His gaze dropped to her left hand. He didn’t see a ring. “What happened to husband number one? Daddy tell you to dump him?”

“Ray died,” she said, her gaze never leaving his.

“Living life as the rich widow or has Jed married you off again? Who is it this time, Skye? An old tycoon or some international banker?”

THE MITCH CASSIDY Skye remembered had been a funny, easygoing guy who rode like the wind and could kiss her senseless in a matter of seconds. He laughed as hard as he played and Mitch had loved to play. She knew war changed a man, but she hadn’t expected him to be a cold, mean stranger. His crack about a second arranged marriage hit close and hard. She took a step back.

“I’m sorry about your injury,” she said.

“I’ll sleep better knowing that.”

“Is the sarcastic bastard act specifically for me, or are you sharing it with everyone?”

He turned his back on her.

She supposed that was an answer of sorts, even if she wasn’t sure of the specifics.

She’d missed him, she thought sadly, staring at the familiar broad shoulders. His dark hair was military short, which suited him. The scar on the side of his jaw wasn’t one she remembered and she remembered everything about Mitch’s body.

He’d been her first love, her first lover and there had been a time when she would have walked through fire to be with him. But she hadn’t been willing to defy her father. Had that been a mistake?

“I wish things had been different,” she said, before she could stop herself. She meant the past, but then he spun toward her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin line, she realized he thought she was talking about his leg.

“I don’t need your pity,” he growled. “I don’t need sh—”

He lost his balance and started to go down. Skye reacted instinctively, springing toward him. She grabbed him around the waist as he reached for the rocks. The prosthesis dropped to the ground.

He was heavier than she’d anticipated and the weight of him knocked her sideways. Her foot slipped. She scrambled to stay upright, then they were both falling.

The ground was hard. She landed on her back, him on top of her. Rocks jabbed her but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t draw in air.

Mitch was off her in a second. “Breathe,” he said, propped up next to her. “You’re fine. Just breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, then another.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “You’re too small to hold me up. What did you think you were doing?”

He looked furious, which was oddly better than cold and sarcastic.

“I’m not weak,” she told him. “I could so kick your ass.”

“On what planet?”

“Zorgon.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t, Skye. Don’t try to make this okay.”

Because it wasn’t or he didn’t want it to be? “I missed you, Mitch.”

The humor faded and the coldness returned. “You should have thought about that before you dumped me.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Sure you did. Daddy asked you to jump and you got out the ruler to make sure it was high enough.”

She sat up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How much did I get wrong?”

Nothing and that’s what annoyed her most. “Mitch, please.”

“Please what?”

They were both sitting, facing each other. She could see all the colors that made up his irises, the individual hairs of his lashes. The scent of him was familiar, as was the heat rising inside of her.

He was so different, yet she recognized every part of him. It was as if the nearly nine years between them vanished and there was only this moment and the man she had once loved with a desperation that had left her weak.

“Mitch,” she said, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, closed the space between them and kissed him.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the feel of his lips against hers, but no reaction. She pressed harder, wanting him to want her, wanting him to respond. When he didn’t, she knew she’d made a mistake. That whatever she’d been longing for, it had been on her side alone. He hadn’t missed her at all.

She drew back.

Heat climbed her cheeks. She released him and started to get to her feet.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down next to him. He leaned over her until she was forced to sink onto the ground.

“There is no way this is going to happen,” he told her.

Then he kissed her. His mouth moved on hers, all desperation, taking and claiming.

He kissed with a need that stole her breath far more effectively than her recent fall. His arms wrapped around her, she clung to him and everything was exactly as she remembered. It was hot and hungry and perfect.

He thrust his tongue inside of her mouth. She welcomed him with darting strokes. They teased and danced, relearning, discovering.

She ran her hands up and down his back. He was stronger than she remembered, the muscles thicker. He’d filled out even as he remained lean. He shifted closer, his body bumping hers. She turned toward him and felt the thick ridge of his erection.

The proof of his desire thrilled her. She hadn’t been with a man since Ray. For a while, she’d thought that part of her was dead. Recently it had tried to surface, but she was a single mother with a lot of responsibility. Sex wasn’t possible in her world.

But now, with Mitch, desire flared to life. Liquid ache poured into her belly, moving lower as she recalled the feel of him filling her, taking her beyond this reality to a place that was pure pleasure.

He continued to kiss her, circling her tongue with his. Then he pulled back enough to move his mouth along her jaw. He pushed up her T-shirt and jerked down the cup of her bra, exposing her left breast. He bent over her and sucked on her nipple, drawing it in deeply, flicking the tight tip with his tongue.

She gasped and strained to get closer. Her skin burned for more and her body throbbed with pent-up need. She dug her fingers into his back, then moved lower so she could cup his rear. His arousal surged against her.

He shifted her onto her back, unfastened the front of her jeans and shoved his hand under her panties.

They were outside in the middle of the day, with her horse standing close by and the sky above them. She should have been shocked or embarrassed, but she could only hold her breath until his skilled fingers slipped between her legs, into her wet, waiting heat.

He didn’t disappoint. Even as his thumb settled on that one, sensitive spot, he pushed two fingers inside of her. She was already swollen and desperate. The second he began to rub, she felt herself losing control.

It was too fast, she thought as he stroked her, at the same time moving his fingers in and out of her. Too fast and too much and so incredibly perfect she didn’t want him to stop. She arched her hips to get closer, to take more. She moaned and writhed. Wanting filled her.

He abandoned her breast, then shifted so that he could kiss her again. She welcomed him in her mouth, then closed her lips around his tongue and sucked until it was his turn to groan.

He moved his hand more quickly—rubbing and pushing, taking her closer and closer. When she was within sight of her release, he drew back.

“You’re going to have to get on top,” he told her.

What?

He rolled onto his back and undid his jeans. Rational thinking returned just enough for her to realize he probably didn’t know how to be on top. Not yet, anyway. And who on earth cared?

She jerked off one boot, pushed down her jeans and panties, pulled one foot free, moved the clothing out of the way and settled herself on his erection.

He filled her completely, perfectly, and her body responded with a sigh. She rode him a couple of times, letting herself stretch around him, taking in the sense of being with a man again. This man who had taught her the pleasures possible.

“Lean forward,” he said.

She did as he suggested. He reached under her shirt and unfastened her bra, then cupped her breasts in his hands.

Rocks cut into her knees and her palms, but she didn’t care. Even as he teased her nipples, she moved up and down, filling herself with him, letting the heat rise between them. The wanting. Everything faded except the feeling between them.

She felt him getting closer, felt herself responding to each deep thrust. The sun was hot on her back. Muscles tensed, she strained forward. Then he dropped one hand, slid it between them and rubbed her with his fingers.

She came with a sharp cry that silenced the birds. Her orgasm crashed over her, making her ride him faster and faster as she drew out the experience as long as possible. Her thighs clenched, her hips moved up and down. There was nothing but the perfection of being with him again.

Beneath her, Mitch met each of her movements with a hard thrust that satisfied every part of her. He grabbed her and steadied her rhythm, then tensed and lost himself in her. When she was sure he was done, she slowed, then stopped. And then it was just their breath in the air, both of them recovering.

Reality returned in the form of an ant climbing up her arm. Skye brushed it away, then stood, feeling exposed and awkward. She had one boot on, one off. Her pants and panties hung on one leg. Her bra was loose under her shirt. Mitch zipped up and was dressed in about five seconds. She was left with her ass hanging out for all the world to see.

While she struggled to dress, he stood and leaned against the rock, watching her.

His jeans hung empty on the left side, but she was the one who stumbled and couldn’t get herself together. Finally she was dressed and pulled on her boot. She straightened, not sure what to say.

There were a thousand things she almost blurted out. Like, “that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Or, “I don’t have sex with strangers.” Except Mitch wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly.

His dark eyes gave nothing away. She couldn’t read him at all. Finally, one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Thanks, babe. I needed that. Next time you’re feeling like you want to get laid, give me a call and I’ll see if I can fit you in.”

The verbal slap landed with perfect precision. She flushed, as shame filled her. She walked toward her horse, grabbed her hat, shoved it on her head, then swung up into the saddle and rode away.

It was only when she was a mile or so from the rock outcropping that she allowed herself to give in to the tears burning in her eyes. She cried all the way to the barn—some for herself, some for Mitch, but mostly for how young and in love they’d once been and how much had been lost.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER GETTING his prosthesis reattached, Mitch got into the truck and drove back toward the house. He stopped a half mile or so from the buildings that made up the heart of the ranch. He wasn’t ready to face Fidela again. Or anyone.

When he’d awakened on the naval hospital ship and realized what had happened, all he could think was that it was time to go home. That after nearly nine years, he was ready to go back where he belonged. But now that he was here he realized it wasn’t home anymore. Everything had changed…including him.

He turned off the engine and leaned back in the seat. He hurt all over, but the worst throbbing came from the part of his leg that didn’t exist anymore. He’d been told that would happen and given pages of instructions on how to deal with the pain. Everything from massaging his stump to some stupid-assed hand-rubbing energy woo-woo crap he hadn’t bothered reading. He was strong—he would will the pain away. Eventually. Until then he would deal.

The sun had moved in the sky and long shadows crept along the land. Time was passing, although not fast enough to suit him. He wanted it to be a year from now, or five, so he wouldn’t have to be adjusting to everything. He wanted that behind him.

Without him wanting it to, his body clenched as if remembering what it felt like to be inside Skye. She’d taken him with a passion he’d never been able to completely forget. She hadn’t cared about his missing leg or the years they’d been apart. She’d wanted what he had always been able to give her—what they’d given each other. Then he’d hurt her because she’d deserved it.

Pain had flashed in her eyes and he didn’t regret causing it. He could only hope it kept her up nights, that she couldn’t breathe for feeling it. He wanted her to have nothing but regret. That might be the first step in evening out the score.

But all the revenge in the world didn’t take away the wanting. Even now, not thirty minutes later, he ached for her. Ached to be inside of her, touching her, tasting her. The kissing had been good, but hadn’t lasted long enough. He wanted to savor all of her, to lick her between her legs until she screamed and he nearly lost control himself.

He told himself it wouldn’t be like that anymore, but he knew he was lying. Whatever happened between them, the fire still burned. It was—

Something moved in the shadows.

He sat up and leaned forward, trying to figure out the shape and speed. A coyote, he thought, disgusted. Scavengers.

Instinctively he reached behind the truck seat, but he hadn’t thought to bring a shotgun. Then he saw where the coyote was headed and realized it didn’t matter.

The skinny predator moved with a confidence that spoke of experience or extreme hunger. It slipped through a break in the fencing. The hated chickens squawked and tried to get away, but they weren’t nearly as fast as the coyote and they were trapped by the fencing. The coyote used that to his advantage. He grabbed one, snapped its neck with a quick, violent shake and retreated, dinner hanging limply from his jaws.

Mitch started the truck’s engine and headed back to the house. As he pulled up in front, he saw Arturo standing on the porch, shotgun in hand.

“Did you see what he did?” the older man demanded. “I checked that fence line yesterday but it must have gotten damaged this morning. Damn coyotes are always prowling, always looking for a weak spot. I wish I’d gotten here sooner. I would have shot him.”

Mitch hadn’t seen Arturo in nearly nine years but, except for a few gray hairs, his manager hadn’t changed much. He was still tall and barrel-chested, with a permanent squint as if the sun was always in his eyes. As a kid Mitch had loved watching old Westerns on TV. He’d thought Arturo was the Latin version of John Wayne—big, brave and able to beat the bad guys, despite any odds.

“It’s good to see you, old man,” Mitch said.

Arturo dropped the gun onto the bench by the front door and grabbed Mitch by the upper arms. “I’m glad you’re back. We missed you. Every night Fidela prayed for your safe return.”

“She told me.”

“She worried. We both worried.”

There was love in the old man’s eyes. He had been there for Mitch far more than his own father had ever been. Arturo had taught him all he knew about life.

Carefully, aware of his balance, he hugged the other man. Arturo squeezed him tightly, then slapped him on the back.

“You look good. How do you feel?”

“About what you’d expect.”

“Fidela is going to fatten you up. Be prepared to eat. You know how she gets.”

“Tell me we’re not having chicken,” Mitch grumbled, hating the birds.

“We have plenty, even with the one that got away.”

“The coyotes can take them all.”

Arturo stepped back. “Why would you say that? They’re your chickens.”

“I don’t want ’em. We run beef here. We always have. When did you sell out? Chickens? And organic beef? What’s next? Do we all go around saving the spotted owl and hugging trees?”

Arturo frowned, then folded his arms across his big chest. “I told you what I wanted to do seven years ago. I explained everything and said to let me know if you didn’t want me to go ahead with the changes.”

Which was probably true. “I didn’t read any of the reports,” Mitch admitted, wishing there was a casual way he could sit down and take the weight off his stump. It felt like it was on fire.

“What about the bank statements?” Arturo asked, sounding more curious than pissed.

“Once in a while.” He’d seen enough to know there was plenty of money. The ranch had grown even more profitable in the time he’d been away.

“The cattle industry is changing,” Arturo said. “Consumers want things different these days. They worry that their beef isn’t safe. They don’t want the antibiotics. They want clean poultry that isn’t raised in cages. This way we avoid all those problems. Certified, organic beef means…”

Arturo kept talking but Mitch wasn’t listening. A hundred years of tradition over in a heartbeat. Nothing was the way he thought it should be. Nothing was right.

He headed for the door. Every step sent pain shooting up his thigh to his hip. His back throbbed.

“You need to know about this,” Arturo told him.

“You handle it.”

“You’re the boss. This is all for you, Mitch. That’s why I did it. For you.”

Mitch turned slowly. He was sure the old man meant it. That his intentions had been good. “I don’t want it,” Mitch said slowly. “Any of it. Not the chickens or the organic beef. I want things back the way they were.”

What he meant was himself. He knew that. Arturo would know it, too. Nothing about his statement was subtle.

He stepped into the house and stumbled when his prosthesis caught on the threshold. Arturo grabbed him to keep him from going down.

Mitch shook off the help and walked as steadily as he could back to the room Fidela had converted into a bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, then sat on the bed.

His toes twitched, his ankle moved, his calf tensed. He could feel it. All of it. It was real, as was the pain…and the loss.

Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Everything was screwed up and broken. Even him. Especially him.

SKYE FINISHED rubbing down her horse, then walked back toward the house. For once, the sight of Glory’s Gate rising tall and proud against the blue Texas sky didn’t lighten her mood. She was battling too many emotions, most of them bad, to appreciate architecture or stately columns. Not when she was torn between the tingles still jolting her body. And shame.

Once in the mudroom, she pulled off her boots and socks and slipped into a pair of sandals. A quick check of the clock told her that casual sex on the ground hadn’t put her too far behind schedule.

There was a party that night. A couple hundred of Jed Titan’s closest friends would stop by for cocktails between six and eight. A dozen or so of the mighty who attended had been graced with an invitation for dinner, but the meal wasn’t her problem. He would take them out for that.

Before then she had to make sure everything was in place. That the party would be perfect. Nothing less was allowed. Titans did things well or they didn’t do them at all.

She walked into her downstairs office, the one she used to coordinate the social events that made Glory’s Gate sparkle five or six times a month. White dry-erase board covered two of the walls. A grid had been painted in place, allowing her to write in the details for each event. She could look at four different parties at the same time.

Her desk was simple—a long, low surface with a computer and plenty of storage trays for files. She had a Rolodex with the name of every florist, caterer, musician and party planner in a two-hundred-mile radius.

In the closet were hard copies of the details of all the parties she’d given in this house. With an average of five a month over eight years, she was in need of more storage. Because those files contained more than just menus. They listed guests, drinks, decorations, musical selections, the caterer and staff along with any notable particulars—press clippings and even social connections that had been made.

The same information was on her computer and could be sorted by any variation. Two years ago the new White House social secretary had come for a two-day visit and taken continuous notes as Skye explained her process.

It wasn’t rocket science, Skye thought as she sank into her chair and turned on her computer. It wasn’t even more than mildly interesting. It was just what she did. Skye Titan—master party planner.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured aloud, knowing that her day job was important. If Jed had remarried, his wife would have taken over, but as he hadn’t, it made sense that one of his daughters would step into the breach. Neither Lexi nor Izzy were the least bit interested and there was the tiny fact that Skye had attended Swiss finishing school for nearly two years.

None of this really mattered, she thought, but at least it was a distraction. Because if she didn’t think about napkin colors and garnishes she might think about Mitch again.

She knew he’d wanted to hurt her and she even knew why. He’d won that round. So what? She would survive. Eventually the harsh words wouldn’t burn so deeply. As for the sex, she would consider that nothing more than a welcome-home present. Slightly more personal than flowers.

She teetered on the knife’s edge of emotion. On one side lay cynical humor, on the other, an emotional breakdown. She did her best to fall into sarcastically funny because tears wouldn’t solve anything.

Oh, but she’d missed him. She knew he wouldn’t believe that and if he did, he wouldn’t care. After all, she’d been the one to walk away from him to marry a man she didn’t love. She’d been the one to break both their hearts.

“Enough,” she said aloud, and pushed to her feet. A quick glance at the clock told her the catering staff should be arriving any second. She returned to the kitchen in time to see three vans pull up.

She welcomed them and chatted with Diane, the catering manager. They’d handled dozens of parties for her and knew what to do. Ten minutes later she climbed the stairs to get ready.

With each step, she felt an ache inside—a physical reminder of what she and Mitch had done.

Sex in the dirt? In the middle of the afternoon? That wasn’t her. She was careful and reserved. She was very aware of her position as the head of a charitable foundation and a single mother. She hadn’t been on a date since before she’d married Ray. Certainly not since his death. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to…

Except she had allowed. She’d done more than that. She’d taken and given and lost herself in a wave of pleasure she hadn’t experienced in nearly nine years. The fire had always burned with Mitch and it still smoldered inside.

“What on earth was I thinking?” she asked herself as she reached the landing. There wasn’t an answer, probably because she hadn’t been thinking.

She walked into her bedroom to find Izzy stretched out on the bed, again watching her TV.

“If you don’t like your bedroom, we can find you another one,” Skye told her.

Izzy sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with my room. I wanted to talk to you before the party.”

“The party you’re not coming to?”

Izzy grinned. “Not even for money. Come on, Skye. Jed’s parties are boring. He expects me to behave.”

“Not an area in which you excel.”

“Exactly.”

Izzy bounced to her feet.

Skye studied her sister. Izzy was the wild child—physically free, emotionally flighty. She feared nothing except getting tied down. Since barely finishing high school, she’d held jobs ranging from ski instructor to underwater welder, the latter being her current position on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.

“I met T.J. last night,” Izzy said.

Skye kicked off her sandals. “After you and I talked about what happened?” She groaned. Izzy was very protective and not exactly rational in her approach. “Tell me you didn’t do something that’s going to humiliate me.”

“Would I do that?”

“Not on purpose.”

“I was totally well mannered. You would have been impressed.”

“Doubtful,” Skye murmured, wondering what part of this conversation was going to make her cringe. “What happened?”

“We talked. He’s good-looking. You didn’t mention that.”

“I guess. Not my type. Not yours, either. He’s borderline normal. You know how you hate that.”

Izzy crossed to the mirror above the dresser and studied her reflection. “Is he from around here? I get the feeling I’ve seen him before.”

“Yes. He’s a couple of years older than Lexi. We all went to the same high school.”

“Interesting.” Izzy turned to face Skye. “Local rich boy wants to be richer. Jed Titan can help with that. It’s an old story, but one I never get tired of hearing. He came on to me.”

Skye carefully unzipped her jeans, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. In Izzy’s world, every guy came on to her.

“You might want to swing by the kitchen after the party,” she said as she headed for the bathroom. “We’re having those mini pizza appetizers you like. I’m sure there will be leftovers.”

Izzy followed her. “He came on to me, Skye. Seriously. He wants me.”

Skye told herself she was too mature to roll her eyes, however much she really wanted to. “Okay. Thanks for the share.”

“I’m telling you for your own good. Your sense of duty means you won’t blow this guy off on general principle. He’s a jerk. Be careful.”

Skye’s afternoon had been a roller coaster of emotion. The thrill of seeing Mitch again, the pleasure of making love with him, the humiliation of his dismissal. She was tired, confused, ashamed and sick of feeling that everything was her fault.

“Be careful?” she repeated. “Why? Oh, let me guess. Because while T.J. is desperate to have you because you’re so amazing, the only reason he could possibly be interested in me is because Jed is offering him money.”

Izzy took a step back. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s all very clear. I’m no one. A nonsexual being. A man would have to be bribed or desperate to want to get into my bed.”

Had Mitch been desperate? Or just angry?

“That’s not what I meant,” Izzy said loudly, “and you know it. Look, I was mad because he dismissed you and I went to call him on it. We got to talking and he was interested. That’s all.”

Skye’s temper grew. “You went to defend me and ended up getting a date? Gee, thanks. Your support is overwhelming.”

“It’s not like you ever date,” Izzy snapped. “You’re not exactly experienced with guys like him. I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Obviously not. Fine. Date him. Play the game. Do what Daddy says. It’s what you’re good at.”

Izzy stalked from the bathroom. Seconds later, the bedroom door slammed.

Skye looked around for something to throw, but she didn’t keep anything breakable in the bathroom. Not with a child in the house. She was too sensible for that.

Izzy might be too self-absorbed to understand anyone else’s point of view, but she’d gotten one thing right. Skye did do what Daddy said. She was the good mother, the good sister, the good daughter. The good girl. Although if she had sex in the dirt with Mitch a second time, she just might be on her way to blowing her reputation.

And that would be okay with her.

“WHAT AN INTERESTING musical choice,” the congressman’s wife said, staring at the four college kids Skye had hired for the evening. “That kind of music is…”

“Hip-hop,” Skye told her. “I read about the group. They’re attending Texas A&M and supplementing their scholarships by performing. I went to hear them last month and was impressed.”

She’d dropped into a frat party to hear them, but the congressman’s wife wouldn’t want to know that. Three different guys had hit on Skye in the twenty minutes she’d been in the house. The fact that they were barely out of high school and completely drunk had pretty much diluted any possible compliment.

“Interesting,” the other woman said.

Skye was pretty sure she actually meant something more along the lines of “horrifying” but was too polite to say that. Skye didn’t care. She liked the guys and their music. She could go the rest of her life without hearing another tasteful quartet.

She excused herself to circulate. There were two hundred people to greet and make feel welcome. The evening seemed more stressful than usual, probably because of her fight with Izzy. She hated arguing with either of her sisters. With their mother gone and Jed being, well, Jed, they only had one another to depend on.

They would talk later, she promised herself. Make things right.

“So far, so good,” Jed said as he moved past her.

Skye shook her head. She knew what her father implied—that things were fine now, but the evening wasn’t over. There could still be a disaster.

“Have you noticed that every party I’ve given has been perfect?” she muttered.

“I’m not sure talking to yourself gives a good first impression.”

Skye turned toward the speaker and saw T.J. next to her. “Maybe not, but it ensures I have plenty of personal space. How are you? If you’re looking for Izzy, this isn’t her thing. Or is talking to me going to work, too?”

T.J. winced. “So you did hear.”

“News travels fast. Titanville is a small town.”

“And the doors at Glory’s Gate need to be thicker.” He put his hand on her back and guided her to a corner. “I’m sorry. I doubt me saying that makes a difference, but I really am. I was making a point with your father.”

He sounded sincere, which meant exactly nothing. “The point being?”

“That when he says jump, I’m not going to ask how high. You’re beautiful, Skye. I hope you believe me because I’m telling the truth. You’re lovely and intriguing and if I had let Jed know I was the least bit interested in you, he’d have all the power. I can’t give that away.”

Words she could understand. But could she trust them? Or him? “Not to worry, T.J. We’re fine.”

One eyebrow lifted. “But you’re dismissing me?”

“I’m letting you off the hook.”

“We could have dinner together instead. Or have I blown it with you? The fact that your father’s pushing us to be together isn’t my fault.”

She smiled. “I know that. Not dating you because my father would like it is the same as dating someone he wouldn’t like just to annoy him.”

“Now I’m confused.”

“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you.”

“Let’s change that.”

His eyes were deep blue and he wore his custom suit with style and ease. He should have been everything she ever wanted.

“Did you come on to Izzy?” she asked.

His gaze never wavered. “We talked last night. Mostly about how she wanted to kick my ass for what I’d said. Did I mention I was sorry?”

“More than once. But you also didn’t answer the question. Did you come on to my sister?”

“It’s a trick question. If I say yes, I’m a jerk. If I say no, you’ll think I don’t like her.”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re the one I’m asking out, Skye. Say yes.”

He didn’t make her heart beat faster, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant he would probably never break it.

“Please?” he murmured.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Dinner would be nice.”

MITCH PULLED the sock over his stump, only to wince as the soft fabric came into contact with the raw and bleeding flesh. He’d been doing too much, too soon, and he was paying the price. His therapist had warned him about pacing himself, not that Mitch had listened.

Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, he eased it into the prosthesis, then tentatively pushed into a standing position. While it hurt, the soreness was bearable. As the alternative was crutches and an empty pant leg, he told himself he was fine.

He left the makeshift bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but knew if he didn’t make an appearance, Fidela would come looking for him. He’d escaped her last night by turning out the lights in his room, guessing she would think he was asleep. But that wasn’t going to work for long. Fidela was stubborn and wily. He would rather face her directly. Besides, she was a whole lot easier than the dark.

When it was dark, the past returned, haunting him like a ghost. He remembered what it had been like to be in love with Skye. How happy they’d been. He remembered his pain and disbelief when she’d told him it was over.

In the dark, he remembered the explosion and how Pete had saved him, dragging him, not even slowing when he’d gotten shot himself. Pete had recovered in a couple of weeks and was already back in Afghanistan. Mitch knew the loss of his leg was just one of those things and the sooner he got over it, the sooner the dark would lose its power.

He stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen. Fidela stood at the counter, mixing something in a bowl.

“Morning,” he said, then frowned when he saw a young girl sitting at the table. “Who are you?”

She had red hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her spoon dropped into her cereal as she sprang to her feet and beamed at him.

“You’re here! You’re really here. Fiddle said you were coming home and I’ve been waiting forever.” She moved close and reached out a hand, touching his arm as if to make sure he was real. “I’ve been hoping and praying. Fiddle and I prayed for you every day. And I talked about you in school and we sent cards to the soldiers. Did you get mine? I put your name on the envelope. It was pink. I know that’s a girl color, but it’s pretty. And you’re a hero and I thought you’d like something pretty and Fiddle said you’d come home and you’re here!”

“Who the…” He caught himself. “Who are you?”

She grinned. “I’m Erin. Fiddle and Arturo missed you so much. Arturo didn’t say anything, but I could tell. He was sad in his eyes. And Fiddle talked about you all the time, so it’s like I knew you and then I missed you, too. Are you hungry? Fiddle’s making pancakes. I really wanted some, but I waited for you because you’re back and it’s polite. So do you want pancakes?”

Fidela wiped her hands on a towel. “Good morning,” she said, moving behind the girl and putting her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “This is Erin.”

“I told him that,” the girl said happily as she smiled at him.

“Skye’s daughter.”

He got it then—the red hair, the shape of her eyes, although Skye’s were green, not blue. He saw the similarities in the set of her shoulders.

Here it was—living proof of Skye’s betrayal. Her child with another man.

The anger that lived inside of him flared again, making him want to raise his fist to the heavens. But then what? Did he plan to call God out? And if he did, what made him think God gave a damn?

“Why are you here?” he snapped.

Fidela glared at him. “Erin comes over most days. She keeps me company.”

Some of the brightness faded from the girl’s smile. “I wanted to see you,” she said, sounding less sure of herself. “I wanted to meet you.”

Skye’s daughter. The child they were supposed to have together. She’d promised to marry him and then had walked away because her father had told her to. She’d chosen Jed’s old friend as a husband, rather than him, and Erin was the result.

“I’m going to make pancakes now,” Fidela told the girl. “Why don’t you get the plates.”

“Okay.” Erin looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then turned away.

Fidela was at his side in a heartbeat and dug her fingers into his arm. “She is a little girl,” she whispered. “She believes that you’re someone special. Do you understand me? She didn’t do anything wrong. You have no reason to be angry with her.”

He would have ignored the words, except Fidela was right. Erin wasn’t to blame for her mother’s actions and he hadn’t fallen far enough into hell to take out his rage on an innocent child. Not yet, anyway.

He nodded once.

Fidela tightened her grip.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

She released him and returned to the stove where she picked up a pot of coffee. Mitch limped to the table. Erin stood there, looking uncertain. He forced himself to smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Erin,” he said, feeling stupid but determined to make an effort.

Her smile returned. “Do you want me to get you a mug? I know where they are.”

“Sure.” He eased into the seat. “Thanks.”

She brought back a blue mug and set it in front of him. Fidela poured his coffee.

“I’ll get started on the pancakes,” she said.

Erin sat across from him. “Are you happy to be home? I would get really sad if I had to go away. Were you sad? Do you have lots of friends where you were? I have friends and I have horses, too. I ride.”

“Erin rides over nearly every day all by herself. Very impressive for a little girl.”

Erin laughed. “Fiddle, I’m not little. I’m growing like a weed.” She smiled at him. “That’s what Mom says. Are your friends going to come visit you? Did you fly on a big plane to get home? I was on a plane once. I wasn’t scared at all. Mom says I’m fearless. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s good, right?”

She kept on talking, apparently not needing anyone to participate. She had an energy he admired. These days it took everything he had just to stay standing. As long as he didn’t think about Skye, he could handle Erin sitting across from him, looking at him as if he’d just made her day.

“Fiddle says you’re getting more medals. She says you’ve saved our country.”

He glanced at the older woman. “I had help,” he said dryly.

“But you’re very brave. You’re a hero.”

He frowned. “I’m not a hero.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “But you are. Everyone knows that.”

He started to argue, then shrugged. Let the kid think what she wanted. Life would teach her hard lessons soon enough.

Fidela slid a plate of pancakes in front of each of them.

Erin picked up her fork. “I told Mom there would be pancakes, but she didn’t want to get up. She said she was tired.”

He wondered if Skye hadn’t slept well. Had she been haunted, as he had? Had she relived their time together? Had his harsh words wounded her?

He ignored any stirrings of guilt, telling himself she deserved what she got.

The pancakes were better than he remembered. He’d finished three when Erin asked, “Can you ride a horse without your leg? I hope you can because then we could go riding together. Does it hurt? You have a new leg, right? Fiddle told me about it. Can I see?”

Mitch froze, not sure what to say. No one outside the hospital and rehab center had been so open in discussing the amputation. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated Erin’s attitude or if he wanted her to shut up.

Fidela walked over and touched Erin’s shoulder. “Maybe less questions on the first day.”

Erin sighed. “I talk too much. Everyone tells me that. Sometimes I don’t want to talk about stuff, either.”

“We can talk about it later,” Mitch said, surprising himself.

Erin brightened. “Okay. And it’s my birthday soon. I’m having a party. You can come. You don’t even have to bring a present. There’s cake. You like cake, don’t you?”

A kid’s birthday party? “I, ah—”

“It’s at my house, which is right next door. You can find it easy.” She looked hopeful.

He found himself not wanting to hurt her feelings, but there was no way he wanted to go. “Erin, I—”

“I’m going to be eight and that’s a big deal. Mom keeps telling me that. Eight means I’m getting big and everything.”

She might have kept talking, but he wasn’t sure. The words became a hum that buzzed in the back of his mind.

Eight? Erin was turning eight?

The math was easy. Beyond easy. He knew the exact date of the last time he and Skye had made love. He knew when and where and how they’d held on to each other. They’d been planning on getting married. Laughter had shared space with the moans and cries. There had been so much anticipation.

He looked at Erin, studying the shape of her mouth, the way she held her head. He saw it in her fingers and her movements.

The pancakes he’d eaten sat in his stomach like a rock. He felt both sick and stunned. Reality stared back at him in the form of a nearly eight-year-old girl.

Erin was his. Skye’d had his child and hadn’t bothered to tell him.

CHAPTER THREE

SKYE FINISHED her speech to the women’s group in Austin. She’d started with a few funny stories and had ended with a couple of case studies about specific children to bring the point home. In the middle, she’d carefully layered in the painful statistics about the over twelve million children who lived in food-insecure households. A statistic her foundation wanted to change.

“I have a few minutes for questions,” she said from behind the podium.

One young woman in a red power suit stood. “Why did you pick this issue? You’re a Titan. You probably never even knew anyone who went to bed hungry.”

Skye had been asked this before and it always annoyed her. Did she have to have cancer to want to donate to that cause? She’d never been in a natural disaster, either. Did that mean the Red Cross was out of luck?

Then she reminded herself of the greater good, that the person asking the question was probably curious. Cynical, but curious.

“When my daughter was a year old,” Skye began, “she fell down the stairs and hit her head on a table. There was blood everywhere and being a good mother, I completely panicked.”

The women in the audience laughed.

Skye leaned forward. “We went to the emergency room where she was treated. While we were waiting to fill out the insurance info, I bought a box of animal crackers in the vending machine. A girl about seven or eight walked over and asked me if I was going to eat them.”

The audience faded and Skye was back to that moment in the emergency waiting room. The girl had been blond and painfully thin. Her clothes hung on her.

“I gave her the crackers and asked who she was with. She said her mother had been brought in. They lived on the street and she hadn’t eaten in three days. I asked my sister to take my daughter home and I took the girl to the cafeteria for dinner. When the social worker arrived, she wasn’t surprised by the girl’s condition. It happens far too often, in neighborhoods very close to where we live.”

Skye drew in a breath. “I went home and took care of my daughter but I couldn’t forget about that other little girl. I called the social worker and made an appointment. I wanted to talk about being a foster parent. I knew I had to do something to make a difference. But when I got to the appointment, the woman was tired and busy and told me she didn’t have any time for rich people who wanted to play at making a difference. I was a Titan. Why didn’t I do something that mattered?”

She shrugged. “I was angry and insulted, but I also thought she might be right. I had an inheritance from my mother, which became the seed money for the foundation. We feed over a million children a year. When I say feed, I don’t mean a lunch here or a Christmas dinner there. We provide one to three meals a day to over a million children right here, in this country. Our goal is to make sure no child ever goes hungry again. It’s ambitious but I believe it can be done. We can make a difference, one box of animal crackers at a time.”

She leaned toward the microphone. “What are you doing to make a difference?”

The woman in the red power suit sat down.

Questions continued for a few minutes. Afterward, Skye chatted with several of the women, took a few checks for contributions before driving to the airport where she caught the shuttle to Dallas. An hour later, she was back in at the foundation.

“You did good,” Elsa, her secretary, said as Skye walked into her office. “We’ve already had three calls from people wanting to be silver-level sponsors. I’m sending out packages today.”

Skye passed over the checks. “We’re growing,” she said. “That’s what we want. The more people interested in the problem, the more chance we have to fix it.” She shrugged out of her suit jacket and kicked off her heels. Most days she did the business casual thing, but when she was speaking, she wanted to look the part. “What did I miss?”

“Glenna wants to see you,” Elsa said. “She says it’s important. I cleared you for the next hour. Then you have a phone interview with the LA Times.”

While the foundation had an excellent PR department, nothing seemed quite so interesting to the press as speaking to an actual Titan. When she wanted to complain about the drain on her time, Skye reminded herself that she was on a mission. So what if she was inconvenienced or tired or pulled in too many directions? She was feeding hungry children. What could matter more?

“Do we have prep answers?” Skye asked.

Elsa produced a folder that would contain all the current statistics on hunger in America, information on how the foundation squeezed every penny until it screamed for mercy, their success at fund-raising and a list of ways the average person could make a difference.

“Great. Thanks. Send Glenna in.”

“Will do.”

Skye had time to finish nearly two e-mails before her managing director walked in. Glenna was a forty-something professional who knew what it took to run a successful charitable foundation. She’d been courted by every major charity in the country. Skye had been determined to win her.

“I did the lunch thing today,” Skye said as Glenna paused to close the door behind her. The other women looked concerned. “I was going to complain about it, but something tells me I shouldn’t.”

Glenna had short dark hair, sensibly cut, and an easy smile. Only she wasn’t smiling today.

“We have a problem,” she said, sitting on the opposite side of Skye’s desk. “Another one. And it’s big.”

Skye didn’t like the sound of that. A couple of months ago someone had gone to the district attorney, claiming that the foundation was a front for money laundering. Skye and her people had been cleared of all charges, but too much time and money had been spent proving they were innocent.

Glenna passed over several newspaper articles. “I downloaded these from the Internet. Two of them will appear in print over the next few days. They say that our executives are being paid excessive salaries and bonuses. Money that should be going to feed children is funding vacations, cars and parties. Supposedly you make over a million dollars.”

Skye wanted to scream. “I don’t get a salary at all,” she said, deliberately keeping her voice quiet.

“I know, as does everyone who works here. We also don’t pay bonuses of any kind. These are all lies. I’ve contacted the reporters and will be meeting with each of them. I’ll try to find out who gave this information and why they wrote about it without checking with us first. One of them claimed he did speak with someone from the foundation.”

Skye felt as if someone had hit her on the back of the head with a tire iron. “This is insane.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Glenna said. “I just wanted you to know what was going on.”

“I appreciate that. Let me know what happens.”

Glenna nodded and left.

Skye reached for the phone and dialed a familiar cell number. “Where are you?” she asked when her sister answered.

“About five minutes away. Why?”

“Can you stop by? I need to talk to you about something.”

Lexi Titan was as good as her word. Less than five minutes later she walked into Skye’s office.

“What’s up?” she asked. Lexi was the cool, blond beauty of the sisters. She owned a day spa and could easily be their spokesmodel. Her clothes were elegant, her skin perfect, her hair a shimmering cascade of ice-blond. Despite being nearly three months’ pregnant, she didn’t show at all. If they hadn’t been sisters, Skye would have found it fairly easy to dislike someone as perfect as Lexi.

But none of that mattered now. Skye stood and hugged her, then led the way to a sofa against the far wall.

“I heard from Garth again,” she said.

“Our evil half brother came acalling?”

“In a manner of speaking. Apparently the tip to the D.A. about the foundation laundering money was only the first part of his attack. Now he’s got someone telling reporters that we pay excessive salaries and bonuses, not to mention fund staff vacations.”

Lexi took the papers Skye held out but didn’t read them. “We knew something like this was going to happen. We knew his campaign was just beginning.”

A few months ago the sisters had received their first threat from Garth Duncan. At the beginning they couldn’t figure out why the successful businessman would care about them. A little digging had produced an unbelievable fact. He was their half brother, and Jed Titan’s bastard.

Although Jed claimed Garth and his mother had been given a generous trust fund that should have taken care of them for life, Garth was out for blood. Or at the very least, the destruction of the Titans. He’d waged business and personal attacks on Lexi and Skye, along with Jed. And the hits kept on coming.

“Glenna is looking into this,” Skye said. “But these reporters aren’t stupid. They would check their facts. Which meant Garth was able to give them the information in such a way that they believed it.” She felt sick to her stomach. “Can’t he go pick on someone else? Does it have to be us?”

“We’re the family he never had,” Lexi reminded her. “He’s angry. I just wish I knew what had triggered all this. Why now? Why wait so long to start?”

“He’s certainly moving forward with whatever plan he has. This one is especially good. The D.A. won’t get involved, but the IRS will. His claims put our nonprofit status at risk. Worse, who will want to donate? Being bad is always front-page news, but the retraction comes much later and on the back page. No one remembers that. They just remember the charges.”

Frustration flared inside of her. “I will accept that for some reason Garth hates us. But children will go hungry because of his actions. Doesn’t that matter?”

Lexi shook her head. “Not to him.”

Skye stood and crossed to the window. “This is beyond frustrating. I have worked my butt off here. I wanted to make a difference and I have. When the rest of my life is in the toilet, the foundation reminds me of what is important. That at the end of the day, I can count the meals we served and the lives we made better. I won’t let him take that from me or from those kids.”

Lexi stood and moved toward her. “He’s not going to win. We won’t let him.” She hugged Skye. “We’re the Titan girls. Nobody screws with us.”

“Garth didn’t get the memo.”

“Then we’ll send another one.”

“Okay. Just give me a minute and I’ll be feisty again.”

“We’ll get him. One way or another.”

“I know.”

They returned to the sofas. Lexi sat across from Skye.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” she asked. “You don’t usually let things get to you. You’re as much a fighter as any of us.”

Skye leaned back in the cushions. “There’s a lot going on right now. I’m a little distracted. It’ll get better.” She hesitated. “Mitch is back. I’ve seen him.”

Lexi stared at her. “Oh my God! What happened. How is he?”

“I’m not sure. He’s different. I know it’s been years and he’s been through a lot. But I didn’t think…” That he would turn mean, she thought, knowing she couldn’t say that. She loved her sister and trusted her completely, but she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened.

“He’s someone I used to know, right? Just a guy from my past.”

“You keep saying that,” Lexi said, her voice gentle. “As if you’re trying to convince us he doesn’t matter. But the fact that he has you rattled means that he does matter. At least a little.”

“I don’t want him to.”

“Maybe you don’t get a choice.” Lexi smiled. “Look, he was your first love, your first lover. The relationship didn’t end on its own. It was emotionally violent for both of you. You were wrenched apart.”

“Because of me,” Skye said bitterly. “Mitch sure remembers that.”

“You hurt him.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” She glared at Lexi, daring her to say she did. That there were always choices. But it was easy to be critical from far away. Skye had lost her mother when she was only ten; she would have done anything to keep her father—that included giving up Mitch.

“I know,” Lexi said. “But Mitch could never understand. There was an intensity between the two of you. It’s not surprising you were both hurt.”

“When did you get sensible?” Skye grumbled. “I want to be the sensible one.”

“You will be. Just not about this. I couldn’t be rational about Cruz for a minute.”

Just speaking her fiancé’s name made Lexi glow. Skye did her best not to be envious, but it was hard. Love should be powerful and compelling—like she’d had with Mitch all those years ago. She’d loved her husband, but it had never been the same all-consuming passion. She had adored Ray, but she’d burned for Mitch…long after she should have. Yet another guilty secret, she thought sadly.

“You were young,” Lexi said. “It was a long time ago. Give yourself a break.”

“Because you think I made the wrong choice?” Skye asked. “I don’t. I did what I had to. What was right.”

“I know.”

Lexi said the words, but Skye wasn’t sure she believed them. Skye had given up love to play it safe. Who did that? Didn’t she deserve the consequences of her actions?

“To give up Ray would have meant giving up Erin. She’s my daughter. I can’t imagine life without her.”

“I know,” Lexi said. “She’s amazing. You’re lucky to have her. Isn’t that the most important thing?”

“Yes,” Skye murmured. A few months ago her life had been boring and familiar. Now there was very little she could count on.

“As for Mitch,” Lexi continued. “Why worry about him? It’s not as if you’re going to be seeing that much of him.”

“You’re right. I know he’s back, we spoke, end of story. It’s not as if we’re going to be running into each other very often.”

IT WAS a little after four when Skye heard yelling just outside her office. She stood to investigate, but before she could cross the room, the door burst open and Mitch stalked inside. Elsa ran alongside him, trying to get in front.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I explained you were busy, but he insisted.”

From the angry look on Mitch’s face, he’d done more than insist.

“Don’t worry about it,” Skye told her assistant. “Mitch and I are old friends. I’m happy to see him.”

Elsa didn’t seem convinced, but nodded and backed out of the room.

“Have a seat,” Skye said, pointing to the chair by her desk.

“No, thanks. This won’t take long.”

He looked good, she thought, taking in the jeans and white shirt. Furious but good. His color was better than the last time she’d seen him and the lines of pain around his eyes had eased.

Despite everything that had happened, despite what he’d said, she was happy to see him. She wanted to go to him and hold him. She wanted to do a whole lot more than that, which probably meant she needed some intensive therapy or at the very least a self-help book with a snappy title.

“You’re obviously pissed off,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Which I find interesting. If anyone has the right to be mad, it’s me.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked.

“Is that a trick question?”

He ignored her. “I had an interesting visitor at breakfast Saturday morning. Erin.”

Skye opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t sure what to say. Erin had breakfast with Fidela most weekends. If Skye was up, they would ride over together. If not, Arturo came and got the little girl. It was a tradition, one that Erin treasured.

“Let me guess,” Skye said bitterly. “You object to my daughter being on the ranch. Give it a rest, Mitch. I know you’re adjusting and that you’re dealing with an incredibly unfair situation, but Erin has nothing to do with that. She and Fidela adore each other. She’s like their granddaughter. They don’t have kids of their own. You were like their son, so even you should understand. Don’t tell me that Erin can’t go over there anymore.”

“Is that what you think this is about?” he asked. “Your kid eating pancakes with Fidela?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “What else is there?”

“Interesting question. Erin invited me to her birthday party. She’s turning eight.”

“Okay.”

He took a step toward her. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t get it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He looked like he wanted to rip her into tiny pieces. But for what? Her daughter turning eight?

“She told me when her birthday is,” he said, his voice filled with rage. “I did the math. When the hell were you going to tell me that Erin is my daughter?”

The room shifted. Had they been in California, Skye would have assumed this was the big one. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think and, even through the wild disbelief, she ached for him. For the pain she was about to cause.

“Don’t pretend you’re surprised,” he told her. “I know the last time we had sex, kid. It was right after I proposed.”

“I remember,” she said. She remembered everything about that night and the day that followed. “Oh, Mitch. No.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Don’t bother pretending she’s not mine.”

“She’s not,” she whispered.

His expression tightened. “Bullshit. Either she’s mine or you’re a whore.”

She felt as if he’d hit her. “Those are not my only two choices.”

“What else is there? If Erin is Ray’s kid, then you jumped into bed with that old man, what? Two days later? You putting out on the first date now, Skye?” His mouth twisted. “Maybe you are. These days you don’t even require a date. Just a private spot in the sun and a willing guy.”

She raised her hand to slap him. He grabbed her by the wrist and held on hard enough to bruise.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “Did you like fucking the old man?”

Tears burned in her eyes. She pulled free of him and stepped back. Her throat felt tight, as if she would never be able to swallow again.

It hadn’t been the first date, but the third and she’d cried the whole time. She’d slept with Ray to find out if she could. He’d held her and told her he’d never meant to hurt her. That he always thought she was special but if the idea of being with him was so disgusting, he would walk away.

He’d been kind and understanding. Sure, he’d wanted an eighteen-year-old bride, but he hadn’t been a jerk about it. She’d been tempted to tell Ray that she would never love anyone but Mitch. But Jed had taken her aside and warned her that if she refused Ray, not only would she be dead to him, but that he would destroy the Cassidy Ranch. He would take Mitch’s inheritance and erase it from the face of the earth.

She’d believed him but she’d still longed for Mitch. In the end circumstances had made the decision for her. She’d been pregnant with Ray’s baby. Just over seven months later, Erin had been born—five weeks premature.

Now she sucked in a breath, wiped away her tears and faced Mitch.

“Erin isn’t yours,” she said clearly.

“I don’t believe you and I’ll destroy you for keeping her from me.”

“You’ll have to prove it first.”

“I want a DNA test. If you don’t agree, I’m willing to go to court to get it.”

A part of her understood. Given their past and the timing of events, it made sense that he thought Erin could be his. A part of her had always wished she was. It was a secret she’d kept from Ray, one that had shamed her. But she’d been unable to let it go.

Mitch’s choices were simple. Erin was his or the woman he’d loved had betrayed him.

She thought about explaining that Erin had a birthmark on the small of her back. A tiny half-moon stain that Ray and all his other children shared. She doubted Mitch would believe her.

“I’ll agree to a DNA test on the condition that you keep this to yourself,” she said quietly. “You won’t discuss it with Erin. I don’t want her hurt.”

“You’re not in a position to dictate terms.”

She raised her chin. “Erin is my daughter. She’s a child and doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this. If you really think she’s yours, you shouldn’t want her hurt or confused. She can’t know until we have the results.”

Mitch’s dark eyes gave nothing away. “Agreed. I’ll call a lab and have someone stop by.”

He turned and left without saying anything else. She watched him go. He walked slowly but steadily. If she hadn’t known about the prosthesis, she might not have guessed there was anything wrong.

When she was alone, she sank into her chair and closed her eyes. She hadn’t expected this. Didn’t he know her well enough to believe she wouldn’t keep his child from him?

Obviously not, she thought sadly. He believed the worst about her. When he found out the truth about Erin, he would know that she, Skye, hadn’t been lying. But she had a bad feeling that wasn’t going to make an already difficult situation any better.

MITCH STOOD in the center of the stable. The smell of horse and hay was exactly as he remembered, but he felt completely out of place. What he had once taken for granted now only served to point out everything he couldn’t do. Ride? He couldn’t get on a horse, let alone guide it.

Riding should have been easy. He could use a mount, so he didn’t have to push off with his left leg as he swung his right leg over the saddle. But he was unable to balance on his prosthesis. Once on the horse, he wouldn’t have the control to use his left heel.

Frustration, never far away, bubbled to the surface. What was he supposed to do with himself now? Ride around in the truck, like an old man?

“I have something for you.”

He turned toward the voice and saw Arturo leading a bay into the barn. The gelding was big and moved easily.

Mitch took a step back. His heel caught in the wood floor and he nearly fell into the hay.

“This is Bullet,” Arturo said, stroking the horse’s nose. “He’s been trained so you can mount him on the right side. You also only need to use your right heel. He’s strong and fast, with a bit of a temper. I thought you two would have that in common.”

Mitch curled his hands into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he growled.

“Maybe not, but I’m offering it. Besides, I used your money to buy him.”

That should have made him smile, but Mitch was beyond humor. He hated everything about the ranch. The chickens, the organic beef with every single thing about their lives documented. He hated how the socks on his stump were soaked with blood every night and how the nightmares kept him from sleeping. He hated that he’d been so grateful to be alive only to find out nothing about his life was how he wanted it.

“You want to ride again,” Arturo told him. “I know you do.”

“Stay out of my life.”

The old man’s mouth tightened. “Fine,” he said, and dropped the reins. He walked out, leaving Mitch and the horse alone in the barn.

Mitch felt like an ass. He knew Arturo was only trying to help, but there were—

He heard footsteps and was surprised Arturo had returned. But when he looked toward the entrance he saw a different silhouette.

“You’re even more of a bastard than I thought,” Skye said as she moved into the barn. “Does it make you feel like a man to hurt people who love you?”

She was the last person he wanted to see. Worse, she’d witnessed a part of him he had trouble controlling.

“He loves you,” she said. “He wants you to know that.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Come on, Mitch. Why is that so bad?”

“Arturo is fine. He can take care of himself.”

“You’re his family. He shouldn’t have to.”

“Get out,” he told her.

She moved closer, until she stood right in front of him. “Are you going to make me? You’ve pretty much peaked on crappy things to say to me. So what’s left?” She raised her chin. “Want to hit me? It seems that you want to hit somebody. Why not me? Don’t I deserve it?”

“Do you like it rough these days?” he sneered.

She flushed but held her ground. “I know that certain parts of your life suck, but you got to come home. That counts. You have people who are thrilled you’re back. That counts more. What I want to know is, do you have a timetable on the pity party? Or is it playing indefinitely?”

“Right. Because it’s so easy for you to judge from your perfect life. Want to trade, Skye? Want to give up a leg or an arm? Live with that for a while and then we’ll talk.”

“You are so full of crap,” she said. “This isn’t about your leg. This is about you.”

He wanted to crush her. He wanted to take her and make her beg. He wanted her naked and vulnerable and then he wanted to walk away.

She stared into his eyes as if daring him to do everything he was thinking. Finally she drew a breath.

“Erin has provided her DNA sample. Anytime you’re ready, you can do the same. Then we’ll be done.”

“Erin’s mine. We’re only starting. I’m spending my nights thinking of all the ways I’m going to punish you for what you’ve done to me.”

Sadness invaded her green eyes. “If hating me gives you strength, then go for it. But I will warn you not to get too excited about taking me on. Erin’s not yours, Mitch. No matter how much you want her to be, she’s not. And if calling me a whore makes that easier to bear, then go for it. Just remember this. That little girl thinks you’re a hero. If you give her one reason to believe otherwise, I will make you regret being born.”

That made him smile. “You really think you can?”

“Absolutely. You’re so far down, you don’t care if you live or die. I have something to fight for. My daughter.”

She left then, her back straight, her long red hair beckoning. He watched her go, admiring her spirit, however delusional. There would only be one winner in this game and it was going to be him.

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