Because of Gus McBride, he’d had nothing.

No father, no grandparents on either side. No one to chase away the monsters in his closet, no dad to teach him to fish. No knowledge of where he came from or where he was going.

His mother had tried to step up and fill the role of both parents, and she’d done a damn good job. But she’d needed a husband, and he’d needed a father. They’d had neither. Because Gus McBride had been halfway across the country, protecting his real family.

And Taylor would bet that his legitimate children weren’t scared at night growing up. They didn’t worry about paying the bills or having enough money. Growing up, they’d had it all. Taylor wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d thought their daddy was a saint.

He wasn’t. Unfortunately, they’d never know that.

Unless he told them.

Dear Reader,

The days are hot and the reading is hotter here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Linda Turner is back with the next of THOSE MARRYING MCBRIDES! in Always a McBride. Taylor Bishop has only just found out about his familial connection—and he has no idea it’s going to lead him straight to love.

In Shooting Starr, Kathleen Creighton ratchets up both the suspense and the romance in a story of torn loyalties you’ll long remember. Carla Cassidy returns to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Last Seen…, a novel about two people whose circumstances ought to prevent them from falling in love but don’t. On Dean’s Watch is the latest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones, and it will keep you turning the pages as her federal marshal hero falls hard for the woman he’s supposed to be keeping an undercover watch over. Roses After Midnight, by Linda Randall Wisdom, is a suspenseful look at the hunt for a serial rapist—and the blossoming of an unexpected romance. Finally, take a look at Debra Cowan’s Burning Love and watch passion flare to life between a female arson investigator and the handsome cop who may be her prime suspect.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Always a McBride
Linda Turner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA TURNER

began reading romances in high school and began writing them one night when she had nothing else to read. She’s been writing ever since. Single, and living in Texas, she travels every chance she gets, scouting locales for her books.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Prologue

He was a bastard.

Even before he’d been old enough to understand the meaning of the word, Taylor Bishop had known what he was. There was, after all, no avoiding the truth in the poverty-ridden neighborhoods of San Diego where he’d grown up. Dozens of kids were running around the street without fathers, and like recognized like.

Still, he hadn’t understood the implications of the label until he was six and one of his school friends told him his mother must be a slut—otherwise his father would have married her. Outraged, his six-year-old pride stung, he’d defended his mother’s virtue and his absent father’s honor by punching his friend in the nose. All his bravery earned him was a split lip.

That was the day he’d begun to hate his father.

Thirty-five years had passed since then, and nothing had changed. He still hated his father…and he didn’t even know his name.

That, however, was about to change.

Seated at his mother’s kitchen table, her personal effects spread out around him in the small home she’d finally managed to buy after scrimping and saving for years, Taylor stared down at the sealed letter she’d left for him in her safety deposit box and knew without even opening what it said. After all this time, when it was too late for him to ask her any questions, she was finally going to tell him about his father.

“He’s a good man. That’s all you need to know.”

Every time he’d asked his mother about the mysterious stranger who had sired him, the answer had always been the same. She’d promised to tell him the whole story one day, but she never had. Why? he wondered, scowling at the letter addressed to him in her neat handwriting. Had she thought that he would think less of her because he was obviously illegitimate? That he somehow blamed her for the fact that his father had been nonexistent in his life? Surely she had to know better.

For a moment, pain squeezed his heart at the thought that she might not have known how much he loved and admired her, but with a muttered curse, he quickly shook off his doubts. What the hell was he doing? Of course she’d known how he felt about her. As far as he was concerned, she’d been the best mother in the world. She was the one who’d been there for him as a child, the one who’d worked two jobs so that he could have the things he needed when he was growing up. Yes, money had been tight, but she’d done the best that she could, and he couldn’t fault her for that. She’d been a single mother with no one to help her. When she lost her job at one of the local hotels because she refused to work nights and leave him home alone, she’d had to go on welfare for a while just so they could eat. Still, she’d held her head high and made sure he did, too. And as soon as she’d been able to find another job, she went off government assistance because, she’d claimed, there were poor people out there who needed it more than they did.

How could anyone not love a mother like that? He’d adored her. She taught him to be proud of who he was, to work honestly for what he wanted, to believe in himself and the future. Those things would get him through life, she’d claimed, not his father’s name.

So why was she telling him now? he wondered with a frown. When she’d died unexpectedly last week of an apparent heart attack, the last thing he’d been worried about was his father’s name. She was the one he loved, the one he cared about, and he would have gladly given up any chance of ever knowing anything about his father if he could have just had his mother back for five minutes.

That, however, was impossible. All he had left of her were her things…and a letter that had the power to change his life. His square-cut face carved in grim lines, he was half tempted to trash the thing, but it was the last communication from his mother. For no other reason than that, he had to read it. Reaching for it, he tore it open and began to read.

To my dear son,

You’ll never know how much I love you. You’ve been the greatest joy of my life, a blessing I thanked God for every day. I know how difficult it was for you, growing up without your father, and I’m sorry for that. But your father wasn’t the unfeeling monster you think he was, dear. He was a good man who had no idea you even existed. His name is Gus McBride, and when we met, he lived in Liberty Hill, Colorado.

We met in Cheyenne, Wyoming, when I was there one summer visiting my grandmother. I never believed in love at first sight until I met him. He was in town for a rodeo and we had one wonderful night together. That was all, dear. Just one night. I fell in love with him, but please don’t blame him because he didn’t return my feelings. He was still in love with the girlfriend he had broken up with the month before. She was all he talked about, but I foolishly thought I could make him fall in love with me. I was wrong. When he left town the next morning, he probably went back to her.

Two weeks later, I returned to my parents’ house in San Diego. A month later, I discovered I was pregnant. You must understand, dear, that times were different then. My pregnancy was scandalous to my parents, and their main concern was that I get married as soon as possible. They didn’t care that Gus didn’t love me. All they wanted was his name so they could force him to marry me. They didn’t understand that if he’d known I was pregnant, they wouldn’t have had to say a word to him—he would have insisted on marrying me. He was that kind of man. And if he’d loved me, I would have agreed. But he didn’t, so I kept his name to myself—which is why your grandparents disowned me.

Please don’t feel sorry for me…or hate them, Taylor, dear. If I could have turned back the clock and done things differently, I wouldn’t have. The night I had with your father was magical, and you were his gift to me. I never regretted it. It’s important that you know that. You and I had a wonderful life together. When you remember me, remember that.

Love,

Mother

Grief squeezing his heart, Taylor sent up a silent prayer, asking her to forgive him for not respecting her final wish. He couldn’t. Because in spite of the love he and his mother had shared, when he thought of her, it was the hardness of her life he remembered. And Gus McBride of Liberty Hill, Colorado, was responsible for that, he thought grimly. Somehow, some way, he was going to make him pay for that.

Chapter 1

“Hi, sweetie. Did I catch you getting ready for a date? What’s the name of that boy you’re going with? Micah? Mick? I never can remember. When’s he going to wise up and ask you to marry him? I told your mother three years ago that he was too slow for you, but she thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Grinning, Phoebe Chandler had to laugh at her grandmother’s disgusted tone, obvious even over the phone. Myrtle had never been one to keep her opinions to herself—which was one of the things Phoebe loved about her. “His name is Marshall, Gran, and we quit dating six months ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “Now I remember. He was more interested in what your daddy left you than you. That’s another thing I didn’t like about him. He had dollar signs in his eyes.”

Phoebe couldn’t argue with that. She hadn’t cared much for that particular trait of Marshall’s, either. Luckily, her eyesight was as good as her grandmother’s. “I sent him packing when he tried to borrow money from me. So what’s going on? Mom said you were going on a trip with some old high-school friends.”

Myrtle laughed gaily. “And here I thought everyone but me and Sara McBride were dead. By the way, I wish she was here. She’d love seeing the old gang again.”

“When will she be back from her honeymoon?”

“Oh, not for another couple of weeks, at least. Longer, if they decide to take that cruise up the west coast to Alaska.”

“So when’s the trip? You are going, aren’t you?”

“You know me, sweetie,” she chuckled. “My bags are always packed. There’s just a teensy problem….”

“Your antique store,” Phoebe guessed with a smile. “You need someone to run it while you’re gone.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but there’s another problem. I haven’t had any boarders the last month, so I decided to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. I placed an ad in some travel magazines and I’ve got some reservations for the next couple of weeks.”

“You’re kidding! Gran, that’s great!”

She chuckled ruefully. “It would be if I didn’t want to go on this trip. I can’t be two places at once. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, then I remembered you always take the month of June off. How would you like to come to Liberty Hill and run my B and B for me?”

Phoebe didn’t even have to think twice. “I’d love it!”

“Are you sure?” her grandmother asked worriedly. “You probably had plans—”

“I was just going to paint the house. I can do that anytime.”

“What about the business? I don’t want to put you in a bind just so I can run off with friends, sweetie. I can come up with a reason to cancel the reservations, if necessary…or stay home, for that matter. The world’s not going to end if I don’t get to go on this trip.”

“No, but you want to go, and why shouldn’t you? You’ll have a great time. Call your friend back and tell her you’re going. I’ll handle things while you’re gone.”

“But who’ll take care of your business while you’re playing innkeeper for me? You deal with a lot of cash, honey. Do you really want to trust that to someone else?”

“Jason’s going to work with me again this summer,” Phoebe replied. “Dad always said not to let the business get so big that I couldn’t handle it myself, but Jason’s a good kid. And he’s family. He won’t steal from me.”

Jason Chandler, her second cousin, was a high-school senior who had worked not only for her in past summers, but for her grandmother, as well. Honest and hard-working, he was saving his money for college and planned to be a doctor. It would never cross his mind to take anything that didn’t belong to him.

Across the phone line, Myrtle sighed in relief. “Oh, well, if it’s Jason, you don’t have anything to worry about. He’ll make sure every penny is accounted for.”

“So when do I need to be there?”

“June eighth,” her grandmother said promptly. “This is going to be so much fun, sweetheart—for both of us! You’re going to love the guests who’ll be coming in in a couple of weeks. They’re newlyweds from Florida. They’ll both be eighty in July.”

“Eighty!”

“I know,” she chuckled. “I was surprised, too, when I talked to the bride on the phone. I would have sworn she was at least thirty years younger.”

“I guess that’s what love does to you,” Phoebe said with a smile. “It certainly agrees with Sara McBride. Who knows, Gran?” she teased. “Maybe your turn’s next. You might find yourself a man on your trip.”

Her grandmother laughed gaily. “When the cow jumps over the moon, sweetheart. I’ve had the love of a good man—nothing beats it. Now it’s your turn.”

If only that were true, Phoebe thought wistfully. She loved being in love. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world…until you came back to earth with a jolt and realized that the man you thought was the love of your life really wasn’t Prince Charming at all. He was just a rat who knew how to say all the right things. She’d had too many run-ins with too many rats to believe in happily ever after anymore.

“Thanks, Gran, but I think I’ll pass. All the good men are taken and I’m not interested in the dregs that are left.”

“After Marshall turned out to be such a jerk, I can’t blame you for thinking that, sweetheart, but don’t give up. The world is full of good men. You just haven’t met one yet. But your turn’s coming. There’s someone special for you out there and he’s going to walk into your life when you least expect it.”

Phoebe sincerely doubted that, but she knew better than to argue with her grandmother. Myrtle was an eternal optimist…and usually right. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” she said with a grin, “but how am I going to meet anyone when you’ve got all these newlyweds coming in to stay at the house? It’s not as if we’re going to get any walk-in trade. Liberty Hill’s not even on the map.”

It was, of course, but she loved teasing Myrtle about how remote the place was. Liberty Hill was hardly more than a wide spot in the road and a thousand miles from nowhere, yet Myrtle still managed to find her share of guests and boarders, not to mention customers for her very successful antique store right next door to her house. Phoebe didn’t know how she did it.

“That’s all right,” her grandmother chuckled, refusing to rise to the bait, “go ahead and tease me. Liberty Hill might be little, but that just makes it easier for Mr. Right to find you, honey. So when can I expect you? You’re going to be engaged by the end of the year, so there’s no time to waste. Your mother will have a conniption if you even think about marrying someone you’ve known less than six months.”

“Gran!”

“I’m just being practical, dear,” Myrtle chuckled. “You want this marriage to work—”

“There is no marriage!”

“But there will be,” her grandmother said calmly. “You have to plan for these things, dear.”

Torn between amusement and frustration, Phoebe had to laugh. “You’re impossible. Do you know that? I’ll be there on the eighth. Is that soon enough for you and Mr. Right, whoever he is?”

She didn’t have to ask if her grandmother was pleased—she could almost feel her smile through the phone. “That’s perfect! I’ll have your bedroom ready for you.”

Hanging up, Phoebe had to admit she was as excited as Myrtle. And she immediately felt guilty for that. She’d worked at her father’s vending-machine business since she was eighteen years old, but she’d never liked it. It was a job, the family business, nothing more. Her father had always loved collecting the money from his vending machines around town and counting it, but she’d only seen that as a boring chore that had to be done every day. She’d hated it—though she’d never told her father that—and dreamed of quitting one day when he no longer needed her. But that day had never come. Six months ago, when her father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, he’d left the business to her.

Even now, she couldn’t believe it. No! she’d almost cried at the reading of the will. She didn’t want the company! She had other plans. For as long as she could remember, all she’d ever dreamed about was having an old house like her grandmother’s, where she could sell antiques and have a bed and breakfast. She didn’t care about having a large place, just something cute and Victorian in a small town like Liberty Hill, where life moved at a slower pace and old-fashioned values still flourished.

She’d been saving for just such a house for years and had just enough money set aside for a decent down payment when her father had died. Just that quickly, with the reading of his will, everything had changed. Within the blink of an eye, she became the owner of her father’s business. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn’t think she’d ever forget the emotions that had washed through her at that moment. Dread, guilt, obligation. She’d felt trapped—she still did!—and there was nothing she could do about it. Her father had entrusted her with the business he’d spent his life building. She couldn’t sell it without feeling as though she was stabbing him in the back.

A loyal daughter, she hadn’t said a word to anyone about her true feelings, but with Myrtle, she hadn’t had to. Her grandmother knew her too well. She’d pleaded with her not to waste her youth protecting and nurturing someone else’s dream—she needed to follow her own heart and do what was right for her. What Myrtle didn’t understand was that was what she was doing, but on her own terms. She might not have her own shop or bed and breakfast, but she went antiquing with her friends, had guests over frequently, and surrounded herself in her apartment with the shabby chic decor that was all the rage and she just loved. Granted, that wasn’t the same thing as having her own bed and breakfast, but for now, at least, there was nothing else she could do.

Except step in and sub for Myrtle occasionally. Her eyes sparkling at the thought, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for being blessed with a grandmother who understood her so well, then hurried into the kitchen. If she was going to be at Myrtle’s on the eighth, she had to get busy and plan the menu for the guests her grandmother had already lined up.

“Oh, goodness, Tom and Betty are going to be here any second and I haven’t even finished packing yet. I don’t know where the time went! Where did I put my spare set of glasses? You know, dear—the ones with the silver frames? I need them in case I lose my others. Oh, and I can’t forget an umbrella…it looks as if it’s going to rain. And Betty reminded me to bring my house shoes. They don’t take up a lot of room and I can shuffle around in them in the motor home. My blood pressure pills! Where—”

In a tizzy, her hair still in rollers, Myrtle scurried around the house as though she was twenty minutes late to her own wedding, snatching up things she had yet to pack, and Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Stop, already! I’ve never seen you like this before. Will you slow down? This trip is supposed to be fun.”

Stopping in her tracks, Myrtle drew in a huff of a breath, a rueful grin tugging at her lips. “Sorry, dear. I guess I am a little frantic this morning. I thought we’d have more time to visit. I wanted to tell you about the rest of the guests I’ve got lined up. Don’t worry. You’re not going to be swamped with a houseful of guests before you even have time to unpack your bags. A week from Friday, I only booked two rooms—that’ll give you a little time to get your feet wet before the crowd hits. After that, you’re on your own. From then on, we’re booked solid all the way to Labor Day.”

Stunned, Phoebe couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding! How did you manage that? You only decided to convert the boarding house into a B and B a couple of weeks ago.”

“You know how it is,” Myrtle said with a grin. “You call a friend, they call a few people, and before you know it, you’re talking to the head of the Aspen Visitor and Tourist Bureau, who turns out to have a grandmother who lives over in Wilson County. When I told her I was turning my boarding house into a bed and breakfast, she gave my number out to ten different callers by lunchtime. After that, I couldn’t keep up with the reservations.”

Suddenly realizing what she’d just said, she frowned at Phoebe over the top of her bifocals. “Am I putting too much on you, sweetheart? I was just so excited, I didn’t stop to think how much work this was going to be for you, especially when you haven’t done anything like this before. Maybe I should call Tom and Betty—”

Already guessing where her grandmother’s line of thought was going, Phoebe said, “If you’re thinking about backing out, you can just think again, Myrtle Henderson. You’ve talked about nothing but this trip for weeks! Don’t you dare disappoint the Walkers. They’re counting on you.”

“But I can’t just go off and leave you with all this work. It’s not fair. When I called and asked you to hold down the fort for me, I never imagined that I’d be swamped with reservations. I should have turned some of them down.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phoebe scolded. “The more, the merrier. It’ll be fun.”

“But how are you going to take care of a whole houseful of people without any help?”

“I’ll just add a few more eggs to the skillet in the mornings and double the biscuit recipe. It’s no big deal, Gran. You know I love cooking for a crowd. I’ll be fine.”

When Myrtle hesitated, still unconvinced, Phoebe knew she was going to talk herself out of the trip if she didn’t do something to stop her. “You’re the one I’m worried about,” she said quickly. “Do you have your blood pressure pills? And your glasses? What about your clothes? Did you take a sweater? I know it’s summer, but the nights can still get cold in the mountains, and there’s no telling where you’ll end up with Tom at the wheel.”

Safely redirected, Myrtle laughed. “That’s because he leaves the navigating to Betty and half the time, she reads the damn map upside down. It’s a wonder they haven’t ended up in a ditch some-where.”

Phoebe could picture the Walkers crisscrossing the country, making wrong turns everywhere they went, and not caring. It sounded wonderful. “You’re going to have a great time,” she said with a grin, “but you’d better be prepared for anything. When Tom heads for L.A. and you end up in the wilds of Montana, you’re not going to be able to run to town for a toothbrush.”

“He’s not that bad, dear.” Her grandmother lahughed, only to jump, startled, when a horn suddenly blasted outside. “Oh, my goodness, they’re here!” Frantic, she glanced around. “I forgot to get my pillow—I’ll sleep better with it. And the mosquito repellant. You’ll need my keys to the storage shed just in case you need to get in there for anything. And the reservation list. Where did I put it?”

Flustered, she would have rushed into her office, but Phoebe quickly stepped into her path. “I’ll take care of the reservation list—it’s around here somewhere. The keys to the shed are on the hook by the back door, and I already put the mosquito repellant in your bag. Here’s your pillow,” she said, stuffing it into her grandmother’s arms with a grin. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t have to tell her twice. Her beautiful wrinkled face alight with anticipation, Myrtle hurried out to greet her friends, while Phoebe trailed behind with her bag. Before her grandmother could think of something else to worry about, hugs and kisses were exchanged, her things were stowed in the Walkers’ new motor home, and Myrtle only had time to wave before Tom fired up the RV and pulled away from the curb. In the time it took to blink, the motor home had disappeared around the corner.

Another woman might have immediately felt lonely, but Phoebe didn’t have time. She had guests coming for the weekend. Her thoughts already jumping ahead to the elaborate breakfast she would serve them, she hurried into the house to check to see what staples Myrtle had the pantry stocked with. She had taken only one step into the kitchen when she stopped in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. Given the chance, she would have given her grandmother a bear hug if she could have reached her. Because there, on the table, was the old flour tin Myrtle kept her favorite recipes in, including the one for buttermilk biscuits she’d won with at the state fair. Armed with nothing more than that, Phoebe knew she could make the bed and breakfast a success. Now all she needed was a guest!

The thunderstorm descended on the Colorado Rockies like the wrath of God. One moment, Tayler Bishop was cruising through the mountain pass west of Liberty Hill, his thoughts on his father and everything he would say to him when he got the chance, and the next, a driving rain was pounding the windshield of his black Mercedes. Swearing, he jerked his attention back to his driving just as a fierce crosswind buffeted the car, but it was too late. He started to skid. Fighting the wheel and the wind, he didn’t realize he’d left the road until a pine tree appeared right in front of him. He didn’t even have time to hit the brakes before he slammed into it.

Dazed, he couldn’t have said how long he sat there in the dark as the storm raged around him. He held the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white from the strain, and stared blankly at the air bag that had kept him from hitting the windshield. Overhead, lightning flashed like an exploding bomb, lighting up the night sky and outlining the pine tree that had stopped his car from careening down the mountain. In the dark, it looked as big as a barn.

He supposed he should have been thankful the damn thing hadn’t killed him. Then he forced open his jammed door and stepped out in the rain to get a good look at what the tree had done to his car. That’s when he started to swear. He was still swearing when a wrecker arrived fifteen minutes later in response to the call he’d made on his cell phone to his road service.

Dressed in a yellow rain slicker, the wrecker driver took one look at the situation and whistled softly. “You took quite a hit, buddy. Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine,” Taylor growled, disgusted, as he swept his dripping hair back from his face. “I had my mind on something else and didn’t notice the storm until it was too late.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” the other man advised. “You’re not the first person to take these mountains for granted. At least you were lucky enough to walk away. Where were you headed?”

“Liberty Hill,” he retorted. “The last highway sign said it was ten miles from here.”

The wrecker driver nodded. “If you’d made it through this last set of S-curves, you could have coasted the rest of the way without ever hitting the gas pedal.” Noting the California plates on Taylor’s car, he arched a brow in surprise. “It must be family bringing you to these parts because it sure ain’t business—there ain’t much in this neck of the woods. So who you visiting? I’ve been working a wrecker in this area for the past twenty years. Maybe I know them.”

Studying him through narrowed eyes, Taylor didn’t doubt that he probably knew Gus or had at least heard of him—which was why he had no intention of mentioning McBride’s name. He’d planned his revenge carefully and knew the importance of surprise. He’d keep his identity—and his reasons for coming to Liberty Hill—to himself, casually seek out McBride and earn his trust, then find a way to make him pay for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him most.

Even to himself, the plan sounded ruthless and diabolical, and he knew if his mother was looking down on him from heaven, she wouldn’t be pleased. However, he hoped she’d understand. This was something he had to do, and nothing and no one was getting in his way.

His expression grim, he looked the other man right in the eye and lied. “My cousin only moved here a couple of months ago, so I doubt that you know him. His name’s Christopher Deacon. He bought some land east of town and moved a trailer in.”

He didn’t know if someone had moved a new trailer in or not, but the wrecker driver apparently didn’t know either. Frowning, he said, “I don’t remember doing business with anyone named Deacon, but my memory’s not what it used to be. Since you got family here, and it’s so late, I can tow you to their place tonight. Then you can have your car taken to Aspen tomorrow. No one else in these parts has a Mercedes dealership.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Chris isn’t expecting me, so I’d rather not disturb him tonight. Just take me into town and drop the car off at a local garage. I’ll take care of everything in the morning.”

He spoke in a cool tone that warned the other man not to argue, and with a shrug, he gave in graciously. “Suit yourself. Just give me a few seconds to get her all hooked up, and we can go. You can wait in the truck, if you like. I imagine you’d like to get in out of the rain.”

Taylor generally had little patience for those who stated the obvious. When he was thoroughly soaked and his wet hair was dripping down his face, he had even less. Somehow, however, he managed to hang onto the manners his mother had taught him and curtly thanked the man before heading for the truck.

Unfortunately, his mood improved little as he watched the wrecker driver hook his car to the tow truck. Assessing the damage, he swore roundly. When he’d planned how he was going to track down his father and confront him, he’d thought he’d accounted for every possible contingency. He’d been wrong. It would be at least a week or longer before his car could be repaired—if the local garage could get the parts in that quickly!—which meant he’d have to get a rental. And he seriously doubted that there was anything available locally. He’d have to call Aspen or Denver and see about having one delivered, which would take time. He’d be lucky if could start looking for Gus by the middle of next week.

Thoroughly irritated, his mood only darkened as the tow-truck driver drove him into Liberty Hill and he got his first look at the town where his father lived. It was smaller than he’d thought, though he supposed some would call it quaint. Old-fashioned streetlights lined Main Street, illuminating homes that looked as if they belonged in an old Jimmy Stewart movie. Nearly every house had a porch, a flower garden, and a swing set in the yard. In the mood he was in, Taylor saw little to admire about it. He liked cities, not small towns that weren’t going anywhere. The rain had eased for the moment, but Liberty Hill’s wet streets were still deserted. And it was barely ten o’clock at night! If the powers that be could have, he was sure they’d have rolled up the sidewalks by now. The only business that was still open was an old-fashioned diner by the name of Ed’s.

“Here you go,” the tow-truck driver said as he unhitched his wrecked Mercedes in front of the town’s only garage and gave Taylor a receipt for his credit-card payment. “Curtis Dean owns the place—he’ll be in in the morning at six. He’s a good mechanic. You won’t find anyone who does better body work.” Suddenly frowning as he watched Taylor pull his suitcase from the trunk of his car, he said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to your cousin’s? Where are you going to stay tonight?”

Taylor was asking himself the same thing. He’d seen a sign for the town library and hospital, and they’d passed a beauty salon and a lawyer’s office on the way to the garage. The one thing he hadn’t seen was anything that even resembled a Best Western. “That’s a good question,” he retorted. “Aren’t there any hotels around here?”

“Nope. Myrtle Henderson has a boarding house, though. I heard she was turning it into a bed and breakfast. You might try there. It’s a big old Victorian house down the street on the right. You can’t miss it. It’s right next to the only antique store in town.”

Considering how off the beaten track Liberty Hill was, Taylor doubted the place was booked for the night. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll give it a try.”

Myrtle Henderson’s place was right where the tow-truck driver had said it was…and as dark as the rest of the buildings in town. Irritated, Taylor stood at the front gate and swore softly. What was it with this town? Did everybody go to bed with the chickens?

Scowling, he would have gone somewhere else for the night, but there was nowhere else. He was well and truly stuck, and if he couldn’t wake Myrtle Henderson, he’d be sleeping on a bench in the park…if this damn town even had a park!

Fuming, he pushed open the gate and strode up the walk to the front porch. Next to the old-fashioned, oval-glassed door, the doorbell glowed softly in the night. He jabbed it stiffly, sending the faint, cheery tinkle of its bell echoing through the silent house. Twenty seconds passed, then a minute, and still, the house remained as dark and quiet as a tomb.

Scowling, he swore and had just lifted his hand to pound on the door when he saw a light suddenly flare on inside the front entry of the old house. A split second later, the porch light was flipped on, and through the lace curtain covering the glass oval of the door, he saw the vague figure of a woman approach. Finally! he thought with a sigh of relief as she shot the dead bolt free. Maybe he wouldn’t have to sleep on that park bench, after all.

His only thought was to get a room. It wasn’t until the woman started to pull the door open that he remembered he had to look like something that had just crawled out of a swamp. His clothes were wet and torn, his hair plastered to his head. Any woman with sense would send him packing the second she laid eyes on him, not invite him in and rent him a room.

Idiot! he raged silently. He should have gone over to the diner and cleaned up some before approaching her. It was, however, too late for that. He’d have to muddle through an explanation the best he could and hope she believed him.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you so late,” he began as the door was finally pulled open completely. “I had an accident in my car when I was coming into town, and I need a place to stay….”

That was as far as he got. No longer concealed behind the lace curtain of the door was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Stunned, he felt his jaw drop and could do nothing but stand there like a fool with his mouth hanging open. When the tow-truck driver had said Myrtle Henderson was turning her boarding house into a bed and breakfast, he’d assumed for some reason that she was an older woman. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

In the stark light of the entry hall’s old brass chandelier, this woman quite simply stole his breath. Maybe it was the angle of the light or simply the stress of walking away from an accident that could have killed him, but he took one look at her and felt as though he’d stepped into a faded photograph from another century. Everything about her was soft—the cascade of blond hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the old-fashioned gown and robe that covered her completely, but still somehow appeared to be as gossamer as a dream. Obviously, she was fresh from her bath—he could clearly smell the scent of her soap, and her hair was damp around the edges—but he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. No woman had a right to look so beautiful without makeup.

The thought had hardly registered—and had time to irritate him—when he suddenly realized he was staring. Stiffening, he reminded himself that he was there for a room, nothing else. “The tow-truck driver said you were turning your boarding house into a bed and breakfast,” he continued stiffly. “I—”

Behind him, lightning suddenly ripped through the night sky, and right on its heels was a crack of thunder so loud it could have stopped the devil himself in his tracks. Before Taylor could say another word, the lights went out.

Chapter 2

Startled, Phoebe gasped. Darkness engulfed her like a shroud, blinding her, and for a moment, she could see nothing but the sharp flash of the lightning outside and the silhouette of the stranger at the door.

In the darkness, he was huge! Phoebe felt her heart jump into her throat and reminded herself that she wasn’t one of those women who was easily scared. After all, there was no reason to be nervous. She was in Liberty Hill, Colorado, for heaven’s sake! There were no ax murderers here, no rapists, no serious criminals at all. She couldn’t imagine a safer place in America.

So she wasn’t afraid…exactly. It was just that her imagination had always worked overtime on stormy nights, and tonight was no exception. With her heart pounding crazily and the stranger filling the doorway with his dark silhouette, she could almost believe that he was some dark, avenging angel who’d been sent by her father to demand an explanation of why she was at Myrtle’s when she should have been home, taking care of his business. That was just the kind of thing Jack Chandler would have done. He’d never had much patience for following dreams, especially if it meant walking away from an established business. Money was the bottom line, and if her father somehow knew that she was at his mother-in-law’s, trying her hand at running what he would have considered an artsy-fartsy bed and breakfast that had no chance of ever making a dime, he’d be spinning in his grave.

For a moment, guilt pulled at her, but then her common sense quickly asserted itself. “Idiot!” she silently chided herself. There was no reason to feel guilty. She was an adult and could spend her vacation—and her life—any way she chose.

As for the fierce stranger at the door, she’d taken one look at him before the lights had gone off and seen by the cynical curve of his mouth that he was no angel. He was just a man who was in trouble and needed help while she was standing there like a ninny, letting her imagination run away with her!

“Actually, my grandmother is the one who owns the place,” she said huskily. “But I’m taking care of things while she’s on vacation. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get a candle. The old wiring in this house doesn’t handles storms very well.”

Leaving him at the door, she turned away and quickly, blindly, made her way through the dark house, avoiding chairs and tables whose location she knew as well as the lines on the back of her hand. She hadn’t lied about the wiring—it was nearly as old as her grandmother—and even though it could be an inconvenience at times, she’d loved it as a child when a storm blew the old circuit breakers. Unruffled, Myrtle would pull out the oil lamps and candles, set water on to boil on the gas stove, and they’d have a tea party in the dark. Mrytle would tell her stories of all their dead ancestors and how they’d come to Colorado in covered wagons. Her stories had always been fun and magical and full of adventure, and to this day, Phoebe still loved storms.

Smiling at the memories that pulled at her as she reached the pantry, she quickly located the stash of emergency matches and candles Myrtle kept there and hurriedly lit a candle. Outside, the storm still raged, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it, not when the stranger still waited for her at the front door. Placing a small glass chimney around the candle, she hurried back to the front door.

For a moment, she thought her unexpected guest had left. The door was standing wide open, and in the flickering light of the candle, there was no sign of him. Frowning, she moved to the open doorway and lifted her candle high…just as he stepped in front of her. Startled, she almost dropped the candle. He moved like a cat in the darkness! “Oh!” she gasped softly. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I was just checking the sky,” he retorted. “Do you ever get tornadoes when it storms like this?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes, but I was watching the weather channel earlier. The front passed through about an hour ago, so all we have to deal with now is rain…and wind, of course. It’ll probably howl all night long.”

As far as she was concerned, there was no better sleeping weather, but her guest looked far from pleased with the forecast. His frown deepening, he scowled, then obviously decided there was no use whining about the weather. “As I was saying before the lights went out, I need a room. Preferably something private, where I won’t be disturbed.”

His tone was cool, almost snooty, and that alone told Phoebe that he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. As a paying guest, he had a right to expect peace and quiet, and she would be as accommodating as she could, but she didn’t like his tone at all. What was his problem, anyway? she wondered, narrowing her blue eyes at him in irritation. Hadn’t his mama taught him he’d go a lot further in life if he used please and thank you?

Lifting the candle, she held it up so that it illuminated his face and made no secret of the fact that she was openly studying him. He was, she silently acknowledged, a good-looking man. Lean and rangy, with an angular face and a hard jaw, there was something about him that was vaguely familiar, though Phoebe was sure she’d never met him before. She would never have forgotten those eyes. Piercing, brown and sharp with intelligence, they met her gaze head-on and seemed to see into her very soul.

For no explicable reason, she felt her heart kick, and she didn’t like the feeling at all. Frowning, she asked, “How long were you planning on staying? Just tonight or until your car’s fixed?”

“Actually, longer than that,” he replied stiffly. “Probably a month, maybe longer. At this point, I can’t really tell you more than that.”

Phoebe loved Liberty Hill, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that there was little about it that would attract a tourist for longer than a day or two. Especially one who appeared to be as sophisticated as this man. His clothes might be damp and torn from his accident, but even so, it was obvious that they were well-cut and expensive. What was his story? What was he doing here?

Curious, she arched a brow at him. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you going to do here for an entire month? You can walk from one end of town to the other in about ten minutes.”

For a moment, he hesitated as if he didn’t want to tell her, before he finally said, almost defiantly. “I’m a writer. I’m working on a book.”

Phoebe couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her he was the head chef for the Titanic. She liked to think she was a fairly good judge of people, but she’d never have guessed that the man had a creative bone in his body. He just didn’t look like a writer. Not that a writer had any particular look, she admitted. But she’d always thought of writers and artists as exotic introverts who could do things with words or paint or clay that she and most people could never even dream of. In no way, shape or form did that describe her unexpected guest. If she’d had to guess what he did for a living, she would have taken him for some kind of power broker. He had class-A personality written all over him.

Still, he could have been friendly. He wasn’t. In fact, he seemed almost angry. Granted, he had a right to be out of sorts after he’d wrecked his car in the storm, but she had a feeling his anger went deeper than that. And that disturbed her. She liked people…liked talking to them, cooking for them, getting to know them. Getting to know this man wouldn’t be easy. Everything about him said back off.

For no other reason than that, she should have sent him back out into the rain in search of a room somewhere else. People who booked a vacation at a bed and breakfast weren’t just looking for a place to spend the night. They were looking for an escape, a place where they could go to get away from the stress of their everyday lives. She didn’t know if the other guests Myrtle had lined up for the next few weeks would be able to do that with this man in the house.

But how could she send him away? It was a miserable night and he’d already had more than his share of trouble. And it wasn’t as if he could find someplace else in town to stay. The nearest hotel was thirty miles away! How was he supposed to get there? Walk? He’d wrecked his car!

Her ex-boyfriend would have told her she was a soft touch and whatever the stranger’s story was, it wasn’t her problem. But that was one of the reasons Marshall was an ex. She couldn’t be that unfeeling, especially when someone was in trouble. Giving into her inherent need to help, she opened the door wider and invited him inside. “Please, come in. I’m Phoebe Chandler,” she added with an easy smile as he stepped over the threshold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Taylor Bishop,” he growled.

Holding out her hand, she flashed her dimples at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Taylor. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

He closed his fingers around hers, but only gave her hand a perfunctory shake before releasing it. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He couldn’t have insulted her more if he’d tried. After everything her grandmother had done to turn the place into a bed and breakfast—and all the work she, herself, intended to do to make the Mountain View Inn the best in the state—she wanted his stay to be a heck of a lot more than just fine!

Annoyed, she smiled, but it wasn’t easy. “I hope it’s better than that. So if there’s anything you need—or don’t like—just let me know. If I can’t fix the problem, I’ll find someone who can.”

“I’m not particular about things. All I want is to be left alone to work in peace.”

Well, that was blunt enough, Phoebe thought, irritated. If he thought she was going to bother him, he could think again. He could have all the peace and quiet he wanted. “Then you should be pleased with your room,” she said. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Turning, she led him carefully up the stairs and found herself wishing the lights would hurry up and come back on. She’d never realized before just how intimate and inviting candlelight was. Or how quiet Myrtle’s Victorian house was, even in the midst of a storm. As they carefully made their way up the grand staircase, she could almost hear the pounding of her heart as his shadow followed hers. Did he realize they were the only two people in the house? Was he as aware of her presence as she was of his? What the heck was going on?

Telling herself not to get fanciful, she led him to a room at the back of the house. “It’s small, but I think it will suit you nicely. You won’t be able to hear the street noise from here and it has a nice view of the garden. You won’t be disturbed while you work.”

The room was, in fact, quite comfortable and was decorated with red plaids and heavy furniture designed to appeal to a man. Taylor Bishop took one look at it in the light of the candle she held and reached for his wallet. “This is fine. You do take credit cards, don’t you?”

His tone was cool…and all business. Irritated, Phoebe reminded herself that he was only a guest—unfortunately, her first—and she didn’t have to like him. He wasn’t going to stay forever. If he didn’t care about his creature comforts, that was his problem. It was her job to see that his stay—and every other guest’s—was as comfortable as possible, and that’s what she intended to do.

Her tone as businesslike as his, she added, “The bathroom is across the hall—there are extra towels in the linen closet if you need them. Breakfast is served between seven and ten in the dining room. If there’s anything in particular you would like added to the menu, just tell me and I can have it for you the following morning.”

Not giving him a chance to say anything, she rattled off a list of the inn’s other amenities. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know and I’ll try to get it for you. Enjoy your stay.”

Giving him a curt nod, she didn’t wait to see if he had any questions, but simply turned and headed for her room further down the hall. She knew it was rude, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t understand why someone like Taylor Bishop stayed at a bed and breakfast. He obviously wasn’t the type to enjoy it. Logically, she knew he hadn’t had any other choice—there were no other public lodgings in town—but he still irritated her. Taylor couldn’t have cared less that the sheets and towels were line-dried so they would have that fresh scent that was impossible to get in a drier, or that she herself had experimented with dozens of new breakfast recipes, searching for just the right dishes that would make breakfast each morning memorable. He just wanted to be left alone to work.

Fine, she fumed as she stepped inside her own room and shut the door with a little more force than was necessary. Let him hole up in his room. The less she had to deal with him, the better!

Finally alone, Tyler found a phone book in the bottom drawer of the desk in the corner and wasn’t surprised to discover that although the directory covered several counties, it wasn’t even an inch thick. After waiting his entire life to track down his father, it took him less than fifteen seconds to find the McBrides in the phone book. There were two: Joe and Zeke.

Frowning, he refused to be discouraged. His father could have an unlisted number, or there was always the possibility that he had moved. After all, it had been forty-one years since his mother met Gus at the Cheyenne rodeo that fateful summer. Gus had claimed he was a cowboy, but there was no way to know for sure that he was telling the truth. He’d been a cowboy sweet-talking a pretty girl. That made anything and everything he’d said suspect.

Still, there were McBrides in Liberty Hill, Taylor thought in satisfaction. Whether they were related to Gus or not remained to be seen, but the odds were in Taylor’s favor that they were. After all, Liberty Hill was hardly bigger than a postage stamp. Everyone was bound to be related to everyone else. Now all he had to do was get either Joe or Zeke to tell him where Gus was. Then he was going to hunt his old man down and tell him exactly what he thought of him.

Over the years, he’d lost track of the number of times he’d contemplated that meeting, but as he undressed and climbed into the big, old-fashioned poster bed that dominated the room, he found he couldn’t concentrate on the old, familiar image as he usually did. The quiet stillness of the house surrounded him, and through the open window, a gentle breeze stirred the night air with a freshness that reminded him all too clearly that he wasn’t in San Diego anymore. Just that easily, he found himself appreciating the line-dried sheets—and thinking of Phoebe Chandler.

He could still smell the scent of her shampoo.

Irritated that he’d even noticed, he swore softly in the darkness. What the devil was wrong with him? He was on a mission and it had nothing to do with an innkeeper’s granddaughter. Granted, she had a natural beauty that had caught him off guard, but she wasn’t his type. He liked his women sophisticated and worldly, and from what he’d seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have time for women right now. The only thing he was interested in was finding his father…and making him pay.

Satisfied that he had his priorities straight, he deliberately put her from his thoughts and concentrated instead on what he was going to say to Joe and Zeke McBride when he approached them about Gus. He generally didn’t like to plan things too much—he worked better when he went with his instincts. Tracking down Gus McBride, however, was too important to leave to chance.

So, just as he did when he was working on an important trial, he tried to work out every possible contingency. Normally, he could have worked well into the night on a case without ever growing sleepy, but it had been a long, emotional day and evening. He yawned…and felt himself losing ground. With a sigh, he gave up the fight and let himself drift toward sleep.

His last thought should have been about his father. Instead, a whisper of the night breezes drifted in through the open window, teasing him with a sweet, faint scent that reminded him inexplicably of her. Like it or not, she was his last thought before he fell asleep.

When Phoebe came downstairs the next morning, dawn was still nearly an hour away. It was her favorite time of the day. There were no telemarketers calling on the phone, no TVs or radios blaring, no trucks shifting gears as they made their way down Main Street. Quiet echoed like a sigh, and for a while, at least, Phoebe could almost believe she was the only one in town awake. She loved it.

Unfortunately, this time she had to herself couldn’t last. Although her guest hadn’t told her what time he would like breakfast, she had a feeling he was an early riser. She’d be lucky if she had another two hours to herself. She planned to enjoy it before she had to deal with Mr. Personality.

A grin tugged at her lips at the unexpected nickname her psyche had come up with for Taylor Bishop. She didn’t mean to be mean. After all, she didn’t even know him. Like everyone, he was bound to have some good qualities. And she had to admit, he was an incredibly good-looking man. Looks, however, weren’t everything. She’d never met anyone who could push her buttons so easily. And he planned to stay the entire time her grandmother was gone!

If he’d been anything other than a writer, she might have been groaning at the thought. But she doubted that she would see much of him. If he wasn’t off somewhere doing research, he would, in all likelihood, be holed up in his room writing. If she was lucky, the only time she’d have to deal with him was at breakfast. And once the other guests arrived, she’d spend most of her mornings in the kitchen.

The cooking, more than anything else, was what she was really looking forward to. Breakfast was her favorite meal of the day, and as she stepped to the pantry to pull out her baking supplies, she could already taste the Virginia ham, apple strudel, and hot, homemade croissants that were planned for part of the morning menu. Mr. Personality hadn’t blinked twice when she’d showed him to his room. She’d like to see similar restraint when he sat down to breakfast. If he was expecting ordinary bacon and eggs, he was in for a surprise.

Grinning at the thought, she’d just stepped out of the pantry, her arms laden with ingredients, when she thought she heard a cry in the predawn quiet. Surprised, she stopped in her tracks, listening. Then she heard it again.

“Oh, my God!” she said softly, “that sounds like puppies!”

Hurriedly dumping her supplies on the kitchen table, she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer by the refrigerator, then quickly unlocked the back door and rushed outside just as what sounded like an entire litter of puppies started to whimper and howl from under the porch.

The hems of her nightgown and robe trailing behind her, she flew down the steps, only to laugh when she peered under the porch and found six lab-mix puppies staring up at her warily. “Oh, poor babies! Are you hungry? Where’s your mama?”

For an answer she got wagging tails, puppy grins and a couple of brave woofs. Just that easily, they stole her heart. Murmuring soothingly, she held out her hand to them. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to take you inside and find you something to eat. C’mon, that’s it. Oh, aren’t you sweet!”

Hungry and lonely, they cautiously came out from under the porch, and within seconds, little tails were wagging in greeting. Laughing, she scooped them all up and carried them inside.

His head buried under a pillow, Taylor came awake to the sound of yapping puppies and a woman’s delighted laughter floating on the morning air. Disoriented and still half asleep, he found himself fascinated by the sweetness of the sound. Had someone new moved in next door? he wondered sleepily. She had a laugh like an angel. Who was she? He hadn’t seen anyone new….

She laughed again, but this time, the fog of sleep clouding Taylor’s brain parted and images of last night came rushing back. The wreck, Liberty Hill, Phoebe Chandler. She was the one downstairs, the one laughing, the one who fascinated him.

He swore softly, unable to believe he was thinking of her again. He kept waking up during the night because of her—every time he’d closed his eyes, all he could see was Phoebe, standing in the light of the entry hall in her old-fashioned gown and robe, her hair flowing around her shoulders as she opened the door to him. And now here she was, back again, walking out of his dreams into his waking thoughts.

And it was damn irritating! he thought, scowling. He didn’t have time to lie around thinking about the old-fashioned lady downstairs. He had work to do. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed his clothes and stepped across the hall to the bathroom. Once he had a shower, he’d get on the phone, order a rental car from Colorado Springs, then get to work finding his father.

Ten minutes later, when he headed downstairs, he was all business. He’d ordered the rental car and decided to start his search for his father by paying a visit to the two McBrides listed in the phone book. No addresses were listed but he didn’t expect that to be a problem. He’d call both McBrides at nine, and if he couldn’t track them down, he’d walk over to the sheriff’s office and see if he knew the McBrides. Surely in a town the size of Liberty Hill, the sheriff had to know just about everyone.

His thoughts on what he would say to the McBrides when he finally found them, he had no intention of eating breakfast. The scent of baking apples and cinnamon was incredible, but he intended to skip the traditionally elaborate meal that came with the cost of his room. He just didn’t have time.

Considering that, he should have headed for the front door the second he reached the bottom of the stairs. But in the kitchen, Phoebe laughed softly and murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, and with no conscious decision on his part, he found himself following the sound of her voice.

She was dressed as she had been last night, in the soft, flowing gown and robe that had made his sleep so restless, and for a moment, he cynically wondered if the lady always cooked breakfast in her nightclothes or if she had just done so this morning for his benefit. Then he realized she didn’t even know he was watching, and he felt like an idiot.

All her attention was focused on the puppies, who were climbing all over each other, tumbling into her lap, their little tails wagging happily as they tried to get to her. Squirming and wiggling, they licked her on the face, making her giggle, and for the first time since his mother had died, Taylor found himself fighting a smile.

No woman had a right to look so pretty in the morning. She’d piled her hair up off her neck with a clip, but other than that, she’d done little to make herself beautiful. Her face was free of makeup, and she hadn’t even bothered with shoes. From where he stood, Taylor could see her bare toes peeking out from under her gown and robe. Her nails were painted with a delicate pink polish, matching the natural blush of her cheeks, and with no effort at all, he could see her sitting in the old-fashioned bathroom, her foot propped against the clawfoot tub as she painted her toenails by candlelight.

A cynical man, Taylor readily admitted that he liked women who were sophisticated and politically well connected. From what he’d seen of Phoebe Chandler, she was neither of those things. He shouldn’t have found her the least bit appealing. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. As he watched, she picked up each puppy, kissed it on the nose, and placed it in the cardboard box she’d used to make them a bed. With a will of their own, his eyes lingered on the curve of her mouth. Would her lips taste as soft as they looked?

Caught off guard by the direction of his thoughts, he would have sworn that he didn’t make a sound, but suddenly, Phoebe glanced up and found him standing in the doorway. Not the least bit self-conscious, she smiled. “Good morning. I’m sorry I’m not dressed yet. I had a few unexpected guests under the back porch this morning. I hope they didn’t wake you.”

“I’m an early riser,” he said gruffly. Nodding at the puppies, he said, “Where’s the mama?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug as she gave the last puppy a kiss and placed it in the box before rising to her feet. “I’m afraid she’s abandoned them. There was no sign of her, so I called Merry McBride. She’ll be by later to pick them up.”

Surprised, Taylor couldn’t believe his luck. When he’d taken the room last night and learned this woman was handling the bed and breakfast for her grandmother, he’d never dreamed she would know a McBride. “Who’s she? Does she own the local animal shelter or what?”

“Actually, she’s the vet,” she replied. “She’ll take care of the puppies and find them good homes.”

Taylor opened his mouth to grill her about what she knew about the McBrides, only to remember just in time that he was supposed to be a writer, not a lawyer. He could ask as many questions as he wanted—he just couldn’t cross-examine her as if she was on the witness stand.

So with a casualness he was far from feeling, he frowned and said, “McBride…that name sounds familiar. Is her husband a rancher in the area?”

Phoebe laughed. “McBride is her maiden name. Her husband’s Nick Kincaid, the sheriff. Her family ranches, though. In fact, there’s been a McBride ranching in Liberty Hill for over a hundred years. You definitely need to talk to them for your book.”

Stunned, Taylor couldn’t believe she’d given him so much information so quickly. Were the McBrides she spoke of his father’s family? His mother had said his father was a cowboy. How was he related to Merry, the vet? And how did Phoebe Chandler know so much about the family?

Curious, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and asked her just that. “How do you know the McBrides? Are you friends with them or what?”

She smiled. “I’ve known them all my life. My grandmother and Sara McBride are best friends.”

“And Sara McBride is…”

“Merry’s mother. She and Myrtle have known each other forever. They were in first grade together, went to college together, and were in each other’s weddings. I can’t think of any major event in my grandmother’s life that Sara wasn’t there for. They’re like sisters.”

“So what about Mr. McBride? What’s his name?”

“Gus.”

She said his father’s name so casually and didn’t have a clue what she’d given him, Taylor thought. He’d found the son of a bitch! And he hadn’t even been in Liberty Hill an hour. Never in a million years had he dreamed finding his father would be this easy. Now he just needed his address.

He couldn’t, however, come right out and demand it, not without raising Phoebe Chandler’s eyebrows. So he swore silently, clamped a lid on the anger that always boiled in him whenever he thought of Gus McBride, and reminded himself that he had a role to play. “If Sara’s your grandmother’s age, Gus must be getting up there in age, too. Is he still ranching? Or don’t ranchers retire? What’s his story?”

Surprised, she blinked. “Gus? Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I tell you? He died years ago.”

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