Dammit, he shouldn’t have taken advantage of her like he had.

He didn’t know where he’d be next week, much less the next hour. His whole life could change at this cocktail party, and where would that leave Lacey?

Would he be part of that family?

He couldn’t say anything for a second when she entered the room. Her crushed blue gaze and the flowing buttercup sheerness of her dress with the wispy material misting over her shoulders, waist and legs took his breath away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You’ve always been so beautiful but, right now, it’s painful to look at you.”

Taking a step back, her hand drifted up to her hair, where a few curls fought to stay corkscrewed. Already they were wilting, softening her features more than he thought possible, making her eyes more doelike, her lips more full and vulnerable.

“You know what to say to a girl. Don’t you?”

“Not too often.” Awkwardly, he made one attempt, two, to offer her his arm. Just like a gentleman would, he hoped….

Dear Reader,

Well, the new year is upon us—and if you’ve resolved to read some wonderful books in 2004, you’ve come to the right place. We’ll begin with Expecting! by Susan Mallery, the first in our five-book MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries, in which residents of a small Kentucky town find love—and scandal—amidst the backdrop of a midwifery clinic. In the opening book, a woman returning to her hometown, pregnant and alone, finds herself falling for her high school crush—now all grown up and married to his career! Or so he thinks….

Annette Broadrick concludes her SECRET SISTERS trilogy with MacGowan Meets His Match. When a woman comes to Scotland looking for a job and the key to unlock the mystery surrounding her family, she finds both—with the love of a lifetime thrown in!—in the Scottish lord who hires her. In The Black Sheep Heir, Crystal Green wraps up her KANE’S CROSSING miniseries with the story of the town outcast who finds in the big, brooding stranger hiding out in her cabin the soul mate she’d been searching for.

Karen Rose Smith offers the story of an about-to-be single mom and the handsome hometown hero who makes her wonder if she doesn’t have room for just one more male in her life, in Their Baby Bond. THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS, a new miniseries by Arlene James, in which three blue-collar friends inherit a million dollars—each!—opens with Beautician Gets Million-Dollar Tip! A hairstylist inherits that wad just in time to bring her salon up to code, at the insistence of the infuriatingly handsome, if annoying, local fire marshal. And in Jen Safrey’s A Perfect Pair, a woman who enlists her best (male) friend to help her find her Mr. Right suddenly realizes he’s right there in front of her face—i.e., said friend! Now all she has to do is convince him of this….

So bundle up, and happy reading. And come back next month for six new wonderful stories, all from Silhouette Special Edition.

Sincerely,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

The Black Sheep Heir
Crystal Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Grandpa and Grandma Green, with my love.

CRYSTAL GREEN

lives in San Diego, California, where she writes full-time and occasionally teaches. When she isn’t penning romances, she enjoys reading, overanalyzing movies, risking her life on police ride-alongs, petting her parents’ Maltese dogs and fantasizing about being a really good cook.

Whenever possible, Crystal loves to travel. Her favorite souvenirs include journals—the pages reflecting everything from taking tea in London’s Leicester Square to backpacking up endless mountain roads leading to the castles of Sintra, Portugal.

She’d love to hear from her readers at: 8895 Towne Centre Drive, Suite 105-178, San Diego, CA 92122-5542.

And don’t forget to visit her Web site at: http://www.crystal-green.com!

THE KANE’S CROSSING GAZETTE

Mystery Man Hiding in Siggy Woods!

by Verna Loquacious, Town Observer

Greetings from your friendly neighborhood grapevine!

I’ve just received word that a stranger who suspiciously resembles Kane Spencer, our town founder, has been seen skulking about the streets. Scuttlebutt has it that our own Lacey Vedae, who has some skeletons in her own closet, is helping this mystery man by cooking him exquisite gourmet dinners and warming him with her home fires. Hmmmm. Sounds like more of a courtship than an innocent neighborly interest to this observer. What does Spacey Lacey know that we don’t? Read tomorrow’s column to find out….

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

S omeone had been sleeping in her bed.

Lacey Vedae stepped over the threshold of her deserted cabin—the one located on her property in the thick of the snow-frosted woods—and shut the door. The sudden lack of chilled air caused her to shiver, more from a sense of foreboding than anything else.

A fire danced and snapped in the grate, sending waves of shifting light over the simple oak furnishings: two bony chairs, a square table, the rumpled bed…

What in the world was going on?

She removed her fuzzy pink earmuffs, hardly believing someone had broken into this dilapidated structure in the middle of nowhere.

None of her possessions had been filched or vandalized, not that there had been much to tamper with in the first place.

Shoot. If those darn teenagers from town had come back to use her property as a love shack again she’d—

Lacey grabbed one of those iron thing-a-ma-jigs from the fireplace, just to bolster her confidence.

The door burst open behind her, swirling a blast of whistling, flake-laced wind into the room. A voice, the tone chipped with a low, flat-plains drawl, iced her more than the weather ever could.

“Who the hell are you?” it asked.

A mix of shock and anger spiraled through Lacey, and she brandished her fireplace tool while turning to meet the intruder. “I’m the woman who’s going to call the sheriff if you don’t keep your distance.”

The figure slammed the door shut, the altered light changing his mysterious silhouette into that of an actual human being. Half abominable snowman with drifts of light snow powdering his heavy jacket, pants and boots. Half cowboy dream with the smooth motion of a wide-brimmed hat being swept off his head in apparent respect. The gesture revealed shoulder-length blond hair and a grim, if not downright sheepish, almost-smile.

“Damn,” he said, beating the felt head wear against a thigh. Melting bits of ice flew to the planked floor with every thump.

“Damn what?” Lacey asked, jabbing her weapon in his general direction to make sure he didn’t come any closer. “Damn, you’ve been caught in my cabin?”

He stepped nearer, sending her a few stumbles backward. Dang. It wouldn’t do to run away like a fluttery chicken. She’d faced her share of bullies during her life in Kane’s Crossing, and she wasn’t about to lose her courage now—especially since she’d worked so hard to win it back over the years.

She’d learned to overcompensate in the control department. Learned that, every time she asserted herself, the past grew more distant and less threatening.

Lacey sauntered forward, wearing her most ornery glare. The ready-to-rumble demeanor, as her stepbrother Rick liked to call it.

Yeah, definitely in control.

“Well?” she asked, making it clear she expected a straight answer.

Something quick and explosive shot across his gaze. Something bluer than the shade of his eyes, warmer than the sputtering fire. She almost wished she could interpret the visual pause as interest, as a “Damn, I’m not sorry I got caught in this cabin. I’m saying, ‘Damn, you are a mighty hot little number.’”

Excellent, Lacey, she thought. No wonder most of the town thinks you still need to be institutionalized.

She blinked, erasing those negative thoughts. Think positive, think sunshine, think…

Control.

The stranger cleared his throat, startling her. “I didn’t mean any trouble, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Didn’t he know she was too young for a “Ma’am”? Jeez. Twenty-seven years old and she was already eliciting matronly respect.

“Don’t ma’am me,” she said, narrowing her eyes and clutching her makeshift weapon.

He lifted a brow, barely sparing a glance at her war-like stance, his mouth slanting to an angle that belied his exasperation. “How about addressing you as ‘missy,’ then?”

“You’re pretty cocky for a guy who’s about to get thrown in jail for trespassing. Sheriff Reno doesn’t take kindly to that sort of crime.”

He shrugged, tossing his hat onto the table as if he owned the place. “Cocky never did me any harm.”

Oh, what a voice. If she wasn’t so suspicious of him right now, that calloused tone might’ve already talked her into a million things—all of them bad, too.

“Whether or not you meant trouble by commandeering my property, you need to scoot out of here.” She peered around, again noting the canned goods piled on a counter near the stove, a spurt of woolen shirts peeking out of an extra-large leather duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. “Seems as if you’ve already gotten cozy.”

As he ambled closer to the fire, he spread his hands toward the heat. His hesitation in answering gave Lacey the welcome opportunity for a second lingering once-over.

Simply put, he was gorgeous. As still and breath-stealing as a cold night settling over dusk-burnished badlands, with blue eyes, chisled cheekbones and a full mouth. Sharp-edged, rough-and-tumbled. Lacey’s heart hopped away from her.

Hold on to it, girl.

“So…” she said. “You’re not going to tell me how many moons you’ve camped out here?” She paused for him to answer.

Silence, of course.

He slipped off his jacket, revealing a homespun beige shirt that emphasized broad shoulders and a wide, muscled back, crisscrossed by a pair of sturdy suspenders. As he draped the clothing over a chair, Lacey drew in a breath, her pulse beating faster at the sight of his long legs encased by rugged tan pants that covered most of his boots.

How had a man like this ended up in her own backyard?

Lacey gathered all her common sense. In spite of her flighty reputation, she very capably ran the family feed business; she was even embarking upon a risky project that would soon raise more money for the town’s Reno Center—a home for foster children. She was a woman who could preside over an efficient meeting, a woman who was strong enough to show Kane’s Crossing that she was no longer the waif who’d spent time in that “clinic for disturbed girls,” as her mother had called it.

She and the iron pointy fire thing definitely had the upper hand here.

“Listen, I need answers. Know what I mean? After all, here I was, taking a nice late-afternoon walk through the woods on my property when I saw a light burning in the window of this supposedly empty cabin. A historic cabin, built back in the days when Kane’s Crossing was first settled. No one has stayed here for years, not since those teenagers sneaked in and—”

He’d glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge her words, then, after a moment or two returned his attention to the fire. He acted as if the mute flames were far more interesting than her town lore.

“Mister?” It was making her mad to realize she wasn’t compelling him in any way. Since returning to Kane’s Crossing, she always had the situation in hand—with business, with her family, with her reputation and image.

He didn’t stir from the flames. “Yeah?”

Heck, at least he wasn’t comatose yet. “Imagine my surprise when I saw that someone had taken up residence in a hovel that’s about to fall down around our ears.”

“Then I suppose if I were a couple decades younger I’d be Goldilocks.”

Touché.

“This must be a real laugh riot for you,” she said. “How amusing to turn your back on a woman with a dangerous weapon.”

His hands dropped to his sides, and he finally turned around. The fire cast a sheen around his blond hair, tickling its length with softness and shadow. “It’s an andiron, and I’m sorry.”

The words were few, but obviously sincere. She could tell he was being truthful by the way he’d shrugged his shoulders slightly, enough to be brusquely awkward.

“If you’re so apologetic, then leave.”

He pulled his mouth into a straight line and trained his gaze on the floor. A stubborn comeback.

She sighed. “If you need a place to stay, there’s the Edgewater Motel out by the highway. Its roof is much less likely to come tumbling down while you sleep. Besides, this is no palace. The only point of interest is the view.” She gestured to the frost-clouded window. “Hail the Spencer estate in all its glory.”

She thought she saw him flinch, but couldn’t be sure. Nonetheless, he recovered quickly, his voice going back to the same deep-freeze burn she’d heard when he’d entered the cabin.

“Maybe we can make a deal, miss. Maybe I can repair this heap of an abode so it’s livable again.”

He was all business. It was a language Lacey preferred, one she spoke well.

“Really?” she asked, interest piqued, yet adding enough doubt to her tone to let him know that she wouldn’t be a complete pushover. She’d intended to fix this place for years, but had nudged the task to the bottom of her priority pile, just like other matters.

Matters like relationships, love, loneliness.

He watched her with that cocky grin, as if he knew he’d get his way. “I only have one condition.”

“You have a condition?” She laughed. If she hadn’t still been ready to attack him at a moment’s notice, she would’ve relished the irony of his words.

“Yeah. My condition is this: If I fix this place, you leave me alone. No questions asked.”

Her heart fell to her stomach. Of course he didn’t want anything to do with her. No surprise there, especially for a gal who’d probably end up an old maid anyway.

Lacey tried to appear as if his words hadn’t hit that gaping chink in the armor of her self-esteem.

Connor Langley regretted the words the moment they’d flown out of his mouth. Not because he didn’t need to be left alone—his reason for being in this town depended upon it at this stage—but he could see how the request killed the light in her eyes, how it paled the blush of her winter-stained cheeks.

She was damned adorable in her little snow bunny outfit, with earmuffs hanging from the fingers of one dainty, pink-gloved hand, while the other held the andiron like it was a sword gone limp. The metal thumped against her tight ski pants, which were tucked into snowboots. Her perky image was further emphasized by wide gray-blue eyes fringed by spiked lashes, a slightly tilted nose and those prim-and-plump lips.

She was cuter than any woman had a right to be, sweet as powder puffs and sugar cookies.

But Connor wasn’t in the mood for the heat that stole through his body every time he looked at her. He had much heavier issues weighing him down.

Issues like the necessity of staying in this cabin, a place that offered the best vantage point of the Spencer estate.

Trying to keep any sign of urgency out of his voice, he said, “Is it a deal then?”

The woman lowered her gaze and tucked a chin-length strand of dark brown hair behind an ear. The ends flipped up, reminding him of jukebox nights and sock-hops where the girls wore poodle skirts with scarves around their necks.

“This is crazy,” she said. “I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s easy.” He stuck out his palm, as if every day he encountered ticked-off women who wanted to emasculate him. “Connor Langley.”

She tilted her head, seemingly testing the sound of his name in her mind. Then, she inched out her gloved hand. “Lacey Vedae.”

As their fingers connected, Conn felt the electric jolt of her firm grip, even if she was wearing a protective layer of wool over her skin. Her touch was steady, no nonsense, sending shock waves up his arm, down to his lower belly, stirring into something he couldn’t afford to focus on.

He let go of her before he could get burned, then took a step back toward the fire.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Langley?”

Miss—it was Miss, wasn’t it?—Vedae didn’t mince words. He could tell she had a core of steel the minute she’d stood up to him when he’d entered the cabin.

He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I’m getting away from it all. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”

“So you settled on Kane’s Crossing? You must be desperate for some boredom.”

Actually, he’d give his life for boredom, for the way it used to be, back in the small Montana town where he’d lived all his years. Back where he’d been engaged to Emily Webster because that’s what had been expected of him. Back where his mother hadn’t shriveled from cancer to almost nothing. Back where he’d been Connor Langley and nothing more.

“That sounds nice to me,” he said, meaning it.

Her eyes took on a wary narrowness. “You’re lying. Why should I let you stay here if you can’t tell me some semblance of the truth?”

Damn. “Because I’m a hell of a handyman. That was my job back in Raintree, Montana.”

She crossed her arms over her down jacket, clearly not buying his guff.

“That’s the honest slant on it, Miss Vedae.” He paused. “I just need to be alone.”

“Hmmm.” She quirked her lips, considering him. “I still don’t trust you.”

“Trust isn’t a requirement.” He almost added the dreaded “ma’am,” but remembered right in time how she’d reacted to the title earlier.

Too bad his mom had bred “ma’am” into him for the length of his life. You couldn’t break a thirty-three-year-old habit.

Mom. The word, the image stung because, in Montana, she was waiting for him to help her, to heal her.

Well, he wouldn’t do it standing here making nice with his prospective landlord. Conn needed to take his binoculars and get back to work.

“What about it?” he asked, unthinkingly taking a step forward. He itched to run a hand along her jaw, comforting her, convincing her that he wasn’t such a bad guy.

At least, that’s what he’d thought up until a month ago, when he’d learned the truth about himself.

Lacey Vedae sighed and tossed up her hands. “Heck. It’s not like you’re living in my house.”

“Right.”

“And you’re going to do work on this hunk of junk.”

“Your obviously beloved hunk of junk.”

She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you adhere to my condition, we won’t even know each other exists.”

She stared at him for a second, her gaze going as soft as the gray-blue clouds of a rainstorm. Something like emptiness filled her eyes for the briefest moment, then flashed away.

She walked toward the door, hesitating before opening it. “I’ve got plenty of supplies in my toolshed, off the main house. Help yourself.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep quiet about my being here?”

Her hand rested on the doorknob, then she nodded. “For the moment.”

Without another glance back, she opened the door and walked outside into the newly revealed sunshine with its glare of snow on the ground.

What had that meant? Was he staying? Going?

Questions and more questions. He was sick of asking himself, testing himself every day.

All he knew for certain was that he needed Ms. Vedae to keep his secret, to keep him hidden in this cabin in the woods.

By evening, Lacey had already thought of twenty-six ways to break Connor Langley’s one condition.

She settled on the temptation of a gourmet dinner.

As her boots crunched through the light layer of snow leading to the cabin, she tried to tell herself that this was a good idea. Maybe it was the biggest mistake of her life, allowing him to stay on her property, but the businesswoman in her had pretty good instincts about people. Connor Langley didn’t strike her as a terrible man—not with the way in which he’d taken off his hat to greet her, or turned his back when she’d been ready to skewer him.

Maybe he’d even be happy to see her when she told him she’d decided he could stay on her property. It could happen.

She approached the trees, leaving footprints as she went. “He did make it clear that he didn’t want company though,” she said out loud. “But what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t give him a welcome basket along with the good news?”

She hefted the loaded wicker carrier from one hand to the other. “Leaving him alone would make you a good neighbor,” she answered, hardly minding that she was talking to herself. “Because he did ask you to stay away.”

As she entered Siggy Woods—the dark forest that had inspired more than one town legend—she pressed her mouth into a silent line. Way back when she was fourteen, her doctor at the HazyLawn Home for Girls had warned her about talking to herself but, like most advice she’d culled from her short stay in the institution, she’d pretended to embrace the suggestion while ignoring it completely.

Her problem hadn’t been too much self-conversation, anyway. It’d had more to do with wanting to cry all the time, wanting to stop herself from sinking into the slow-spinning black hole of her thoughts. Sometimes, long ago, she’d ached so badly that she couldn’t get out of bed come morning.

At times the darkness still lapped at the edges of her mind. But she fought it—tooth and nail. Weekly therapy sessions with her Louisville doctor as well as the steady lift of Prozac helped her, healed her.

For the most part, she was happy and settled, successful and normal—and everyone in Kane’s Crossing who didn’t believe her was going to be convinced whether or not it drained Lacey of all energy and resources.

Between the trunks of white-glimmer pine trees, Lacey caught sight of the cabin, its bare windows winking with an orange glow. A shadow crossed over one of the panes, causing nerves to goose her heartbeat.

Connor Langley wasn’t going to be ecstatic to see her but, all the same, she couldn’t help herself. Every hungry cell of her body wanted to take him in, to swarm under the thick, warm feeling of attraction, even if only for the time it took to give him this basket.

She paused at the door, blowing out a cloud of pent-up steam. Then, ready for a scolding, she knocked.

A long hesitation followed, as if he was thinking about pretending not to be home. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the door creaked open on rusted hinges.

He stood in front of her, arms akimbo, his hair tied at his nape. “What didn’t you understand about leaving me alone?”

Boy, his eyes were blue. And now that she was almost toe-to-toe with him, she could see icicle-white flecks spiking the deep color of his irises.

“I…” She grinned, shoving the gingham-lined carrier in front of her as aggressively as she’d presented the fireplace implement this afternoon. “I wanted to tell you that you can stay in the cabin. And I cooked you dinner in apology for almost running you through with that metal thing.”

“I told you, it’s an andiron.” Then, as he cocked a brow, Lacey wondered why she’d thought this would be such a wonderful idea in the first place.

Before he could speak, she rushed on. “I really am good in the kitchen, so you shouldn’t refuse this. I’ve whipped up a spinach and grilled shrimp salad with a sherry vinaigrette, salmon rolls with spinach and sole with Champagne sauce and pear cake savoie. Pretty decent grub for the middle of nowhere.”

She waited with what had to be a silly, hopeful please-oh-please-accept-me grin on her face.

“I’m miffed,” he said.

“Well, I was puttering around the house, fixing to eat dinner myself, and I thought—”

He looked away and shook his head.

Getting the message loud and clear, Lacey set the basket on the ground, right by his boots, then turned to leave.

“Wait, Ms. Vedae.”

When she peeked over her shoulder, he’d picked up the wicker carrier and opened the door a crack wider. He glanced at her, something like guilt etching the lines around his mouth. “My privacy is important to me. Understand?”

With the way he’d growled the words, Lacey wondered if he was inviting her to share the meal or trying to scare her off.

Maybe she was being terribly invasive. “Bon appetit, Mr. Langley. I’ll leave you to your own company.”

And back she’d go to her massive house, wondering how it had ever become so empty.

The hinges screamed as he opened the door wider. “Get in here.”

Ooo, a command. If her stepbrothers, Matt and Rick, or one of her employees had talked to her in such a tone, she’d have given them a good dose of put-them-in-their-place. But with this man…

She didn’t say a word. She merely tilted her head as if she’d been expecting his invitation all along and strolled into the cabin.

Into the warmth of a stranger’s presence.

Chapter Two

T he woman sure could cook.

As Conn bit into the last of the pear cake whatever-it-was-called, he stifled a groan of contentment. He was more used to the beef and potatoes his ex-fiancée, Emily, had whipped up for him on a regular basis. Every Sunday night after church, she’d invite him over for dinner, then they’d sit in front of the television in her parents’ clapboard house, pretending that someday in the future, they might have something to talk about during the commercial breaks.

But now he was dining on food he couldn’t even pronounce.

Maybe it was for the best, though he hadn’t exactly been singing for joy when Lacey had shown up at his doorstep uninvited. For the second time today.

After she’d left this afternoon, he’d returned to the woods to keep his eye on the Spencer estate, cursing at the absence of activity there. Maybe the family had gone out of town. Who knew? But Conn was determined to wait, to watch and collect all the information he could before taking the next step.

Introducing himself.

And the sooner, the better. His mom was slowly dying, and he’d promised her that he’d come up with a way to make her better.

The sound of splashing wine drew him back to the moment as Lacey refreshed his glass with more Riesling. The woman had come prepared with everything.

“So, now that I’ve got you all liquored up, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” She smiled, her eyes the same color as the sky surrounding an evening star, especially vivid against the lavender of her turtleneck.

“I thought we’d already gone over this. About ten times.”

“Never hurts to ask.”

“That’s what you think.”

She pushed the wine bottle aside, tilting her head in apparent interest, telling Conn that he’d provided a little too much information.

The lady was sharp. He needed to keep all hints of why he was camped in this cabin out of his voice.

She asked, “Is it really so awful to reveal anything about yourself? I mean, talk about hiding in your cave.”

He must have seemed offended, because she added, “Mars, Venus? No? You’ve never been exposed to the world of Dr. Phil self-help?”

Touchy-feely garbage. Right. “I’m not into all that new age philosophy, I suppose.”

The smile on her mouth froze, stiffened, then melted after a beat. “Sure. All that build-yourself-up stuff. It’s not everybody’s thing.”

Had he said something wrong? It wasn’t that he looked down on group-hug betterment; he was merely a simple man who hadn’t thought much about it. “I guess I just depend more on family to tell me what’s what. Having strangers feed me advice about who I am and how I can make myself different doesn’t appeal to a guy like me.”

Lacey folded her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her clasped fingers, the fire casting a warm glow over her features. “You know you’ve provided a perfect opening for more personal queries. If I didn’t know that you’d scowl at me, I’d ask you what kind of guy you are.”

“Are you posing an off-limits question? Because I feel that scowl coming on.”

She grinned, making Conn wish she hadn’t already become such a vital part of his plan to be here in the woods. If she were an anonymous woman in a roadside bar, he might be able to caress the heart-shaped angles of her face without considering the consequences. But, even now, at a point when they still barely knew each other, he couldn’t afford to get close, to alienate her with the eventuality of his leaving town once he’d gotten what he needed from the Spencers.

“I can guess at what sort of guy you are,” Lacey said. “You’re a hiker, a nature boy who wanted to get out of the cold and ducked into my cabin. Right?”

He didn’t correct her, thinking she’d concocted a pretty good cover for the real reason he was here. “And what about you? Are you the type of woman who cooks dinner for a family in that big house of yours?”

Not that he thought she would’ve been dining with him if she had kids and a significant other; he was just surprised he cared enough to ask.

Lacey seemed taken aback by his inquiry. “I’ve got plenty of kin and friends. And there’s almost always someone in my home with me.”

“I take the hint, Ms. Vedae. You’re protected from creatures who wander in the woods and take up residence in your cabin. Don’t worry. I’m not a burglar or a bad man.”

She sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, suddenly serious. “If I thought so, you wouldn’t be here eating my fancy food. And people who can sit through one of my meals generally call me Lacey. Okay?”

“Got it.” He felt as if he’d climbed over the tip of a mountain, surpassing an obstacle, enjoying the view on the other side. Even if only a small barrier had been crossed with this woman, it was a victory. Hopefully he’d put an end to her curiosity of the unknown. Hopefully she’d stay away.

He patted his stomach, as if signaling an end to the supper, but his companion merely sat in her chair, assessing him.

“There’s not much to me,” he said. “Just a nature lover. Remember?”

“It’s not that. It’s… Well, my stepbrothers will go nuts when they find out I’m letting you stay here. They’re going to want to investigate.”

“So don’t tell them.”

Lacey lifted a finger in the air, her eyes lighting up with a new realization. “You’re more than a hiker. You’re a hider.”

“I don’t like to be bothered, is all.”

The words froze in the air, stiffening her posture in the process.

Lacey started to rise from her chair. “I’ll just leave you alone then.”

He could imagine her trooping through the snow, back to her mammoth house. Intuitively, he knew no one waited for her back there. Otherwise, why would she be eating dinner with him? The thought of her staring out a window at the empty, blank spaces of silent-night snow made his chest thud with his own sense of isolation.

“Stay,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened, and she settled back into the seat with a certain amount of rebellion in her tight movements. Conn chided himself for listening to the angel on his shoulder. Now he’d be stuck dodging more questions from his inquisitive visitor.

After a pause, she said, “Things have gotten a tad boring since Daisy and Coral Cox moved out a few months ago. Of course, now Coral has her own little place and Daisy married my brother Rick, so…”

She caught herself, laughing. “My family. I can’t stop concerning myself with their lives.”

She’d said it with such patent longing that Conn couldn’t help filling the silence with conversation, just to keep her talking and smiling. He’d always been such a sucker for a pretty girl.

“What do you do with yourself, besides cooking like a dervish, I mean?”

She brightened. “I run my family’s horse feed business up in Louisville. But, as my brother Matt is fond of saying, I’m a master of delegation. My other brother Rick flies me in his Cessna to the city a couple times a week to take care of business, but things run so smoothly I can do most of the work from my home office.”

“A corporate type. I should’ve known from the way you handled matters this afternoon that you’re used to being in charge.”

“Was I terribly overbearing?”

Conn shrugged, underplaying his first impression of her. A soft bunny with fangs.

“Not overbearing, I guess. Surely in control.”

She tilted her head proudly, as if thrilled to project such an image. “Thank you.”

“Much obliged.”

Lacey sat up straighter, and Conn couldn’t help feeling good about making her wariness disappear. He didn’t know what exactly he’d said to work that magic, but the glow in her eyes was worth it.

Even though he wasn’t supposed to give a tinker’s damn.

The fire flickered and frost shrouded the window, emphasizing the cabin’s cozy intimacy.

“Can I tell you something crazy?” she asked.

“I suppose.” Was the romantic atmosphere getting to Lacey, too? Was it convincing her that they knew each other better than they actually did?

She leaned toward him again, her skin flushed. “This is so…” A hesitation, a stretched second of thought in which she bit her lip, then grinned. “I’m building a glass castle,” she said proudly.

Conn tried his best not to seem jarred by her statement. He was sure he’d done a decent job of keeping a straight face, but he couldn’t restrain his curiosity. “A full-scale castle? With glass?”

“It won’t be Locksley Castle, really.”

“Locksley Castle?”

She gestured with her hands, conveying her enthusiasm. “You have to see it someday. On the outskirts of the town, we’ve got an actual castle. An incredibly rich East Coast family with ties to European royalty lives there, supposedly, but we never see them. It’s one of those Kane’s Crossing myths.”

Conn nodded, still not understanding the reasons behind the glass castle, not really even understanding why she was confiding in him, a near stranger.

Lacey continued, unfazed. “My castle will be large enough to fit in a warehouse. I know—it sounds wild. And when my brothers first found out that I’d purchased land with the old toy warehouse on it, they thought it might be a sound investment. But then they realized I was going to hire an architect and contractors to actually build a glass castle, and they about flipped.”

“What’s the purpose?”

“Purpose?” Lacey’s gaze drifted to the fire, as if the flames held pictures of the finished product, the crystalline structure glimmering with every cinder-sparked burst. “I wanted to do something for Kane’s Crossing. Something that might bring the town together. And the Reno Center, a place for orphans, always needs money to help run it. I thought I could build this—I don’t know—spectacle, and people might come all the way to our town and pay to see it.”

Now the idea made a little more sense. “But…?”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, waving a hand toward him to brush off his doubts. “Why a glass castle? Everyone asks me before shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. But that’s why I think folks will come to see it. Because it’s so…unexpected.”

And majestic. Conn wasn’t much into fairy tales and happy endings, but he could imagine a person staring at Lacey’s creation with as much fascination as he stared at the North Star. He could even see someone making a wish on Lacey’s dream.

Oddly touched and intrigued, Conn bent forward, reaching out to run an index finger over the soft curve of Lacey’s cheek.

She already had a way of doing this to him—making him not think. It was scary how dumb he got when she was around.

Her eyes went wide as his finger traveled down her skin to the line of her jaw, to the tip of her chin. Conn, himself, even felt a little startled, his pulse kicking and screaming through his veins.

Suddenly, he pulled back, standing with such force his chair scraped the floor with a yelp. “Let’s get you home.”

One of Lacey’s shoulders—the one below the cheek he’d caressed—drifted upward, as if she wanted to wipe away his touch with a brush of her turtleneck but didn’t have the bad manners to do so. Was she angry because he’d been so forward?

After what seemed like an uncomfortable infinity, Lacey stood to clean the table, and he wasn’t any closer to an answer.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, needing to get her out of here and back to the boundary of her own house.

With a glance that seemed to chastise him for ordering her around, she left the table and retrieved her coat. She moved toward the door, and he followed.

“Forget it,” she said, opening the door and letting in the night. “I can walk myself home.”

She left so quickly he couldn’t even thank her for dinner.

The next day, after Conn had beat himself up all night about offending Lacey, he still hadn’t forgiven himself.

As he perched by a pine, he held the binoculars to his sight, training the lenses toward the Spencer estate. He needed to be disciplined in his efforts, needed to clear his mind of the cute-as-snowflakes Lacey Vedae. The stakes of his stay in the woods were too high to fool with.

He couldn’t let his mother down, and the point had been driven home yet again after talking to her on the phone this morning. He’d traveled over county lines to the next town, just to stay away from the Kane’s Crossing scene, using a random pay phone to check in on her. During their short conversation, she hadn’t been able to hide a cough, had merrily scolded him for worrying about this minor cold.

But every sniff, every sigh worried Connor. A relapse. Death. He wouldn’t let either one of them happen to his mom.

He glanced at a mild sky still cloudy enough to preserve some snow then shrugged into his coat a little more, coveting its warmth.

This damned spying was tedious, barely better than his research trips to libraries in the neighboring counties, trips that allowed him access to old newspaper files. He was determined to find out all he could about the Spencers.

The name caused the bile to rise in his throat. All these years, living a lie. All this time, thinking that he was…

Wait. A black Lexus had pulled onto the circular driveway in front of the Spencers’ colonial mansion. The structure resided on a hill, as regal as a ruler on a throne, its front facade guarded by pine trees. Siggy Woods, where Conn now sat, offered a side view of the estate, allowing him to see the front and back of the house. Luckily, the trees were sparse from this point, giving Conn his first glimpse of the man he thought might be Johann Spencer, the family’s new leader.

From gossip columns, Connor knew that Johann was a distant European cousin of Horatio, Edwina, Chad and Ashlyn. He’d purchased all their remaining properties after Horatio had run into legal troubles and fled to Europe.

Through the binoculars, the new token of power seemed like a giant, towering over his wife and two children. His pale blond hair clashed with the black of his expensive overcoat, offering Conn the chance to scoff at the juxtaposition of lightness and darkness contained in the same space.

But as far as Conn was concerned, the Spencers were all about darkness.

A chauffeur drove the car away as Johann led his family toward the mansion. The front door seemed to open on its own, but Conn knew it was probably a butler who had done the menial work, ushering the Spencers into the house.

A slight shudder scampered up and down his spine, an unpleasant reminder of time running out. It was all well and good to sit here spying on Johann, but Conn needed to take the next step.

To figure out what he was going to do now that Johann was home.

As he stood, he let the binoculars drop to his chest, the item hanging there by its strap. He wasn’t the kind of guy who played intrigue games. Hell, only a few weeks ago, he’d been Raintree, Montana’s resident fix-it man, the one you called when you needed a roof patched or fence mended.

Conn was out of his element here.

He started to walk back to the cabin, not knowing what to do next. That’s when he heard it. The sound of laughter, of children, floating through the woods with pixielike gaiety.

Kids. He and Emily had planned on them. After all, that’s what you did in Raintree. You got married, had children, then called it a life. But after Conn had found out the truth about himself, had come to doubt who he even was, Emily had decided that he’d changed in some indefinable way. She’d called him a stranger and broken off the engagement.

Oddly enough, it hadn’t hurt very much. By the time she’d given back the modest gold band she’d chosen from a jeweler to symbolize their union, Conn had already been numb. He hadn’t had time for more bad news.

He’d actually wondered whether or not he could ever feel again.

As Conn kept walking, he realized that he was gravitating toward the young laughter.

He saw the house first, in the near distance. Lacey’s place. A two-leveled stone-and-log home with green trim highlighting the arched roofs. A porch circled what had to be five-thousand square feet of space, and Conn could feel the workman in him catch fire.

He’d dreamed of homes like this, but had never come close to living in one. The fact that a lone woman wandered all those rooms by herself almost cut his heart to shreds.

As he came nearer, he saw two kids—a boy and a girl—running around Lacey, who was covering her eyes with gloved hands. The children squealed with delight and, when Lacey uncovered her gaze, their laughter intensified, squeezing Conn’s throat with an unidentifiable longing.

She chased them in circles until they all ended up in a heap on the flake-blanketed ground. Then, as if in silent agreement, the three of them started waving their arms and legs, creating snow angels.

The boy finished first, hopping to his feet to inspect his creation. But that’s not all he peered at.

He pointed at Conn and began to run toward him.

“Taggert!” yelled Lacey.

But it was too late. The kid had already discovered him.

“Taggert, you get back here!” Lacey yelled.

But it was fruitless. The adopted son of her childhood friend, Ashlyn Spencer Reno, and Ashlyn’s husband, Sheriff Sam Reno, sprinted toward the woods with a firm mission in mind, no doubt. Tag was always letting his energy get him into more trouble than naught.

She heard the nine-year-old wailing, “The Man in the Woods!” as he faded into the trees.

Her heart froze as she squinted her eyes, barely catching sight of—indeed—a man standing on the fringe of the pines, watching them.

The Siggy Woods Monster, also known as the Man in the Woods, was one of those Kane’s Crossing myths, like the Locksley Castle, that colored their town with flavor. She’d lived on the edge of these pines for a couple of years now and had never seen, nor been afraid, of any legend.

But, just the same…

“Taggert Reno!” she yelled again, walking toward the woods. “Your mom’s going to hear about this!”

“It’s no use,” said seven-year-old Tamela Shane.

Lacey stopped and peeked down at her niece, the daughter of her stepbrother Matt and his wife, Rachel. The little curly-headed moppet had withstood a lot this past year—the return of her amnesia-afflicted father, his memory recovery and the reunion of their family—but Tamela was a trouper. Lacey took inspiration from the girl every day, admiring the child’s strength.

Strength. Lacey needed every ounce of it when it came to dealing with the citizens of Kane’s Crossing. They’d been poking fun at her glass castle scheme since day one, ribbing her about going back to the clinic because she was still “crazy,” still had “mental afflictions.”

Tamela grabbed her hand. “Tag’s stubborn, Aunt Lacey. He won’t come back unless the Monster eats him up and spits him right back out at us.”

A thought slapped her. Man in the woods. Connor was in the woods.

Elation filled her up for a moment, then deflated. He’d touched her last night, trailing a finger down her skin as if appreciating the fine grain of a wooden beam. He’d pulled away just as unfeelingly, too, as if deciding that the material wasn’t suitable.

But why did his opinion matter to her? Men like Connor, ones who seemed so strong and together, didn’t want women with her flawed baggage anyway. Better to have him pull away from her now rather than having him reject her when he found out she’d enjoyed a restful mental vacation at HazyLawn.

By this time, Tag had managed to drag the man out of the woods and, as expected, it was Connor.

If the guy didn’t want to be bothered, what was he doing here?

“Aunt Lacey,” said Tamela. “The Man doesn’t seem so scary.”

Exactly, and that was the frightening thing. With his bulky coat broadening his shoulders, his wide-brimmed hat hiding all but that blond ponytail, his slow-molasses gait as he allowed Taggert to drag him out of the woods, Connor Langley was the scariest creature Lacey had encountered in a long time.

Maybe even more horrifying than the dark-robed ghosts who knocked at the entry to her dreams most nights. Ghosts she’d left behind as a teenager: severe depression, unworthiness, emptiness.

As Connor came nearer, a distant part of Lacey wanted to return to a protective shell, the shell she’d destroyed after returning to Kane’s Crossing, to a family who embraced her and everything she’d gone through.

Yet instead of cowering, Lacey gathered her strength while Tag introduced her to the man hiding in her cabin.

Chapter Three

A n hour later, Lacey watched through the kitchen’s glass window while Connor helped Tag and Tamela put the finishing touches on something they called a “snow wookie.” It resembled a cross between a fuzzy dog and a long-limbed giant but, hey, the kids loved it.

Connor laughed—actually laughed—as he held up Tamela so she could meticulously sculpt the wookie’s plush lips. Lacey couldn’t believe this was the same man who grimaced at her every time she asked him a personal question.

But she ended up smiling, too, his happiness tickling her.

They finished their work of art, standing back, the children checking to see if Lacey was paying attention by waving at her. She gave a thumbs-up sign and continued with her hot cocoa preparation.

Moments later, they’d disappeared, and Lacey could hear them in the mudroom, stomping the snow off their boots. Then, they entered the kitchen, Tamela and Tag trailing Connor, their eyes fixed on him with a fascination you could only get away with as a child.

“Your creation is really something,” Lacey said, handing the steaming beverages to the kids. Tag grabbed his mug with one hand, since the other was merely a nub—a disfigurement he’d been born with, not that it mattered in the least to him.

When Lacey gave Connor his cocoa, she tried to avoid his gaze, but failed. Instead, they locked glances, both of their hands on the mug.

Adrenaline surged around her heart, poking at it, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d been this attracted to a man. In fact, Lacey couldn’t ever remember a feeling this intense, not even with the one serious postclinic boyfriend she’d dated, made love with, been rejected by.

“Much obliged,” he said, still looking at her while bringing the drink to his lips.

Tamela started walking into the living room, where Lacey had stoked a roaring fire. “Tell your friend to help us with the origami.”

“I’m sure my friend would like to relax.” Lacey followed the kids into the next room. A floor-to-ceiling window lent light to the area, emphasizing hickory floors and lodgepole-pine-logged walls. The stone fireplace, with its built-in mosaic of faded oriental-themed tiles, dominated the room. She wondered if Conn would think her taste off-kilter. She wondered why she cared.

Tamela sighed and settled on a thick rug across the large room with Tag to practice the Japanese art of folding paper into shapes. Lacey had taught the kids origami for baby-sitting days like this, when her family and friends needed “couple time” with each other.

As the children began their task, the Renos’ two cuddly Maltese dogs wandered over and nestled against Tag and Tamela, completing the cozy picture.

Lacey sat on an overstuffed couch opposite the fire, and was surprised when Conn took a place next to her. For a full five minutes they merely watched the kids manipulating the squares of paper, Tamela helping Tag when he needed it.

Conn turned to her. “I didn’t mean anything by last night. Didn’t mean any hard feelings.”

“Of course not.” Did they really need to hash this out?

“Good,” he said, evidently thinking they were clear on the matter. “I don’t want ill will between us.”

She shook her head. “You make no sense to me.”

“That’s a good way to keep it.”

She kept her voice low, so as not to include the kids in the conversation. “Why in tarnation are you in my house, Connor? I thought you wanted to hide in that cabin.”

He paused, then laughed. “I got caught. By a little kid, no less.”

“So much for being a hermit.” It occurred to Lacey that he might crave companionship as much as she did. Who wouldn’t in the cold of winter, when everything seemed so bleak and removed?

She continued. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know where you were. Instead, you advertise your presence.”

Conn rested his mug on a thigh, drawing Lacey’s gaze to the firm muscles beneath his tan pants. She glanced away.

He said, “I told Tag and Tamela I’m an old friend who was driving through town and wanted to say hi to you. That should cover any questions your relatives might ask.”

“Yeah. You’ve got everything covered.”

“Lacey.”

Reluctantly, she looked over at him, regretting that every peek made her heartbeat thump a little faster, made it harder to catch her breath.

His hand drifted up, then jerked back, almost as if he wanted to touch her face again. Lacey’s belly warmed as she recalled last night’s fleeting caress.

“Don’t be angry with me,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about why I’m here or why I want to be left alone. All you need to know is that I’m not going to do anything to cause you harm.”

Didn’t he know his presence made her question her loneliness for the first time in years? And that, in itself, caused her plenty of pain?

A resounding knock on the kitchen door forced Lacey to bolt out of her seat. “I’ve got it.”

She left Conn sitting by himself, staring into the fireplace. Appropriate, since he wanted to be alone anyway. Didn’t he?

On the way to the other room, she passed the kids, who were still immersed in their art.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw a shape filling the door’s window. A husky, rag-padded woman with a ruddy complexion and slanted black eyes. The lady, known around these parts as The Wanderer, smiled, showing a gap where her two front teeth used to be. She resembled one of those apple dolls, skin sucked in and shriveled, clothed in tattered threads and third-hand shoes.

Lacey opened the door, knowing the old woman wouldn’t enter her kitchen. “How are you tonight, ma’am?”

“Fine as can be, Miss Lacey.”

She went to a cupboard, where she always kept a prepared sack of food for The Wanderer. The old woman didn’t come around more than a couple times a week, and Lacey felt compelled to help however she could, especially since most people in Kane’s Crossing liked to make-believe the homeless woman didn’t exist.

The elderly lady took the sack, bowing her head. “You’re a kind one.”

“Nonsense. I only wish you’d let me do more.” Usually, at this point, she asked The Wanderer if she had somewhere to sleep, if she’d like to stay in the cabin in the woods, but Lacey bit her tongue.

The old woman cast her a glance that clearly told Lacey she’d noticed the omission in their ritual, the lack of cabin talk. Then, after a beat, she said, “Well, thanks much. I got places to go.”

“You have a safe week.”

Lacey watched The Wanderer hobble away, wondering where the woman spent nights, wondering who she used to be—who she was.

God, Lacey had so much to be thankful for. A home, a family, her health…

She returned to the living room, bending down to give the kids a hug on the way inside.

Tag, like most boys his age, squirmed away, continuing with his project, oblivious to her emotional flare up. Lacey stood again, unable to hold back her grin, then headed back toward Connor.

His seat was empty.

Tamela piped up. “Your friend’s not here. He mussed up our hair like my dad does, then up and left.”

Lacey picked up his empty mug and looked out the window at the white landscape. Why had she expected him to stay? He was a stranger, a guy who’d holed up in a cabin on her property and that was that. He’d made it clear he didn’t need company. Heck, even now, he was probably huddled in front of his own fire, alone, staring into the flames without anyone to talk to.

But she shouldn’t worry about Connor. No, indeed. Because, in his exclusive club, it was obvious that no emotional ties were required there.

Day turned into night, then back into an inevitable tomorrow.

Connor found himself at the edge of the woods again, staring through his binoculars at the Spencer estate.

He was so absorbed in his boredom that he failed to hear the footsteps.

“Wow,” said Lacey’s voice. “This is progress. I see you’re working up a sweat to repair my cabin.”

Conn whipped the binoculars away from his face. Too late; she’d obviously seen them. “Taking another nature walk?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah, I am. I get cooped up in the house, preoccupied with the business. I think you felt stifled, too, yesterday, when you disappeared without even a goodbye.”

He chuffed, more because of disappointment in how he’d handled himself. Sure, he’d gotten muffled by the hearth-warmed intimacy, had felt the need to get out before he was trapped by firelight and Lacey’s presence. He’d also wanted to avoid whoever had been knocking at the kitchen door.

Lacey held her hands out to her sides, whirling around with a light laugh. “Besides,” she added when she’d finished, “the sun’s out, and it’s a beautiful day for spying. Isn’t it?”

He wanted to deny it, but that would be ridiculous.

She pointed to the binoculars. “What’s going on?”

Damn. If he told her about his preoccupation with the Spencers, he’d lose the advantage over them. She had the potential to reveal his presence, to show his hand before he was ready to take further action.

If he’d ever be ready.

He brushed off the thought. “I’m bird-watching,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

Lacey ran her gaze over the silent trees, making a show of hunting for the supposed birds. He should’ve been riled with her and her nosiness, should’ve been ready to order her to leave him alone, once and for all.

But Conn didn’t have the heart. He didn’t mind taking a minute to just drink her in, with her lively red scarf wrapped around her throat, with a matching headband holding back her flipped-up brown hair and covering her ears from the cold. Her skin was so wind-kissed that he wanted to cup her face in his hands, warming the chill away.

“Bird-watching,” she repeated. “Exciting stuff. I, personally, would rather keep an eye on those Spencers.”

Conn’s spine went ramrod straight.

She continued. “Ages ago, when we didn’t know any better, Ashlyn Spencer and I used to play in these woods together. Heck, she always wanted to distance herself from her family anyway, so we never minded how her father used to yell at her for lowering herself, keeping company with the townspeople. I, myself, never had any problems with the Spencers. Not until Johann took over the family’s holdings recently.”

Conn was hungry for more information. His blood boiled beneath the surface of his skin, yet he tried to act like he couldn’t care less. “Sounds interesting. But I’m out here to enjoy mother nature.”

“Undoubtedly.” Lacey came to stand next to him, turning toward the Spencer estate herself. “Remember that glass castle I told you about?”

“How could I forget?”

She smiled. “I know—it’s wild. And more of a problem than I ever thought it would be. The Spencers used to own the land I bought for the castle, and now they’re trying to strong-arm me into selling it back to them.”

Conn’s interest was definitely piqued. “Great ventures take great risks. Don’t they?”

Lacey peered up at him in apparent wonder. “Exactly. I tell myself the same thing every morning. Then I tell myself the Spencers aren’t going to get that land back.” Strength supported her words. “Not if I can manage it.”

Ironic. Conn had been doing research in libraries, spying on the Spencers, when all along he should’ve been pumping information out of this woman.

He needed her more than he could’ve predicted. “I thought maybe I could come by your place, get some of those tools tonight, start work on the cabin in the morning.”

Lacey nodded. “I might conjure up a pretty good dinner if you happen to be around at seven o’clock.”

“If I happen to be around,” said Conn, “I’ll be sure to knock on the kitchen door.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

She walked toward her home, and Conn watched the sway of her slender hips under her tight ski pants.

He wondered if she would rescind the invitation if she knew who she’d just asked to dinner.

Okay. Maybe she’d gone a little too far with the lit candles and Spanish guitar music.

As Connor sat at the other end of the pine table in her ambient-glow dining room, he appeared as comfortable as a nail at a hammer convention. He caught her staring, then nodded in response.

“The food’s great.”

She smiled at the compliment; her culinary efforts made her proud. But instead of talking around the subject once again, maybe some straightforward conversation wouldn’t do any harm. “When I cook, I go all out.”

Overcompensation—the story of her post-Hazy-Lawn life.

She added, “The candles and music only add to the menu.”

Sure. Was it the Chicken and Sausage Paella with the Patatine E Carote in Salsa Verde that had inspired her? Or had she been thinking more about Connor’s blue eyes and let-me-undo-that-ponytail hair?

Potatoes and carrots indeed. It was the eyes and hair that had caused the overkill.

This afternoon, when she’d caught him spying on the Spencers—or, er, bird-watching—Connor had taken one step up on her mystery-man scale of attraction. She couldn’t help it. The man hid secrets, and Lacey had always been a pushover for guys who reflected her own position in life.

Her doctors would’ve told her that she was sabotaging relationships before they started, that her self-confidence chose men who were impossible to win over in the first place so it wouldn’t be her fault when they rejected her. She was protecting herself from hurt. Well, duh.

But old habits were hard to break.

The only thing she could think to do was enjoy Connor’s company while she could, then forget about it. After all, if they ever got to the point where they talked about her past, he’d be out of her life lickety-split anyway.

Connor had already finished his meal and was casting an appreciative gaze around the room. “I envy you. This is the kind of place I’ve always dreamed of. Hell, I’d be happy if I could just build a house like this.”

“That’s right,” she said. “The handyman from Raintree. Of course you’d be fascinated by it.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure. But I didn’t have much to do with the construction.” She tried to see the room from his point of view, tried to take a fresh gander at the arched hammerbeams, skip-peeled posts and beams, milled logs. “I was lucky enough to buy this place after taking over my family’s company. But I’ve added some touches here and there.”

Connor fixed her with one of his spiked-through-the-heart gazes. Lacey felt the heat rise from her belly to her face.

“You mentioned your brothers. How is it that you run the business and they don’t?” he asked.

“Phew. That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time on my hands.”

“All right,” she said. “You asked for it.”

She used her fork to push around some rice from the Paella on her plate, and decided to start her story after her stay in the clinic. She didn’t think he’d want to know about it anyway.

“Here’s the abridged version. My mom, who’d been wed twice before, married into the Shane family, and we moved to Kane’s Crossing. I wanted—needed—something to excel at, and the business was it. My stepdad delighted in my interest and mentored me to succeed. He died of a heart attack running Shane Industries and, at first, it seemed like my stepbrother Matt would take over from there on out.

“Matt did a good job for a while, but started following in Dad’s footsteps. He worked so hard that he alienated his family. Then one day, he disappeared and no one knew what happened to him. That’s when I took over.”

“Damn,” said Connor. He’d leaned his elbows on the table, listening to her. The candlelight flirted over his sun-tinted skin, making Lacey long to touch the planes of his cheekbones, the shadow of a beginning beard.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, Matt came back last year, but that’s another story. Suffice to say that he, his wife Rachel, Tamela and the baby in Rachel’s tummy are one big happy family again. Especially since Matt decided I should still run the company.”

“You have another brother, though. Right? What about him?”

Lacey smiled at the mention of Rick. She’d always held a soft spot for her smart aleck brother. Not that she didn’t love Matt, too, but they’d never been as close.

“Rick’s another long tale. He and Dad had a falling out years ago, and Rick joined the army and fought in the Gulf War. He never wanted anything to do with the business, so he asked me to run it. Good decision, too, because now he has his own happy ending with Daisy, the woman he just married.”

“And that leaves you,” Connor said softly.

She wished he hadn’t caught on to that part. Had she told her stories with such obvious yearning for someone to treasure her? Was it so clear that she didn’t belong to anyone?

“I’m fine on my own,” she said. “I’ve got lots of work to keep me busy. And I can make it by myself, especially since Dad left me a tidy sum of money when he passed away.”

“Oh.” Connor broke eye contact and stared at a candle, as if suddenly realizing she was a bread winner and he was a…what?

What the heck was he?

He must’ve sensed the question balancing on the tip of her tongue, because he said, “As for me, no epic stories. I’m just a simple guy.”

If the muscles in his jaw hadn’t jumped after the comment—an action similar to the kick of a rifle after it fires—Lacey would’ve let the words fade.

“You’re not fooling me, Connor.”

He leaned back, silent, watching her as intently as he’d been watching the Spencer estate this afternoon. Lacey wanted to glance away, to disengage before the look stretched into discomfort. She didn’t want him peering too hard at her, because there was so much to hide.

She broke the tension. “What?”

“Nothing. Just looking.”

“You do a lot of that.”

“You’re a very pretty woman.”

Lacey tried not to act surprised. It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say. Embarrassment crept up her neck.

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

Connor shrugged, as if it meant next to nothing.

Lacey was more than aware of the fact that she talked too much when she felt under the spotlight. Probably because she’d slung so much bull at her doctors when they expected answers that she hadn’t ever learned to break the habit.

“Usually,” she said, her voice an octave higher than usual, “I have to deal with this whole ‘cute’ label. You know, like a cheerleader or kitty cat or bunny—”

Connor’s brows lifted.

“—but it’s a relief to hear someone say ‘pretty’ instead of ‘cute.’ Not that I look in the mirror every morning and ask, ‘Who’s the fairest of them all?’ Because I don’t care much about that…”

She let the sentence trail off into the air. What a ditz.

But then Connor came to her rescue, changing the subject. “You’re dressed differently tonight.”

Lacey looked down at her attire. For the last week, she’d been on a sixties ski-princess kick. Tonight she was riding the wave of her menu and cultivating a Spanish style, with her hair pulled back into a small, sleek bun and her silken, flared red dress covered by a black, fringed shawl.

Her propensity to change images tickled the people of Kane’s Crossing, but Lacey liked the fact that she had control over the way she appeared to them. The more she manipulated her appearance, the less power they had to shape it.

“I get a bit bored with the same wardrobe,” she said, leaving it at that.

“Hell. Candlelight, music, gourmet food…” Connor stood from his chair, grabbing his plate as he prepared to clear the table. “If I was the type who loved ’em and left ’em, I think I’d be completely overcome with your charms.”

Wings seemed to flutter in her belly, then stopped, a heavy sense of failure diving into her stomach instead. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I was trying to seduce you.”

He grinned. “No matter what your intentions were, you’re safe with me. Unlike you, I don’t intend to follow in the footsteps of my own deadbeat dad.”

Then, with a wry expression, Connor walked to the kitchen, causing Lacey to wonder what he’d meant by that last cryptic comment.

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