His childhood friend in the arms of the enemy?

A black look crossed Nick’s face at Meggie’s news of her pregnancy.

“Don’t worry, Meggie. We’re going to make things right,” he growled.

She shook her head. “When the father gets back to town, I’m afraid he’ll want my baby, drag me through a custody battle.” And she’d lose her child forever. “You know he can do it, Nick. His family has so much money and power.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair, looking angrily around the town that hated him. “There’s one solution, Meggie….”

There was no solution as far as she was concerned. “Thanks for the optimism, but I have no idea what to do.”

Nick took a deep breath. “You can marry me. You can give your child my name.”

Dear Reader,

’Tis the season to ask yourself “What makes Christmas special?” (other than a Silhouette Special Edition novel in your stocking, that is). For Susan Mallery, it’s “sharing in established traditions and starting new ones.” And what could be more of a tradition than reading Susan’s adorable holiday MONTANA MAVERICKS story, Christmas in Whitehorn?

Peggy Webb’s statement of the season, “The only enduring gift is love” resonates in us all as she produces an enduring gift with The Smile of an Angel from her series THE WESTMORELAND DIARIES. Along with love, author Patricia Kay feels that Christmas “is all about joy—the joy of being with family and loved ones.” And we are overjoyed to bring you the latest in her CALLAHANS & KIN miniseries, Just a Small-Town Girl.

Sylvie Kurtz shows us the “magical quality” of the holidays in A Little Christmas Magic, a charming opposites-attract love story. And we are delighted by Patricia McLinn’s My Heart Remembers from her WYOMING WILDFLOWERS miniseries. For Patricia, “Christmas is family. Revisiting memories, but also focusing on today.” Crystal Green echoes this thought. “The word family is synonymous with Christmas.” So curl up with her latest, The Pregnant Bride, from her new miniseries, KANE’S CROSSING!

As you can see, we have many talented writers to celebrate this holiday season in Special Edition.

Happy Holidays!

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

The Pregnant Bride
Crystal Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom and Aunt Mary, the hardest working supporters in the world; and in memory of Regina Emig Ronk, whose courage and advice still inspire me.

CRYSTAL GREEN

lives in San Diego, California, where she has survived three years as an eighth-grade teacher of humanities. She’s especially proud of her college-bound AVID (Advancement Via Individual Determination) students who have inspired her to persevere.

When Crystal isn’t writing romance, she enjoys reading, creative poetry, overanalyzing movies, risking her life during police ride-alongs, petting her parents’ Maltese dogs and fantasizing about being a really good cook.

During school breaks, Crystal spends her time becoming readdicted to her favorite soap operas and traveling to places far and wide. Her favorite souvenirs include travel 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.

THE KANE’S CROSSING GAZETTE

August 18, 1985

Delinquent Bombs Chaney’s Drugstore!

No injuries, but store is destroyed, along with town’s faith in foster care system.

Chad Spencer, great-grandson of the town’s founding father, Kane Spencer, told police last night that he and his friends never expected Nicholas Cassidy to set off a bomb during their night of fun.

“I swear on my great-granddaddy’s grave, we never saw it coming,” said the Spencer High School Junior Varsity quarterback. “All we were doing was hanging out, when old Nicholas whips out this space-age looking doodad. I’m telling you, that kid was no good from the get-go.”

Cassidy, a resident of Kane’s Crossing for merely one year, refrained from commenting as he was escorted from town. His foster parents were also unavailable for comment, but….

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

August, sixteen years earlier

“D o you love me, Nick?” Meg Thornton asked, batting her eyelashes up at him as she leaned against his chest.

Fourteen-year-old Nick Cassidy felt his throat close up. They were hiding from the vile Chad Spencer behind a bank of rocks, wedged into the cool crevices, shaded from the Kentucky summer sun. In the distance, a riot of adolescent voices cut the air.

There he was. Chad, the pretty boy.

They were both breathing hard, and Nick could feel Meggie’s twelve-year-old heart tripping against his arm. He moved his face away from the strawberry-tart scent of her hair. This felt weird, shielded from everyone else, huddled alone with Meggie.

As the voices drew nearer, she looked up at him with those big green eyes. Eyes like the center of a marble, clear and cool. Something to keep from the other kids after you tucked it into your pocket.

Nick had no idea what to say to Meggie. He didn’t want to hurt the only kid in Kane’s Crossing who treated him like a human being. And as if the youngsters weren’t bad enough, the adults here—except for his new foster family and Meggie’s aunt—also treated him like yesterday’s trash. As if they could judge him after he’d lived here for only a year. Bunch of jerks.

Meggie sighed as she sat up, brushing at her fairy-wing-colored skirt, probably so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

Man, he hoped he hadn’t made Meggie mad. With the way her eyes had gone all puppy-dog sad, Nick knew he’d said something wrong.

He tore a piece of grass from the ground and stuck it between his teeth. “Don’t get all mushy on me, okay?”

“It’s all right.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Meggie tilt her red head into the waning sunlight, the fading colors warming her face under a caramel-hued mask.

Town legend had it that when she visited her aunt in Kane’s Crossing every summer, she looked more and more like a Gypsy, with her flared skirts and corkscrew-wild hair. No wonder some kids called Meggie a “witch.” Not that she cared. She and her aunt Valentine, living in that creepy house on the hill, just laughed at the townsfolk.

“I hope Chad Spencer doesn’t find us. I’m sick of his nasty talk,” Meggie said.

Nick’s hands fisted against his secondhand jeans. “No worries, Meggie,” he said. Footsteps stampeded on the bank above their heads, making his body tense.

A sharp laugh cut the air. Nick peered up, seeing a shadow crouched on the ridge above their rocks.

Chad Spencer’s words flew at them like stinging stones. “Aren’t you guys gonna French or something? Or doesn’t the foster-trash kid even know how to open his mouth?” A chorus of mean-spirited giggles followed.

Meggie narrowed her eyes, dying to burn Chad with a comeback, no doubt. But Nick shot her a silencing glance. Spencer’s beef was with him; the bully just wanted to make himself look good in front of her.

“Bug off,” he said, using a glare he’d been practicing just for a moment like this.

“Oo-oh, so he can manage to form a word or two.” Chad moved slightly, granting a slice of sunlight access to his golden hair. His royal-blue eyes glowed from the shade of his gelled bangs, and his turned-up alligator shirt collar lent him the plastic air of a Pez dispenser. “Are you tough enough to play Double Dare?”

Nick rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help up Meggie. She accepted the gesture, and the two of them stood, united, against their common nemesis. He hoped his silence was answer enough for King of the Creeps.

Chad stood, too. “If you want to prove how tough you are, meet me at Chaney’s Drugstore tonight at nine o’clock. We’ll see if your attitude matches my left hook.”

He turned and tossed a smug smile over his shoulder at Meggie.

After the group left, Meggie touched his arm, her eyes holding all the concern in the world. “You’re not going tonight. Come over to watch videos with me.”

Nick appreciated her easy-way-out alternative. Not many girls her age would understand a guy’s need to save face.

But deep in Nick’s heart, he knew where he’d have to be tonight. Facing Chad Spencer. Proving he wasn’t just some poor little foster kid who had no business in Kane’s Crossing.

Chapter One

October, present day

M eg Thornton stared at the man who’d just sauntered into her bakery. Six-feet-plus of leather jacket, cowboy boots and a frown.

“You chased off all my customers,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched the counter, wishing that the families who’d been snacking on coffee, lemonade and pie merely moments ago hadn’t deserted her.

The stranger just watched Meg from behind a pair of sunglasses. She could almost feel his gaze running over her body—at least the part that wasn’t covered by the counter. The sweet little secret growing within her belly was hidden by the Formica countertop and tiled wood, safe for now.

Meg shifted, wondering if her gray sweater had grown too tight during the last month, if he was looking at her slightly swollen chest, judging her as harshly as the rest of Kane’s Crossing did.

When the stranger didn’t answer, Meg narrowed her eyes at him. “May I help you with something?”

She eyed his worn jeans, the hole in one pant leg revealing a glimpse of knee. Her heart stuttered.

What if he wanted to rob her? Not that the cash register was full enough to even buy a new pair of pants, but she had house payments, a baby on the way. Any loss of money would hurt.

A faint smile lingered at the tips of his mouth, probably in reaction to her obvious confusion, but she couldn’t be sure. At any rate, the specter of a grin disappeared, the tension in the room increasing tenfold.

Bitter aroma from a burned cake hung in the air, heavy as gunsmoke. Meg forced her chin up a notch, unwilling to be a victim of his intimidation.

Her voice was louder this time. “I’m not sure if it was you or the burned chocolate that killed the festive atmosphere.”

The stranger took a step forward, scanning the room while his boots scraped against her floor. “Maybe it was your good mood that did the chasing.”

His voice was low and gravely, the kind of voice that scratched down her skin in all the right places.

What was with this guy? In any other town but Kane’s Crossing, she’d be afraid. Here, against the scape of her already tumultuous life, he was nothing more than a dark storm cloud. Her bravery increased in proportion to her anger. “Jeez, you cleared the place. Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He took another step, so close that Meg could see the cleft in his chin, buried beneath a light dusting of stubble. A feeling of familiarity assailed her. Slowly, he took off his glasses, stealing Meg’s breath away.

Eyes as hot as the blue tip of a lightening bolt. Pale, fathomless in their clarity. But why did she feel as if he hadn’t doffed those shutter-like shades at all? He was no easier to read.

He just stood there, as if anticipating a reaction of some sort. Well, what did he expect? Maybe women all over the country sighed and collapsed at his feet when he ta-dahed and removed his glasses, but she’d never been one of the crowd anyway.

She used her words like a balled fist. “May. I. Help. You?”

This time there was a smile—a pensive tilt that lowered his gaze to his hands. Hands strong enough to break her heart in two if she was fool enough to allow him access. And that would never happen again, she promised herself. Not with any man, no matter how swoon-worthy the subject.

From a black-vinyl booth tucked into the bakery’s corner, Deacon Chaney, the so-called town “loser,” popped out his head. Great. At least some entertainment was being provided for her remaining customer.

The old man looked ready to shuffle through the stranger’s ID and wallet. “Well, kiss my pink places,” he bellowed. “You’d think this was the O.K. Corral here.”

The thought of this stranger just strolling into her place of business and emptying the room with his gunfighter stance irked Meg. “Listen. Maybe you’re that heavy breather who takes great pride in giving me prank phone calls twice a week. Maybe you’re just in here for a titillating little scare. Either way, you’re setting me on edge, and I’m about to call the sheriff.”

Yeah, as if Sheriff Carson would come running to her aid. He despised her about as much as the rest of this morally superior town did.

The stranger’s gaze lingered over her every feature, leaving a trail of heat. The resulting blush swallowed the rest of her body in one languid flame. Meg’s instincts told her to run to the back room and never come out again.

But she’d never run away. Not from this town, not from this man.

“You obviously didn’t hear me when I said I’m calling the sheriff,” she said, hoping he’d do the running.

The man actually laughed. Sort of. It was more like a chuff than an expression of mirth. “The sheriff in this place isn’t worth fool’s gold.” He started to put his shades back on, then reconsidered and shoved them into his flannel-shirted pocket. As Meg stared in disbelief, he perched on one of the bar stools, leaned on the counter and ran a thumb and forefinger over his stubble. After a second, he laughed again and shook his head.

His identity balanced on the tip of her tongue, but she still couldn’t place his face. She thought she knew this man.

She caught his glance once more and, after something jabbed her heart, just as quickly found a spot on the counter to stare at. Had she somehow caused the pain she saw in those startling blue eyes?

He looked so darned run-down Meg couldn’t stop a rush of pity from overwhelming her. She wasn’t sure how to apologize for misjudging him, so she poured a cup of coffee and set it on the counter. A peace offering.

Something was bothering this man, and the soft part of her wanted to comfort him.

Who was he? Maybe his familiarity came from the way he moved like a stream of mercury in motion. Maybe it was those eyes, the hurt. Hurt she knew all too well.

The stranger accepted the coffee, drinking it black and bitter. Meg backed away from the counter, crossing her arms over her chest, biting her lip. What could she say to this guy? Usually, she didn’t have much trouble with small talk. She’d perfected it with the tourists who frequented her struggling bakery. The regular citizens of this town hardly bothered with her—not unless they wanted to poke some fun at the “town witch,” the unwed mother-to-be who wouldn’t give out the identity of her baby’s father.

Much to her surprise, the stranger broke the tension between them. “Seen Chad Spencer around?”

The name jolted her. “Not lately.”

When Deacon Chaney spoke up, Meg whipped her head toward the sound, almost having forgotten the elderly man was still in the room.

“Who’s asking?” He sat on the edge of the booth’s seat, his clothes hanging from his frame like rags draped over a scarecrow’s cross.

The stranger hesitated. “An old…friend.”

That voice ran over her body like a physical sensation. When had mere words ever been so sexy?

She shook herself mentally and tried to chase away the intimate air he brought to the room. “Are you from Kane’s Crossing?”

“I don’t claim this town.” His jaw, cut like the edges of a steel trap, tensed. Snapped shut.

That was enough information for Mr. Chaney. “Chad’s off cavorting in Europe, can-canning with the cream of the crop, I gather. Town’s better off without him, I suppose.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Meg didn’t mean to scold, but you just didn’t talk like that about the all-powerful Chad Spencer, high school quarterback hero of Kane’s Crossing. All-state college player. King of the family’s myriad of businesses. Pride of the town. Golden boy supreme.

Mr. Chaney pursed his lips and disappeared into the gaping black hole of the booth.

“Any idea when Spencer will be back?” asked the stranger.

Meg started busying herself, afraid to stand still, to give away the shaking that had started in the pit of her stomach and had coursed to the tips of her quaking fingers. She rattled around the dishes, not intending to answer the stranger’s question.

She hated that she was so nervous. Nervous because she hoped her secret would stay hidden when Chad returned to town.

A blur of colorful clothing fogged the bakery doorway, causing the bells to sound like giggling children poking fun at the town unfortunate. Four men entered.

Sonny Jenks was the first to bare a tobacco-stained grin. “Woo-hoo! What do we have behind door number one?”

Junior Crabbe poked his grubby baseball-hatted head out from behind Sonny and his dirt-caked T-shirt. “We have us the town whore! Say, Witchy Poo, where ya hidin’ that bundle of joy?”

Meg felt the stranger stiffen beside her. She hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash; after all, she put up with this garbage all the time. She’d learned to live with it since grade-school summers, when these boys had followed Chad around the town like fungi on a heel.

“Junior, you’re letting in the cold air,” she answered, struggling for calm. “In or out. And if it’s in, you’d better buy something.”

Two more men leaned against the wall. Meg could tell by the way they weaved that they’d had a tipple or two in the bar down the street. One of the guys, Gary Joanson, stared at the floor the whole time.

Sonny scratched his armpit. “What do you boys think? Do ya feel like buyin’ a magical cupcake from Chad’s castoff?”

Meg couldn’t stop the stranger as he bolted from his seat to loom in front of the good old boys. Sonny backed up. The stranger followed, causing the other man to cower against the wall.

Great. A rumble in the bakery. Kane’s Crossing had hit the big time. “Now, don’t do that, Mister—”

At the sound of her voice, the dark man peered over his shoulder and held up a finger, an emotional storm rolling over his features.

“Nobody talks to you like this, Meggie. Not now, not ever.”

Meg was so worried about a fight starting that she almost overlooked one fact.

Only one person had ever called her “Meggie.”

Aw, hell. Five minutes back in Meggie Thornton’s company and he’d already said too much. That’s the reason Nick Cassidy valued minimal conversation—you were bound to give out an excess of information at some point. And he liked to keep his agendas private. Very private.

The gutless wonder he’d pinned against the wall looked in need of a good cuff or two, but Nick wasn’t about to start a row in the town that had labeled him a criminal so many years ago. He wasn’t here to start fights with minions of Chad Spencer. He wanted the big boy himself.

Nick hovered closer to his new pal. “I don’t hear you apologizing to the lady.”

The man squeaked. Right. All talk and no action. Spencer’s buddies were bravest when their fearless leader was around.

“Hey,” Nick said, making sure a growl lingered just below his words, “I don’t speak chicken. Did you say something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’?”

Meggie’s voice called him away from his immediate anger. “Sonny, Junior, just leave, okay?”

Sonny and Junior. Nick remembered them well. Two brain-dead little teenagers who’d helped Chad Spencer in making Nick’s life hell.

He clenched a fist.

Nick knew his temper was upsetting Meggie, and that’s the last thing he wanted. Idiot. Why had he even come in the bakery? He should’ve just strolled into Spencer’s Bank and gotten his information there. Meggie would never approve of what he wanted to do to Spencer. At least, not the Meggie he used to know, the butterfly who preferred skimming the high grass of distant meadows to giving Spencer the justice he deserved.

The cronies hesitated, then, with a nod from Sonny, they left with threatening glances. All but one, that is. The smallest guy lingered, then followed his friends.

Now that the trash had been taken out, Nick turned around to watch Meggie again. Hell, he couldn’t get enough of her. Same stubborn chin, same ribbon-curled red hair, same marble-green eyes. Yet now, with the passage of years, her chin seemed lowered, her hair a less vibrant shade, her eyes clouded with a pain he wanted to brush away. And her willowy body, once so free and spirited, wasn’t the same. The Meggie he knew had never worn baggy gray sweaters. Her evident loss of childlike wonder clutched at his heart, but he was experiencing a totally different, unexpected feeling at the same time. A pull, a pounding in his belly. More than the innocent companionship a summer friend had felt.

He averted his gaze from her, thinking he had no right to feel anything for Meggie. She no doubt remembered a fourteen-year-old boy who’d been thrown out of town for bombing Chaney’s Drugstore. Why would she possibly welcome him back to Kane’s Crossing?

And, most important of all, he wondered what those cronies had meant by calling her “Chad’s castoff.”

Nick hoped to God it didn’t mean what he thought it did. He wasn’t sure he could stand the thought of his childhood friend in the arms of the enemy.

When he turned back to her, Meggie was shaking her head, fists propped on her hips. Nick felt a powerful heat steal through his body at this glimpse of her returning feistiness.

She said, “I can’t believe this.”

He ducked his head, feeling like a dog being reprimanded for chasing skunks. “Sorry, ma’am.” Maybe he could play this down, just leave, pretend as though he’d never stood outside the bakery, staring at the sign, wishing he could see Meggie again.

“Nick Cassidy?”

Her voice broke on the end of his last name. It wasn’t the one he’d been born with, but who the hell cared. He’d located his real parents years ago, and the disappointment of their reality still ripped his self-respect to shreds every time he thought about it.

A haunted shade cooled Meggie’s gaze. He’d give anything—the millions of dollars he’d made from his ridiculously successful business ventures, even the shirt off his back—to still her sadness. Usually, words rammed against his lips, anxious to escape from the prison of his mind. But, right now, he was truly speechless, and the silence weighing over their heads felt even more oppressive.

He wanted to walk to her, run his thumb over her soft-looking skin, trace the light freckles he remembered. He wondered if she still had those playful flecks of color on her cheeks. If he could just get close enough to smell the strawberry-tart scent he remembered so well, he’d be able to see for himself. But he didn’t dare. Best to just leave.

Nick started to turn around, to exit the bakery and make Meggie a distant memory, but the elderly man from the corner booth blocked his way. He seemed so familiar…

“Cassidy?” the man asked, watery eyes intense with a purpose Nick didn’t understand.

Nick fit his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. It was habit. An I-don’t-give-a-hoot gesture he’d perfected through the journey of too many foster homes.

The old man’s mouth twitched, then he grunted and left the building. The bells echoed through the air, mocking Nick with their laughter.

“That was Mr. Chaney,” said Meggie. “You probably remember him.”

Was that accusation in her voice? Of course. When they’d hauled him out of town, with Spencer and his buddies snickering behind the sight of red-and-blue cop car lights, Nick had never gotten the chance to talk to anyone—not his foster mom or dad…not even their son, Sam.

Or Meggie.

He’d never been able to explain that Spencer had invited him to Chaney’s Drugstore to fight, but, instead, had set off a homemade bomb. Everyone in Kane’s Crossing had believed Spencer when he accused Nick of exploding the device. Nick had been there, he’d seen it destroy the building, and who was going to believe the rantings of the town hard-luck case when the town golden boy was accusing him of a crime?

His foster parents had been so sick with disappointment, they’d refused to see him; they’d even called off their plans to adopt him into their family. Even Sam, whom Nick had just about worshiped with a younger foster brother’s devotion, had refrained from contacting him. The state of Kentucky had moved Nick to another home after he’d served some time in a juvenile delinquent facility.

But now he was back in town to right some wrongs. The car crash he’d lived through mere months ago had given him some perspective, had made him realize that there was a little town in the middle of America that still thought the worst of him. He couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d never erased this falsehood. Clearing his name and serving justice to Spencer on one of his own silver spoons became top priority.

He gritted his teeth. What the hell, Meggie deserved at least some explanation. “I see this place hasn’t forgotten my name.”

“How could they? You’re an urban legend in a provincial town. Almost a celebrity.”

Her tone teetered on the edge of sarcasm, and his crusade against Spencer increased twofold. Even Meggie had been infected by Spencer’s lies. Nick felt something in the area of his heart crack, but he stiffened his jaw and narrowed his eyes to fight the feeling. “You’ve made up your mind.”

Meggie’s eyes flashed, and she stepped to the end of the counter. For the first time, Nick saw the slight roundness of her stomach. He felt the wind get knocked out of him.

Do ya feel like buyin’ a magical cupcake from Chad’s castoff?

Say, Witchy Poo, where ya hidin’ that bundle of joy?

Dear, God, please have him be wrong.

She said, “It’s pretty easy to form an opinion over the course of years. Have you finally come back to explain yourself, Nick?”

Explain himself? He didn’t play the explaining game. “Whatever I have to say would fall on deaf ears.” He couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to her belly.

A short laugh cut the air when she noticed his scrutiny. “Oh, great. You’re curious, too. Don’t even ask.”

He kept his mouth shut. It’s what he knew how to do best, and it frequently kept him out of more trouble than he was worth.

“So?” She reached up to skim a red curl away from the corner of an eye, but she couldn’t hide the tremble of her finger. “Why did you come back?”

Why? Because he wanted to see justice done. Because he wanted to find his foster family, to see if they’d come to forgive him for a crime he didn’t commit in the first place.

Yes, he was guilty of never trying to contact them—their rejection had stung too much the first time to give them another chance to hurt him again—but surely the passage of years had lent them some sense of leniency.

He clenched his jaw, unwilling to answer her simple question. Simple. He almost laughed at the word. Nothing was ever simple.

Meggie chuckled, but the accompanying smile was far from happy. “I assume your return has something to do with your childhood buddy. Why are you looking for Chad?”

She’d whispered the name, but somehow it seemed to crash through the room like a wrecking ball. “No reason.”

“Right.”

He didn’t want it to be like this with Meggie. He wanted summer rains experienced from the shelter of a small cave. He wanted cool dips in the local swimming hole and long talks about the future as the sun braided the sky into a bluish-orange sunset. He wanted the girl who laughed in the face of anyone who dared call her “Witchy Poo.” But that girl was gone.

Meggie sighed, and he related to her frustration. He’d never suffered a tied tongue around her because she’d always understood him.

“Have you gone by your old home?”

Evidently, she’d given up her attempt to wheedle information out of him. “No one was there.”

“It’s too bad, you know. It used to be such a neat house, all comfy with those flower beds and the huge lawn. Now it’s just…”

Her eyes had gone all dark, almost like water from a Venetian canal, littered with so much beneath the surface. In all his travels, weighed by a rucksack and too many painful memories, he’d never seen a green like Meggie’s eyes. He’d done his damnedest to erase his memories after he’d earned his way through college, crossing Europe in second-class train cars, crashing night after night in youth hostels. But instead of filling his head with the beauty of new experiences, his adventures had only succeeded in feeding his hate for Spencer. After all, he’d never have run away from his real world if he hadn’t been thrown out in the first place.

All those roads he’d walked only led to one place— Kane’s Crossing. Back to a tiny, loving home he’d lived in for one shining year, enough time to know he was capable of having a chance to be loved by foster parents and a brother who would’ve hung the moon for his younger sibling.

He rehooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “What do you mean my house ‘used to be’ so cozy?”

“You don’t know?” Her eyes widened, teared up.

Nick shook his head, steeling himself for bad news.

“I thought somehow someone would’ve told you. Your foster parents died about five years ago.”

It felt as if an invisible force had jump-kicked him square in the chest. Stunned, he could only think to look away, to hide the pain he knew was marking his face like a bloody wound. Gone? He’d always meant to come back someday, to thank his foster parents for their glimmer of hope and acceptance. And now it was too late.

“How?” He hoped to God his voice had come out strong.

She paused. “There was an accident at the Spencer Factory. After your dad died there, your mom carried on for about a year longer. Then she caught pneumonia and—”

He held up a hand, stopping her explanation. Why had he asked for details? He should’ve known their deaths had something to do with Chad Spencer. The man dirtied every portion of Nick’s life.

Spencer would pay for this. In blood, if need be.

Meggie continued. “And I don’t know about Sam. Nobody’s heard from him since he left town. Some people say he became a cop in Washington, D.C., got married.” She paused. “He had steel in his eyes after your parents died. He blamed the Spencer Factory.”

So Sam was bitter, too. Nick remembered spending long nights with his foster brother, sitting on the roof of their home, talking about a world filled with beautiful girls and fast cars.

Maybe Sam would’ve even supported the plan Nick had created to ruin Chad Spencer’s life. He wished he could see his foster brother’s crooked grin again, to draw strength from its sticks-and-stones-may-break-my-bones slant.

He swallowed, collected himself for a moment. Hands fisting, he nodded at her rounded belly. “Are you carrying Spencer’s child?”

“That’s none of your damned business.” She stepped behind the counter again, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe down the Formica counter. “It was great seeing you again, Nick. Feel free to leave.”

He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should let down his guard, explain to her why he was back in town. He wanted to ask if she’d married Spencer, but, from the sound of the teasing he’d heard earlier, he knew that wasn’t the case. In all likelihood, Meggie was going to be a single mother.

She’d betrayed Nick without even realizing it.

He waited for Meggie to say something else. Anything. Yet, except for the friction of cloth on the counter, there was only silence.

Nick slipped on his shades and walked toward Meggie. Her eyes grew wide, and she froze. Her fear felt like a slap to his ego. She’d never looked at him with wariness before today.

To hell with it. Why should he care if she’d gotten herself in trouble with a scumbag like Spencer? She was a big girl now, old enough to take care of her problems without Nick Cassidy galloping to her rescue.

He reached into his pocket and tossed the contents by her wash rag. A pile of bills. “For all the people my attitude chased out,” he said, turning around to leave.

She didn’t stop him, not that Nick expected her to. Coming into the bakery had been a bad idea, because now he knew more about Spencer than he ever wanted to.

Chad’s castoff.

He left the bakery, hating himself, hating Kane’s Crossing, yet hating what Chad Spencer had done to Meggie even more.

Chapter Two

M eg tried her best to stop shivering, but she couldn’t.

Nick Cassidy, here again. She hadn’t seen him since she was twelve, running around exploring abandoned houses with him, hiking along the length of train tracks to see where they led.

She pushed through the swinging door that led to the back of the bakery. There, she started to gather ingredients for some of her infamous chocolate cakes. Anything to keep her mind off Nick’s return to Kane’s Crossing.

She looked through the steam-shrouded window, catching a shape just outside.

Nick. Her gaze took a leisurely stroll over him—one she’d been too stunned to enjoy earlier.

He cast a long shadow in the dusty, autumn-leaf-strewn street, his black sunglasses barricading a gaze that seemed to be trained on the sign above her bakery’s rear entrance. Under the dark brown leather jacket that matched his scuffed cowboy boots, a flannel shirt flapped in the breeze, covering broad shoulders and a wide chest. In spite of all this darkness, he had hair the color of shaded wheat—earthy, begging for a hand to skim through its bounty. The ends curled up, as if in need of a good trim.

Most acutely of all, Meg again noticed his faded blue jeans, how he wore them like a badge of apathy, obviously not concerned that the raggedy hole allowed her a taunting peek of one tanned knee. The patch of skin against the threadbare denim nudged at Meg’s imagination. It was a chink in the rest of his armor—a heart-tugging flaw. She pictured herself sliding her hand into the frayed hole, running her thumb over his kneecap, skimming her fingers over the skin behind his knee.

He lowered his shaded gaze to meet hers, seemingly sensing her scrutiny. The black-ice mask of his sunglasses revealed no emotion. Meg pulled back from the window, her blood pounding so hard it crashed in her ears.

Nick backed up a step, then ambled down Main Street to disappear behind a red-and-blue Welcome Home, Chad banner that hung with a lopsided sneer between the side of the Mercantile Department Store and Darla’s Beauty Shop. He moved with the purpose of a gunslinger, slow and easy, with the sleekness of a knife’s edge.

Gone, from her life again, just like that.

She wondered what he wanted in a dinky one-horse town like Kane’s Crossing, what he wanted with Chad Spencer. If she didn’t have so much at stake here, she would’ve tipped her own hat to the place months ago. Before all the trouble. Before she’d made a complete and utter disaster of her life.

Meg sighed. Men in dark clothing with an equally dark posture—the stuff of fantasy. A safe flirtation locked inside her. Grown-up Nick had been a man to strike fear into every good-girl cell of Meg’s body, not that there were many of those left. She’d spent the last of her innocence five months ago and, yet, here she was, lesson unlearned, salivating over the hole in a man’s jeans.

Meg mixed the ingredients into a bowl, frustration making her stir a little too zealously. And if she was miffed by Nick’s return, Deacon Chaney would no doubt feel a million times worse. It was hard enough for the elderly man to live through all the slings and arrows of town without having to face the man who’d been accused of destroying his store sixteen years ago.

She was getting to be pretty good at shouldering the town’s gibes, as well. But the sharp-tongued speculation about who the father of her baby might be still smarted. And it scared her to death. If anyone found out who’d fathered her unborn child, she’d lose her expected family for certain.

But Meg wouldn’t let that happen.

What are you afraid of? she asked herself. Was she afraid her child would someday reject her, much like her own family had? Would she feel as much pain as she had when Aunt Valentine had died? Or would it be a dull ache, like she’d felt when the baby’s father had told her she hadn’t meant anything to him? That she’d be a memory once he’d left for the far corners of the world the next morning?

Chad Spencer will have no part of this child, she promised herself.

She’d die before that happened.

Two hours later Meg locked up the bakery and wrapped her sheepskin coat around her to ward off the autumn’s night chill. Fire smoke puffed from chimneys just off Main Street, making the air heavy with loneliness. When she got home, nobody would be there waiting for her. After Aunt Valentine had succumbed to a heart attack five months ago, Meg had realized that she’d probably be alone for the rest of her life. But then, she’d gotten pregnant, and she knew she’d always have someone, if Chad didn’t come back to town and claim the baby for himself.

Once again, Nick Cassidy entered her mind. What did he want with Chad?

She reached into her coat pocket, fisting the wad of twenties he’d flipped on the counter to pay for his barely touched coffee. It was enough to get her through a month or two of groceries. How did he come by so much money that he could afford to flick it around as if it were confetti?

Pride tapped her on the shoulder. She couldn’t keep this so-called tip. If she saw him again, she’d have to give it back.

If she saw him again.

Her body warmed just thinking about Nick. Boy, he’d grown up good. She’d always loved being with him, climbing trees, eating snowcones as they watched stream water ripple over their shoeless feet. The summers she’d visited Kane’s Crossing had been some of the best times of her life, but when Nick had come to live in town… Those had been the glory days.

He’d been gracious about allowing a pip-squeak like her to run around with him for a couple of months. Then again, he’d been “the new boy,” friendless. But they’d clicked automatically that day when Chad had been trying to lift her skirt with a stick. Nick had walked right up to him and defended her. No one else had done that before. He was her instant hero.

She’d returned the next summer, and they’d fallen into a daily groove together, experiencing everything Kane’s Crossing could offer two lonely kids.

But now… Now he was so different. Edged with bitterness, his eyes almost empty with disappointment.

Her body warmed with the very thought of his eyes, the way they’d roamed over her body with the heat of a falling star. Ever since he’d left the bakery, she’d wondered what it’d feel like to have his hands follow the paths his gaze had taken, to have his hands slip under her sweater, rub her skin, push her against his hard chest.

Stop it, Meg, she thought. It was no use. She’d never even see him again. The thought left an empty place inside her. If only they could’ve been friends again. She was in need of someone to talk to.

She shivered and started walking past the closed boutiques and stores that lined the street, Halloween colors trimming the displays. As she passed the barbershop, she held back a wave of nausea. A picture of Chad in his high school football uniform graced the window, his slick smile adding to the image of blond perfection.

How could she have been that stupid?

She was so lost in thought that she’d all but ignored the sound of footsteps behind her. Meg clutched at her coat and purse, ready to belt whomever was trailing her.

One, two, three—

As she whipped around, purse flying, Gary Joanson jumped away from her.

“Ah! Wait, Meg!”

She stood, legs apart, ready to defend herself. “What do you want, Gary? Didn’t you and your friends hurl enough insults at me this afternoon?”

He hung his head. “Sorry about that. You know how Sonny and Junior get when they’ve been drinking.”

Yes, she knew. She’d experienced the lash of their taunts several times over. “What do you want?”

“Well, you closed up shop before I could catch you there.” Shuffle. “I was just wondering if you could fix the missus one of your baby cakes?”

The urge to roll her eyes consumed her. “Gary, I’ve told you guys—”

“I know. But she believes all that hooey about your spells and magic. She says Valentine passed on her witch skills to you, Meg. And last time Jemma Carson ate one of your baby cakes, she got pregnant the next week. Just like Judy Henry and Sheri Duarte and…”

The list went on. Somehow the good people of Kane’s Crossing had gotten it into their heads that she had a magic touch. Eat one of her blueberry pies, and you’d find a boyfriend. Eat a simple chocolate cake baked by her supernatural hands, and you’d become pregnant within the month. Kane’s Crossing didn’t like her much, but they sure held great respect for her eerie baking skills. And Meg took advantage of the awe. It was the only way she made money, besides the tourists.

“Okay, Gary. I’ll make one tomorrow. May I go home now?”

At the mention of her “house on haunted hill,” Gary’s eyes bulged. Meg was the only one in town who didn’t feel the need to cross herself as she walked past, what with its thunderous gables and legendary widow’s walk. Even the windows looked like eyes watching the town with contempt.

“Thank you, Meg. Sure I can’t walk you—” he gulped “—home?”

“I’m fine.”

He scampered out of sight. Silly, henpecked man. Gary Joanson had always been a follower, never standing up to Chad’s antics.

Maybe she could bake a pie and tell him it made one grow a backbone. He’d probably believe it, as would his fuss-budget wife.

A low voice startled her. “Have you been slipping mickies to this town?”

She turned around, fingers spread over her heart. “I thought you’d left.”

Nick Cassidy ambled into the circle of light made by a street lamp, thumbs resting in his belt loops. Her heart beat double time, punching her chest with a voodoo cadence.

Yeah, he’d grown up good. Her gaze strayed to the hole in his jeans.

“I walked around, took another look at my old home.” His eyes were eclipsed by some dark memory. “Did some more thinking.”

She must’ve been trembling something awful, because he reached out, fingers twining around her coat collar, and he pulled the material closer together. She flinched, unsure of what his intentions were, but all he did was smile a little. It transformed his face, as if a ray of light had suffused his soul. Just as quickly, the image vanished.

She grinned, warming at his proximity. He was watching out for her again, just as he’d done when they were kids. The thought twisted her heart around.

“What did you think about?” She almost regretted asking, wondering if the question would push him away once again.

“Everything. Mostly my reasons for coming to Kane’s Crossing.” He paused. “Do you walk home by yourself every night?”

“Sometimes my friend Rachel drives me. You wouldn’t know her since she moved into town about two years ago.” Meg laughed. “She hasn’t had time to develop a fear of me yet.”

They started walking, matching each other step for step, the sound of his booted feet shooting off the whitewashed buildings. It almost seemed as if he were aiming bullets into the sky, announcing his presence.

Meg reveled in his nearness, in the way she came just to above his shoulder, in the way he smelled of leather. She couldn’t believe she was walking with Nick Cassidy again, but, instead of feeling like a best friend, she felt entirely different. What would he do if she wrapped an arm around his lean waist, held him to her, stood on tiptoe to bury her nose in the crook of his shoulder and neck?

She passed a hand over her belly. It’d never happen, especially after Chad’s treatment of her.

He spoke first, a cloud of air trailing from his lips because of the crisp weather. “When I came back here, I didn’t expect to find you. I thought you’d be back in San Diego.”

Thank goodness he was talking to her again. Really talking. Not using monosyllabic words as he had in the bakery. She tried to smile and failed. “I can’t go back there.”

“Don’t your parents live on the coast?”

She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her parents, the pain, the agony of what she’d done to be kicked out of the house at the age of fourteen. It’d been something so horrible that she woke up with nightmares even now.

She absently touched her belly, the life within. “Yes, they do. I suppose. I’ve lived with Aunt Valentine since shortly after you left…” She hesitated, hoping he’d elaborate on that fateful night at Chaney’s Drugstore. She wasn’t really surprised when he kept his silence. Well, at least she’d tried.

“After Aunt Valentine passed on, she left everything to me. And I decided to stay here.”

“I’m sorry to hear she’s gone. Valentine was great.”

Meg couldn’t hold back a smile. “Remember how she’d invite you over for dinner and, ‘Oh, by the way, would you weed my garden, Nick, dear?’”

“I was a sucker for her pot roast at any cost.” Nick chuckled, sending waves of contentment through Meg’s body. She stiffened, fighting the warmth, making sure she didn’t give him an opportunity to hurt her.

They’d left the lights of Main Street and had turned onto the dirt road that led past the graveyard and toward Meg’s home. Hovering over the stark, white tombstones, the shape of the house on the hill was visible even in the dark. It loomed with the profile of a sorcerer’s hat topping a bald head. No wonder all the kids told scary stories about her and Aunt Valentine.

She saw a pale object stretching along the side of the road. When she went over to investigate, Nick grabbed her hand. The contact sent a shock wave up her arm, the zing shivering into her lower stomach.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, breathless.

He let go of her, as if he’d touched a live electrical wire. “You’ve got to be careful, Meggie. You can’t go traipsing into ditches.”

“We knocked-up damsels are pretty much able to make our own decisions.” She lifted her chin into the air, watching Nick from the corner of her eye. “Whether they’re good or bad.”

He was grinning again, for heaven’s sake. She hadn’t been sure she could get another one out of him.

He used the advantage of his long legs to move ahead of her, and she stood back, as he lifted the object.

Clouds uncovered the moon as he spread it wide. “We miss you, Chad” was painted in red and blue lettering. One of those darn banners the ladies’ auxiliary had been hanging all over town. She wondered if the wind had blown this particular sign away from Main Street, or if someone felt as strongly about Chad as she did, tearing down the banner and tossing it into what Nick would’ve called a “ditch.”

Nick stared at it a moment, then crumpled it to the ground, stepping on it as he clutched her hand again. His grip almost smashed her finger bones.

“That hurts,” she said, keeping her voice as level as possible.

He glanced at her hand, lifted it, and ran his fingers over hers. Meg almost melted to the dirt with a rush of liquid heat.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice purring down her skin. Then, he patted her hand as if she were a five-year-old. They started walking again.

“Why are those signs all over town?” he asked.

She sighed heavily. Chad again. “Chad went to Europe in order to learn part of the family trade. A branch of the illustrious Spencer family runs several banks over there, and he’s learning from the best. I guess they want to expand the bank business once he returns to the States.” There. She’d said it without tripping over her words, without letting on that Chad had ripped out her heart.

Nick seemed to know anyway. He stopped their progress, taking her shoulders into his hands, watching her carefully, his mouth set in a line. He seemed like a shadow, so tall, mysterious, intimidating. She swallowed, the sound much too obvious over his silence.

He ran his index finger under her chin, cuffing it playfully. Meg wanted to grab him right there and then, giving in to the promise of her afternoon fantasy. Darn pregnancy hormones.

He said, “I have a bad feeling that King of the World hurt you, Meggie.”

Moonlight. His low, pint-of-whiskey voice. His shadow lingering over her. It was all enough to make her want to run away because he’d changed so much. Changed into something she couldn’t ever hope to have in her life.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, hoping she sounded as airy as she had when she used to dress like a rock-and-roll Gypsy girl.

He settled his hands on her upper arms, cupping them, leaving her weak. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he’d gone on to a more serious subject. “I don’t live here, so trust me. Spencer’s the father. Am I wrong?”

“Yes. I mean, yes, you’re wrong,” she lied.

She hadn’t fooled him, judging by his hangdog look of disappointment. “I knew it.”

He knew. All the work she’d gone through to hide it, and he’d guessed her secret right off the bat. She’d never confirmed the rumors in town about her baby. For all the people of Kane’s Crossing knew, she’d gotten pregnant when she’d gone upstate to settle Aunt Valentine’s estate five months ago. But she knew better. Obviously Nick knew better, too.

A black look crossed over his face, and her heart seemed to stop from the intensity of it. He took a couple of steps back, away from her.

“Don’t look so sad. We’re going to make things right.”

She shook her head. “No one can know the truth, Nick. When Chad comes back to town, I’m afraid he’ll want my baby.” She choked, thinking about what she’d done to get kicked out of her parents’ house. If Chad were to discover her ineptitude, he’d pounce all over her, maybe even drag her through a custody battle. She’d lose her baby for certain.

“He’d never marry me—the witch who lives on haunted hill. What if he took my baby, and I never saw my child again? You know he can do it. His family has so much money and power…”

“Get out of town.”

“And where would I go? Not back to San Diego, to my parents, you can be sure of that. I’ve got nowhere, Nick. Everything I own is here.”

“Sell the house.”

If only she could. “That place has been in my family since eighteen sixty-two. I promised Aunt Valentine before she died that I’d never sell it.” She laughed. “I’m between a rock and a hard place. Do you understand?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair. Was he nervous about something?

“Nick?”

He cleared his throat, looking so lost in the middle of a town that hated him. The sight made her want to hold him and never let go.

“Meggie, you can give your child a name. It’s the only solution.”

There was no solution as far as she was concerned. “Thanks for the optimism, but I have no idea what to do.”

He took a deep breath. “You can marry me.”

Chapter Three

M eggie looked as if a slight wind could’ve knocked her over.

“Did you say something about marrying you?”

Nick couldn’t believe he’d said it himself, but it made sense. He’d come to Kane’s Crossing to dish out revenge and, at the same time, right some wrongs. This was a perfect way to start. “Wouldn’t it help, Meggie? You said yourself that you’re afraid Chad will take the baby from you. How could he do that if we’re married?”

“Because you’re not the father.” She turned away from him, tucking her hands into her coat pockets.

Moonlight gleamed over her curly hair. He wondered how she’d react if he ran his hands through it, but he nixed the idea. Nick had never been one to lose his heart to a woman; as a matter of fact, he’d spent his life insulating himself from love. As with the string of foster homes he’d left in his wake, he’d never allowed himself to settle down with one person. He couldn’t believe he was about to do it now.

He corrected himself. It wasn’t as if he was going to pledge his heart to Meggie. This marriage would be more like a business arrangement, a protective gesture to keep Meggie and her child safe from Spencer’s games. The King of Kane’s Crossing had already shaded his summer friend’s eyes with sadness. Nick wouldn’t allow him to do any more damage. Not if he could help it.

He aimed his words at her back. “Who in this town knows that I’m not the father? You’ve made it a point to keep his identity a secret.”

“What’s in it for you, Nick?”

He watched her back, her red hair cascading over the enormous coat that swallowed her whole. She was so small, so alone. Nick hadn’t found many bright moments lately in his life, but now he actually felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could be useful to Meggie. Maybe he could matter.

But she was right. What was in it for him? His dark soul had a ready answer. Revenge and justice, music to his ears.

He’d come to Kane’s Crossing equipped with a Machiavellian plan, something that would ruin Chad Spencer financially. Anger had driven Nick Cassidy to earn his millions—anger and the need to rise above what everyone predicted he’d be. A failure. A good-for-nothing who went around bombing buildings.

Nick had earned his way through college, penny by penny, until he’d joined forces with a friend whose family was in the banking field. They’d given Nick his start, preparing him for the day when he’d gathered enough money through solid investments to buy his first business. He’d sold it to another owner for far more than he could’ve imagined it was worth. He’d done it again…and again, until he’d collected a mind-blowing sum of money.

Then, a few months ago, when he’d found himself thrown from a car—just this short of death—he’d decided to return to Kane’s Crossing. His money and business experience fueling his desire to take away Spencer’s power, the time was now right for some pay-back.

His plan was simple. His old college friend—who’d long since earned a corporate-raider-tough reputation—would buy up Spencer’s businesses, one by one, for Nick. The toy factory, the market, the hardware store, the big department store… And, finally, the banks. His college buddy would engineer a hostile takeover, giving the Spencers no room to expand their business empire. Maybe he’d leave them their dog-grooming shop, just to allow for a little mercy. By then, Spencer would’ve learned his lesson.

Someday he would know that Nick Cassidy had taken away Chad’s power as easily as Chad had taken away Nick’s family.

Nick had almost scrapped his plan, wondering if he was being too harsh. But as he’d driven his battered pickup around town today, after visiting Meggie at her bakery, he’d noticed that most of the poorer families he’d known from his youth had moved away. He’d stopped on the outskirts of the county to chat up some old men who decorated the front porch of a general store. What had happened to the families? he’d asked.

The old men had had no idea who he was because Nick had pretended to be searching for old friends. They’d given him information without a second thought. The families had owed Chad Spencer money, and, not being able to pay off their loans, Spencer had foreclosed on their properties. The news had sparked Nick’s temper even more than before. Spencer was truly ruthless, feeding on the less fortunate like a dog gnawing on bones.

What if Nick could give these families their property again?

He now had more to fight for than just his own disappointments. He’d find justice for the displaced families, as well.

And Meggie was one of Spencer’s victims. He’d fight for her, too.

She’d turned around, her eyes running over him with a suspicious burn. How the hell had Spencer even gotten his hands on her? Damn, it was too painful to even think about.

She held out her hand. A bundle of money spilled through her fingers. His tip from this afternoon.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

Yes, he did. He owed her the world on a chain for the happiness she’d loaned him for a short time during one sun-dappled, near-perfect summer.

“Keep it, Meggie.”

Her chin raised a little. “I don’t accept pity money, or pity proposals.”

That was his Meggie. When he’d first seen her in the bakery, he’d thought she’d lost her fire. But it was back, with a vengeance.

He nodded toward the fistful of cash. “Imagine how well I could provide for your son or daughter.”

“Nick—”

“We could set up a trust fund for the baby. He or she would never lack for anything.”

She stopped talking, cocked her head.

“We could even keep Valentine’s home in trust, have someone else take care of it. You could leave this place with no thoughts of how you’ll make a living.”

“How did you get all this money?”

He didn’t like the expression on her face. Accusatory. Suddenly he felt fourteen again, with cuffs around his wrists, the sheriff breathing down his neck, yelling at him, pointing a stubby finger at the charred remains of Chaney’s Drugstore.

He wouldn’t have bothered to defend himself to anyone else but Meggie. His voice was a harsh whisper, edged by shame. “It was all legal.”

She shook her head, thrusting out her cash-laden fist once again. “That’s not what I meant.” Meggie’s glance combed the grass. “I know nothing about you, Nick. I’d be marrying a stranger.”

“I’m the same guy I always was.”

“No.” Her hand fell to her side. “You’re not.”

He knew it was true. Years of darkness had shadowed his brow, had given him a more predatory walk. He’d never possess the optimistic swagger of a teenager. Never again.

Why did she have to be so sad? Everyone changed. You just had to use your experiences to your own advantage. Didn’t she realize he just wanted to help her?

He walked nearer to Meggie, his fingers itching to tilt up her chin until her gaze met his. He’d never ached to touch a woman so much in his life.

“Nobody’s the same as they were sixteen years ago. But I haven’t changed that much.” He still carried a bright torch of anger. That would never change, not until Chad Spencer got his due.

As if sensing the intensity of his desires, she stepped away from him. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to raise a child who’s not even yours. The child of a man you hate.”

Guilt struck him a blow. What could he say to her? Meggie, I want the man who ruined my chances for a normal family life to suffer, knowing that I have control of his ultimate possession—his child?

How would she react, knowing that some dark part of his heart beat—no, survived—with thoughts of revenge?

“Trust me to do the right thing,” he said, ignoring all the doubts in his mind. Yeah, trust him to use her in his crusade against the town golden boy.

Meggie was silent a moment. Nick took the opportunity to enjoy how the moon’s milky sheen smoothed her skin. He wondered if the curve of her belly would look so soft. What would it feel like to cup his hands over her stomach? To run his fingers over the life pulsing just beneath?

Maybe he wouldn’t even be around to know. From the way Meggie was reacting to his proposal, he was in for a long walk home.

He couldn’t stand the pressure she was under. “Listen,” he said, “you don’t have to decide right now. You can contact me at the Edgewater Motel off the highway, okay?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

He tried to smile. “Worry about it later.”

“Take your money.” She held out her hand one more time.

“No.”

Her eyes widened. Nick recalled that Aunt Valentine rarely told her favorite niece no; obviously, she hadn’t expected him to say it, either.

She shrugged, seeming embarrassed. She opened her mouth, probably to slam him with a smart remark, but she was interrupted by the dry swish of tires burning rubber over the gravel road.

A mint Mustang convertible seemed to fly out of the moon’s center as it sped toward them. Long hair and slender arms sprouted from the seats as a carload of females roared down the road.

“What the hell?”

Meggie turned her back on them. “Don’t even look at them, Nick,” she yelled over the “Whoo!” of celebratory voices.

The car screeched to a halt next to them. Seven girls, all smooshed into the confines of a sports vehicle. He’d never understand the female species.

The driver had sparkling eyes and a short, pixie haircut. “Hey, Meg, want a ride?”

He didn’t know whether or not the question was mocking, but before he could decide, a passenger chimed in.

“Yeah, Witchy Poo, join us.” She turned to the other girls. “Maybe she can make our car fly over the moon!”

Nick was about to step up for Meggie when the driver whirled on her friends.

“Pipe down, you harpies.” She looked at Nick, then at Meggie, who wasn’t even facing the car. “You okay, Meg?”

Nick was close enough to see Meggie’s jaw clench. After a moment she said, “I’m fine.”

“Go!” screamed one of the harpies. The driver looked at Meggie once more, at Nick, then let out a deafening yell of joy before laying pedal to the metal and taking off in a spray of dirt. The car roared down the road, past the spindly black-iron angels of the cemetery gates, past rickety horse-pasture fences. Voices faded into the chilly, autumn-swept air, tree leaves rustling in the aftermath.

Meggie watched them leave. “You wanted Chad Spencer? Well, that’s the closest you’re going to get.”

“What do you mean?”

Meggie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The driver was Ashlyn, Chad’s sister.”

Nick clenched his hands into fists, trying hard to ignore the fire in his heart. “What’re they doing tearing up the roads like that?”

Meggie looked past him, toward the graveyard’s angel gate. Nick thought about Aunt Valentine, and where she might be buried.

“That was Ashlyn’s plan for a friend’s bachelorette party. Raising Cain around town, flying a few bras on flag poles, posting a few anti-Spencer posters in windows. Anything to salute her brother’s superiority. She does her best to embarrass the family.” Meggie turned to Nick, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

A breeze whistled past them, humming a low, mournful tune in his ear. He had to hold himself back from smoothing a strand of bobbing hair from the corner of her soft, red mouth. So vulnerable. He wanted to protect her from all the hurt in the world.

She half laughed. “I think she despises Chad as much as you do. She’s had to live up to his perfection all these years. I almost like her.”

How could she feel that way about anything Spencer? He couldn’t understand. “A bachelorette party?” he asked, wanting to steer the subject away from Ashlyn’s brother.

“I baked the bride-to-be an angel food cake my own supernatural self. I should know.”

He laughed, actually laughed, at that. She did, too. He was glad they could agree on something, even if it did border on the obscene. This time he didn’t stop himself from touching her, sketching a thumb down her cheek. Soft, so soft. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

She’d frozen under his touch. As she looked into his eyes, he saw fear, trepidation. Maybe some memories she’d rather forget. “I’ll manage.”

With that Meggie pulled away from him and climbed the steps up the hill to the massive black door of her home. Dark spiderwebby decorations surrounded the door frame like sentinels. He watched until she disappeared.

She held the rest of their lives in her hands. He hoped she’d make the right decision.

Three days later Meg still hadn’t come to a definite decision.

“Now, don’t do anything hasty, Meg,” said Rachel Shane as she drove both of them to the Edgewater Motel. Her rattrap of a car bounced over the county roads, causing Rachel to slow down and Meg to cradle her belly.

Meg shot her best friend a have-faith-in-me glance. “Am I the flighty type? I’ve thought long and hard about this.”

“A stranger. The guy could be from Mars for all you know.”

“I’m pretty secure in the belief that he’s earthbound, Rachel.” She understood her friend’s concerns. Not only did they echo her own, but Rachel had her own issues that shed a wary light on Meg’s situation.

At the beginning of the year Rachel’s husband had disappeared, leaving his wife and five-year-old daughter behind on their bluegrass-rich horse farm. Rachel wasn’t a Kane’s Crossing native, so she’d been experiencing much the same troubles from the town as Meg. They were united in their loneliness, outsiders who’d allowed skeletons to creep out of their closets.

Rachel’s gray-green eyes searched Meg’s. “I think you’re not telling me everything.”

What? That Nick Cassidy had held her in thrall since she’d seen him standing in her bakery like a lone cowboy waiting for a gunfight? That he made her think thoughts best left sleeping? Not even Rachel would understand Meg’s attraction to this man. She was still railing against men in general—Chad, and her husband, Matthew, in particular.

Rachel continued. “Your dignity was thoroughly trounced by Chad five short months ago, so I don’t understand why you’re so hot to marry anyone. Besides, you should listen to a girl with experience, one who knows about men who leave home to never return. I hope you’re thinking twice—no, three, four times—about this marriage proposal. It’s nuts.”

Pride had almost convinced Meg to turn down Nick’s suggestion right on the spot, but then Ashlyn Spencer and her party had driven by, reminding Meg of how much she didn’t really belong in Kane’s Crossing. The insults would never stop. Neither would the moral censure for having a baby out of wedlock.

She’d thought a little harder about Nick’s proposal. She knew it wasn’t a love match and, even so, the thought of the security he offered her and her unborn child was tempting. That’s why she needed to talk with him again, just to decide once and for all how she was going to handle a child on a single gal’s budget.

They drove past the autumn-laced trees that lurked over the highway, slowing once they saw the rickety, neon-buzzed sign perpetually proclaiming Edgewater Motel—Vacancy. A one-story building squatted on the roadside, lined by a droopy porch complete with slouching chairs. Pink doors dotted the white-boarded walls. Meg guessed Nick was staying in room six because it was the only one with a vehicle in front of it. A lone-wolf-looking pickup truck.

Once again, she wondered how Nick had gotten rich enough to flip her a three-hundred-dollar coffee tip.

“This is it,” she said, gathering her purse.

Rachel laid a hand on Meg’s arm. “I’ll go in with you.”

Meg surveyed her friend’s hospital scrubs. “The emergency room is expecting you. I can handle this. Really.”

“You thought you had this Chad thing handled, too.”

Meg tried to still her anxiety. “Rachel, thank you for the concern and the help. And thank you for knowing when to stop nagging me.”

Most of all, she added silently, thank you for keeping my secret.

Rachel—and now Nick—had been the only two people she’d trusted. Was she about to make a mistake by putting her faith in Nick?

Rachel smiled at her, a comforting balm to Meg’s nerves.

“Call if you need anything. You have my beeper number.”

Meg got out of the car. “You bet. And, Rachel?”

Her friend waited expectantly, a worried frown on her face.

“I hope you hear something about Matthew. Good luck.”

Rachel’s eyes held a painful collage colored in grays. “Well, I’m not paying that detective to sit around. I’d better hear something about my vaporous husband soon.” She waved. “I’ll watch you for a minute.”

Meg shut the car door. Through the open window, she said, “Why does everyone worry about us pregnant gals? I’m not going to explode within the next minute.”

Rachel cocked an eyebrow, tapping her nails on the steering wheel.

Meg took a deep breath, then marched up the stairs to number six. She lifted her chin and knocked, resisting the temptation to peek at Rachel.

The door opened to showcase Nick, ruggedly handsome in a T-shirt that hugged every dip and curve of his wide chest, every ridged stomach muscle. The white material tucked into his faded jeans, a different pair, this one with a hole on the side of the upper thigh. It was almost as if he’d predicted her fascination with the chinks in his armor.

She realized she’d been gawking at him only when she heard Rachel’s clunky car wheeze away. Nick grinned down at her, resting his arm up against the door frame. Something wicked urged her to nestle a palm against his cut waist, slide it upward, over his stomach, the side of his chest, until she could dig her fingers in the tender spot under his arm.

Bad girl. Dumb girl. Girl who had no business even thinking about sex stuff after Chad had proven how incapable she was of handling an intimate situation.

And Nick wasn’t helping, with his insolent smile and leathery scent. He was so close she could hear him breathing. She wasn’t happy to find that she’d been matching him, breath for breath.

“Hi,” he said softly, still leaning.

“Hello. May I come in?” Or maybe not. Could be an awful idea here.

He paused a moment, his pale blue eyes running over her body until she blushed inside and out. What could a man like him see in a getting-fatter-by-the-moment, bad-news girl? He grinned again, backing up to allow her entrance.

She stepped into the room, thinking she was doing pretty well poise-wise until she saw it.

The bed.

She’d just stepped into a situation she might not be able to handle.

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