“Luke, put me down!”

Cindy sputtered indignantly. Being picked up reminded her far too much of the way they used to horseplay when they were teenagers. Back then, she’d reveled in his strength, in how he could lift her as though she weighed nothing. Even as she’d squealed for him to put her down, she’d loved the feel of his strong arms around her legs, his hand on her butt and her view of his back muscles.

The memories came back to her in a flash, so vivid she almost passed out. Suddenly she was seventeen and hopelessly in love.

She didn’t need this, and wiggled in earnest. “Luke, I mean it. Put me down.”

She must have accidentally knocked him off balance, because they landed in a tangle of arms and legs.

Luke didn’t make any attempt to climb off her. His face was very close, and she could actually feel his heartbeat through his chest, hard and fast.

Cindy closed her eyes, helpless to resist as his lips descended on hers.

Dear Reader,

I think everyone has certain themes they look for when they pick up a book. One of the things I truly love is when the heroine of a book is in terrible, terrible trouble, and no matter what she does, things just keep getting worse—and then the hero shows up and makes things even worse!

So in creating my new trilogy BLOND JUSTICE, I took three very different ladies on the brink of fulfilling a dream and put them in the same terrible trouble—they’ve been bankrupted, humiliated and ruined by the same Romeo con man. Only by finding each other, joining forces and becoming best friends can they bring this slimy guy to justice. But along the way, each finds romance in a very unexpected place.

In Hometown Honey, Cindy Lefler has lost everything, and now she’s about to lose her son. In such dire straits, most women would melt if a dishy guy like Sheriff Luke Rheems came to their rescue. But not Cindy. Luke is the last guy she wants involved in her problems. What Cindy won’t admit is that he poses a threat to her heart more frightening than any con man!

I can say without reservation that I had more fun writing BLOND JUSTICE than anything I’ve ever written. I hope my enjoyment shines through.

Kara Lennox

P.S. I love to hear from readers! E-mail me at karalennox@yahoo.com or contact me via regular mail at P.O. Box 4845, Dallas, Texas 75148.

Hometown Honey

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Texas native Kara Lennox has been an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. She’s been an antiques dealer and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has made her happier than writing romance novels. When not writing, Kara indulges in an ever-changing array of weird hobbies. (Her latest passions are treasure hunting and creating mosaics.)

Books by Kara Lennox

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

942—PLAIN JANE’S PLAN *

951—SASSY CINDERELLA *

974—FORTUNE’S TWINS

990—THE MILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR

1052—THE FORGOTTEN COWBOY

1068—HOMETOWN HONEY †

For Pam and the crew at Norma’s Café. Your biscuits are the true inspiration for the “Miracle Biscuits.” I have worked out the details of many a story sitting at one of your red vinyl booths, sucking down coffee from a bottomless cup.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

“Only twelve thousand biscuits left to bake,” Cindy Lefler said cheerfully as she popped a baking sheet into the industrial oven at the Miracle Café. Though she loved the smell of fresh-baked biscuits, she had grown weary of the actual baking. One time, she’d tried to figure out how many biscuits she’d baked in her twenty-eight years. It had numbered well into the millions.

“I wish you’d stop counting them down,” grumbled Tonya Dewhurst, who was folding silverware into paper napkins. She was the café’s newest waitress, but Cindy had grown to depend on her very quickly. “You’re the only one who’s happy you’re leaving.”

“I’ll come back to visit.”

“You’ll be too busy being Mrs. Dex Shalimar, lady of leisure,” Tonya said dreamily. “You sure know how to pick husbands.” Then she straightened. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Cindy patted Tonya’s shoulder. “It’s okay, I know what you mean.”

She still felt a pang over losing Jim, which was only natural, she told herself. The disagreement between her husband’s truck and a freight train had happened only a year ago. But she had picked a good one when she’d married him. And she’d gotten just plain lucky finding Dex.

“It’s almost six,” Cindy said. “Would you unlock the front door and turn on the Open sign, please?” A couple of the other waitresses, Iris and Kate, had arrived and were going through their morning routines. Iris had worked at the café for more than twenty years, Kate almost as long.

Tonya smiled. “Sure. Um, Cindy, do you have a buyer for the café yet?”

“Dex says he has some serious nibbles.”

“I just hope the new owner will let me bring Micton to work with me.”

Cindy cringed every time she heard that name. Tonya had thought it was so cute naming her baby with a combination of hers and her husband’s names—Mick and Tonya. Micton. Yikes! It was the type of backwoods logic that made Cindy want to leave Cottonwood.

Customers were actually waiting in line when Tonya opened the door—farmers and ranchers, mostly, in jeans and overalls, Stetsons and gimme hats, here to get a hearty breakfast and exchange gossip. Cindy went to work on the Daily Specials chalkboard, suspended high above the cash register.

“’Morning, Ms. Cindy.”

She very nearly fell off her stepladder. Still, she managed to call out a very pleasant, “’Morning, Luke.” The handsome sheriff’s deputy always unnerved her. He showed up at 6:10 a.m., like clockwork, five days a week, and ordered the same thing—one biscuit with honey and black coffee. But every single time she saw him sitting there at the counter, that knowing grin on his face, she felt a flutter of surprise.

Kate rushed over from clearing a table to pour Luke his coffee and take his order. The woman was in her sixties. at least, but Cindy could swear Kate blushed as she served Luke. He just had that effect on women, herself included. Even now, when she was engaged—hell, even when she’d been married to a man she’d loved fiercely—just looking at Luke made her pulse quicken and her face warm.

She refused to blame herself. It was just hormones. The man was sexier than the devil himself, with that curly chestnut hair and those eyes, green and dark as a cool, mossy pond. In high school, he’d worn his hair long and unruly, sometimes past his shoulders, as part of his go-to-hell image. He’d made girls drool back then when he was still a skinny teenager. He’d inspired Cindy to do a lot more than drool. Now, with that uniform and the wide shoulders to fill it out and the hair cut shorter in a futile attempt to tame it, he was even more mouthwatering.

“So, how are the wedding plans coming along?” Luke asked Cindy. A bystander might assume the question was borne of polite curiosity, but Cindy knew better. Luke Rheems had despised Dexter Shalimar on sight, and he never missed an opportunity to subtly remind Cindy that he thought she was a fool for marrying Dex.

“There aren’t many plans for me to make,” Cindy said breezily. “Dex is handling all the arrangements. We’re flying to Lake Tahoe, getting married in a little chapel in the mountains and then Dex is going to teach me to ski.” It was the sort of vacation she’d always dreamed of. She and Jim had visited Lake Tahoe before, of course. She’d gasped at the breathtaking scenery, the opulent homes, the flashy casinos. But there’d been no money for skiing or gambling, and they’d slept either in their truck or at a cheap motel.

This time, her honeymoon would be four-star hotels, fancy meals, private skiing lessons.

“Dex handles a lot for you, doesn’t he? The sale of your restaurant and your house, your wedding, your honeymoon. He’s chosen where you’ll live—”

“Dex is in real estate,” Cindy broke in, climbing down from the stepladder. She couldn’t spell and argue with Luke at the same time. “Why shouldn’t he handle my real-estate transactions? It’s what he’s good at. As for our home, yes, he did pick it out and furnish it. But I’m no good at decorating—he hired an expert to do that. Anyway, I’ve seen it and it’s perfect. A no-fuss penthouse with all maintenance taken care of.”

“And no backyard. Where will Adam play?”

She lowered her voice, getting truly irritated. “Don’t you start laying that guilt trip on me. My son is going to have a fabulous childhood. Dex has business all over the globe, so we’ll all travel the world together. Adam will meet and play with children of all cultures. He’ll frolic in alpine meadows and on Jamaican beaches. He’ll sample fresh foods from Italy and Indonesia. You act like he’ll be deprived simply because he doesn’t have a postage stamp of grass to call his own.”

“I happen to believe a child does need a few blades of grass to call his own.”

“And when you have a child of your own, you can raise him in a little backyard like a rabbit in his hutch. With the same view, seeing the same people, eating the same foods day in and day out.” She knew she should stop there, but he’d hit her hot button. “And he’ll grow up to be just as closed-minded and provincial as everybody else in this town, afraid of anything that’s strange or foreign or the slightest bit different.”

Luke arched one eyebrow at her, surprised by her outburst. “Is that how you see your Cottonwood neighbors? A bunch of ignorant, closed-minded xenophobes?”

Cindy was embarrassed to admit she didn’t know what xenophobe meant. But that was part of her point—and part of why she wanted something different for Adam. Sure, she’d traveled the country, but she’d never been to college. She wasn’t well read. She didn’t know anything about stylish clothes or entertaining or even how to fix her hair, which was currently pulled back in a loose ponytail. Dex had never criticized, but if she was going to be the wife of a high-society millionaire, she was going to have to work on her shortcomings.

To mask her ignorance, she changed the subject. “You’re just raining on my parade because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Oh, yeah, right. Of Dex? He’s a pencil-neck weenie.”

“Now you are obviously desperate, resorting to name-calling. By the way, I never heard the results of your big investigation into Dex’s background. You were going to uncover all his terrible secrets, right? The three other wives, the jail time, the sixteen illegitimate children?”

At least Luke had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. “He checked out,” was all he said.

As Cindy had known he would. She hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck yesterday. She’d done a little checking of her own. Dexter Shalimar, though notoriously publicity wary and camera shy, was considered Houston’s hottest bachelor and one of its richest residents. His company, Shalimar Holdings, was one of the largest privately owned real-estate-development companies in the nation and one of the few that didn’t take a terrible beating during the recent recession. He’d never been married, had no children, had never been arrested. He was a major contributor to several charities and had come in seventeenth last year in the Boston Marathon. What was not to like?

As to whether she loved him—well, that was another matter. Jim would always occupy a very special place in her heart, and he couldn’t be shoved aside. But she was very, very fond of Dex, Adam seemed to adore him and she knew of many strong marriages based on mutual respect and affection.

Luke finished his biscuit and took his coffee in a to-go cup, as always. At about seven-thirty, the town-square business owners started arriving. Then, a little later, the moms who’d gotten their kids off to school showed up, along with the retirees. The breakfast trade had hardly let up before the early lunch crowd started trickling in.

It was a good, busy morning. But then, the café had always been a moneymaker. An unofficial historic landmark, it had supported Cindy’s family comfortably for generations. Still, Cindy had never felt any real attachment to the business. She’d worked here evenings and weekends and summers since she could remember, with the exception of the eight years she’d traveled the country with Jim in his 18-wheeler. To her, the Miracle Café meant turning down every other opportunity that had come her way—cheerleading, drama club, soccer. Her parents had worked twelve-hour days, seven days a week, and she’d been expected to follow suit.

The workload had only gotten worse since her mother’s death. As the sole owner, Cindy found it nearly impossible to take a long weekend, much less ramble around the country.

Now that she had Adam, she thought as she transferred a selection of meringue pies from cooling racks in the kitchen to the glass-fronted bakery case out front, the café was even more confining. She brought the baby to work with her, as Tonya did, where all the waitresses and even the busboys took turns spoiling him. But Cindy herself was so busy, she didn’t feel as if she spent enough time with him.

That would all change in a couple of months, she thought with a warm glow. She would travel from one adventure to another, the way she’d always dreamed. And once she and Dex were married, she was going to travel with him—she and Adam. She’d seen a lot of her own country before Jim’s death. Now, the world would be her oyster.

“Cindy?” It was Tonya, a water pitcher in one hand, menus in the other. “Those two ladies in booth three want to speak to you.”

Cindy glanced over to the booth by the window. In it sat two women, both blond, both obviously not from Cottonwood. One was dressed in a business suit, her artfully highlighted hair twisted into a complicated configuration atop her head. The other had really funky, spiky, frosted hair and an abundance of silver jewelry.

Could be a real-estate agent and her client, she thought optimistically. Cindy smoothed her apron, wiped her hands on a towel and, with a parting glance at Luke that told him to stop messing with her, she approached the women.

“Hello,” she said brightly. “I’m Cindy Lefler, owner of the Miracle Café.” She stretched her hand out in greeting to the one in the business suit.

The other woman squeezed her hand briefly. She didn’t smile. “Sonya Patterson. And this is Brenna Thompson. Please, could you sit down?” She indicated the red vinyl banquette across from her.

Cindy sat next to the one called Brenna, feeling apprehensive. “What can I do for you?”

Sonya set a leather briefcase on the table and snapped open the locks. She withdrew a color photo and slid it across the table toward Cindy. “Do you know this man?”

The photo was a bit blurry, as if it had been blown up. Clearly the man in the picture had had his arm around someone else, who’d been cropped out.

“Of course. That’s my fiancé, Dexter Shalimar,” Cindy said tightly.

Sonya’s eyes seemed to grow brighter and Brenna sat forward slightly. “The real-estate tycoon?” Brenna asked. “That Dexter Shalimar?”

“Yes. Is it so unbelievable that he would want to marry a waitress?”

Neither woman answered Cindy’s question. Instead Sonya asked, “Do you know where he is? Right this moment, I mean?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s in Malaysia on a business trip. Look, what is this about?” Cindy had an unpleasant crawly sensation at the back of her neck.

Sonya sank back in her seat. “Oh, I hope I’m not too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this except to just blurt it out. The man in that photo is not Dexter Shalimar. His name is Marvin Carter and he’s a con man.”

Cindy’s face grew hot. “I don’t know who you think you are or what you’re trying to pull, but Dexter Shalimar is no con man. Would a con man give a woman a ring like this?” She always tucked her three-carat engagement ring into her pocket while she was working. She pulled it out now and flashed the enormous pear-shaped diamond under Sonya’s nose.

Sonya gave the ring a perfunctory glance. “Hmm. It looks a lot like mine.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a ring that was identical to Cindy’s.

“And mine.” Brenna opened her leather backpack and also produced a similar ring.

“I assume you haven’t had it appraised,” Sonya said. “It’s a cubic zirconia. Worth about twenty-eight bucks. I think he buys them by the gross.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cindy said flatly. “He is Dex Shalimar. He drives a Porsche 911. He’s just bought us a million-dollar penthouse. I’ve been there.”

“Oh, the penthouse on Riva Row?” asked Sonya. “That would be my penthouse. Or it used to be mine, until he sold it out from under me, pocketed the cash and skipped town.”

Cindy’s head was beginning to buzz. This couldn’t be true—it just couldn’t be. “I want you to leave,” Cindy said frostily.

“Of course.” Sonya flashed her a sympathetic smile. “I know how hard this is, believe me. But check your bank accounts. If there’s still any money in them, count yourself lucky. And change your account numbers.”

Sonya slid out of the booth. Brenna scrambled after her. They both looked at Cindy sadly, as if she were a puppy they were leaving behind at the dog pound. Then they left the café, Sonya’s heels tapping on the linoleum floor.

Cindy just sat there. Should she try to get in touch with Dex, tell him two mad women were running around maligning him? He’d said he would be out of touch. But surely his company would know how to contact him.

Then an awful, alien thought stirred in her brain. She should call the bank. Just to be sure.

Someone scooted into the booth across from her. She looked up to see Luke Rheems, his handsome face etched with concern. “Cindy? You okay? Who were those women?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? And those women are nutcases. You should keep an eye on them, Luke. They’re up to no good.” Then she stood up and made a hasty escape before her panic took control of her and she started screaming.

Keeping her gaze straight ahead, not acknowledging any customers’ or employees’ looks of concern, she headed for her office and slipped inside. Both Adam and Micton were napping, thank heavens. Micton was still tiny and slept most of the time, anyway. Adam, however, had just turned fourteen months, and he was getting more active by the minute. Soon he would be too much to handle at work, and she would have to find a full-time babysitter.

She paused a moment to watch her son sleeping, his thumb in his mouth, his favorite blanky clutched in his other hand. He was the light of her life. She’d never expected to enjoy motherhood. But she’d taken to it like a hog to mud, proving that she did in fact have at least one domestic bone in her body, contrary to what her parents had always said.

Enough distraction. She had to call the bank. And then, when she heard everything was as it should be, she could laugh off her momentary worries.

Cindy found the number in her Rolodex, then dialed. She asked for her personal banker, Mary Dietz.

“Oh, hi, Cindy. It’s nice to hear from you. How can I help you?”

Cindy made her request to check the balance in her checking account. It was exactly where it should be, seven hundred and change. She breathed a little easier.

“And my money-market fund?”

There was a long silence. “That account is closed.”

“No, you’re thinking of my mother’s account. I closed that out last year when her estate was settled. I’m talking about my personal savings account. Here’s the number.” She rattled off the long account number.

Another long silence. “Cindy, Mr. Shalimar closed that account last week. I handled it personally. He said you were investing the funds into real estate.”

That buzz was starting up in Cindy’s head again. “Are you sure?” But she knew that was a stupid question. Mary didn’t make mistakes.

“Oh, my gosh, of course,” Cindy said, masking her panic as best she could. “I forgot he was going to do that. Okay, never mind. Sorry I bothered you.” She hung up.

Could it possibly be true, what those women had told her? That Dex wasn’t Dex at all, but someone named Marvin who’d given her a fake ring, shown her a penthouse that wasn’t even his and made off with close to three-quarters of a million dollars—Jim’s entire life-insurance benefit, her parents’ life savings and both her and Jim’s savings?

She picked up the phone again, frantically dialing Dex’s cell number. She got a recording that the number wasn’t valid. She dialed again, thinking she must have misdialed in her haste. But she got the same result.

On a mission now, she pulled the Houston phone book from her bottom desk drawer and looked up the number for Shalimar Holdings. Dex had always told her not to bother calling him at the office, where she would have to wade through layers of receptionists and secretaries to get to him. His cell was always on, always with him and a much easier way to reach him.

She dialed the business number, reached a secretary. “This is an emergency. I really, really need to get word to Dexter Shalimar. Does he have an assistant or someone I could talk to?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Cindy Lefler, his fiancée. I know he’s in Malaysia, but surely you people have a way of getting through to him in an emergency?”

Long silence. “Mr. Shalimar is not in Malaysia. Nor does he have a fiancée named Cindy or anything else. Shall I transfer your call to security?”

Cindy couldn’t speak. She simply hung up the phone.

She had to get out of here, go home, pull herself together. She couldn’t let her customers or employees see her falling apart. She couldn’t let anyone know what was happening until she’d figured it out for herself.

She packed up Adam’s diaper bag and her purse and car keys, then gently picked up Adam from his playpen. He stirred slightly, then opened his eyes and blinked blearily at her.

She cuddled him against her shoulder. Thank goodness he wasn’t a cranky baby. He was very adaptable, willing to sleep anywhere, eat anything, play with whatever was on hand, allow anyone to hold him. He would be a fabulous traveling companion, she’d told herself many times.

She ducked into the kitchen long enough to tell her cook, Manson Grable, that she was going home because she didn’t feel well.

“Is there anything I can do?” Manson asked. He was sixty, portly, round faced and had worked for the Miracle Café his whole adult life. “Can I send you home with some chicken soup?”

“I’ll be fine—just a headache.” She forced a smile and had almost made it out the back door when a booming voice from the dining room snagged her attention.

“I’m looking for Cindy Lefler!”

She considered escaping, then decided it might be important. With a heavy heart, she walked back through the kitchen and out the swinging doors into the dining room.

Standing in the middle of the dining room, looking something like King Henry VIII in madras shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, was the man who’d spoken.

“Hi, I’m Cindy Lefler,” Cindy said, lacking her usual smiling hospitality. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Ed LaRue.”

She looked at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her.

“I’m the new owner of the Miracle Café,” he continued, still grinning. “Soon to be Ed’s Enchilada Emporium!”

Chapter Two

Deputy Luke Rheems looked at first one, then the other of the two women seated in his office. They were both attractive, but beyond their blond hair, they were complete opposites. Sonya Patterson was the epitome of wealth and sophistication. Tall and slim with an elegant, aristocratic face, she wore an ivory linen suit, sheer stockings that looked like silk and cream-colored leather pumps with a medium heel. Her nails were long, probably acrylic, and salon fresh with a coating of pale pink-frosted polish. Her artfully highlighted hair was piled atop her head in a complicated twist, not a strand out of place.

Brenna Thompson was petite, with a pleasantly curvaceous figure, and she looked as if she belonged in an artist’s loft in SoHo. Her platinum-frosted hair was short and spiky, sticking out of her head like a porcupine’s quills, and her eye shadow was a particularly virulent shade of purple. Her left ear was graced with five piercings, each with a distinctly unique silver earring.

The rest of her jewelry was just as interesting, and she wore a lot of it—rings on almost every finger, bracelets jangling with every movement of her arms, a handful of chains around her neck from which dangled charms in whimsical animal shapes, their eyes winking with colored stones. Her snug, tie-dyed T-shirt didn’t quite meet up with her faded hip-hugger jeans, leaving a couple of inches of strategically exposed flesh at her midriff. Though she was categorically not his type, she exuded healthy sex appeal.

“We’re starting to get worried about her,” Sonya was saying. “After we broke the news to her that her supposed fiancée was—”

“Lying, thieving pond scum,” Brenna supplied.

“Yes, exactly. After that, she got the news that her restaurant had been sold out from under her.”

“It must have been too much,” Brenna said. “She’s gone into hiding.”

“We understand she hasn’t come out of her house in days,” Sonya continued. “Now, we hardly know Cindy, but we know what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from underneath you. We figured she needed some time to grieve and we’ve left her alone. But, Deputy Rheems, it’s been almost a week and she hasn’t come out of her house. She won’t answer the phone or the doorbell. We’re worried about her.”

Luke had been worried about Cindy, too. He’d left the Miracle Café just minutes before Ed LaRue’s dramatic arrival, so he hadn’t witnessed it. But he’d heard through the grapevine about it—and that it was all true. Dexter Shalimar, aka Marvin Carter, had sold the Miracle Café, and the sale was more or less legal because Cindy had signed some power-of-attorney paper giving her fiancé the right to conduct all sorts of business for her.

Every suspicion he’d harbored about Cindy’s boyfriend had been right on the money. The man was a liar, a thief, a con man, a snake. The only thing Luke had missed was that Shalimar wasn’t Shalimar at all. He’d borrowed the reclusive real-estate tycoon’s identity. Luke should have suspected that. But when his initial inquiries into Shalimar’s background had checked out, he’d had no legitimate reason to snoop any further, so he hadn’t.

After the manure hit the fan, Luke had tried to call Cindy a couple of times to see if she wanted to press charges. He’d managed to get her on the phone once; she’d brushed him off with a quick, insincere assurance that she was fine, everything was fine—it was all a misunderstanding.

But as his visitors had pointed out, no one had seen her or Adam in almost a week.

“I’ll go to her house, see how she’s doing,” Luke said.

“Please tell her we need to meet with her,” Brenna said. “We need her help if we’re going to catch this guy.”

“Now, ladies, I understand your anger and frustration, but I think you’d better let the law-enforcement authorities handle—”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Brenna interrupted. “If Marvin happens to walk into the House of Donuts and identify himself, maybe the cops’ll stop him. But I wouldn’t count on even that. So far they sent out a couple of faxes, put his name on a list somewhere and went back to sleep.”

“The law-enforcement people don’t care,” Sonya agreed. “Marvin hasn’t murdered anyone. He’s not a bigamist, since he doesn’t actually marry his victims. He’s small potatoes to them. But not to us, and not to the next woman he’ll go after. And believe me, he isn’t going to stop. It might be too late to get our money back, but we’re going to make him pay in ways he never dreamed of.”

“Never underestimate the power of a woman scorned,” Brenna added, sharing a look of solidarity with Sonya.

Luke decided he’d rather have Bubba the Bounty Hunter on his trail than these two. They suddenly seemed a little scary to him.

AS LUKE DROVE HIS SUV DOWN Cindy’s street, his stomach did a little flutter. It was the same little flutter he got every time he walked into the Miracle Café for his morning coffee and biscuit. And it was Cindy Lefler who did it to him.

He’d been crazy in love with her at one time. Cindy’s naive adoration of him, her pure, uncomplicated emotions, her gentle ways, had gone a long way toward healing the abandoned little boy inside him, and he’d never forgotten it. But she’d been appalled when, just after high school graduation he’d suggested they get married and settle down. That was before he’d realized settle down were dirty words to Cindy.

It wasn’t long after that when long-haul trucker Jim Lefler had stopped for lunch at the Miracle Café and had become entranced with his young waitress, and she with him. Three weeks later, they’d eloped.

When Adam had come along and they’d bought a house in Cottonwood, Jim had fit right in, and everyone agreed that they made a terrific family.

Even Luke came to like Jim Lefler. His unexpected death was an awful thing, and Luke had mourned the passing of a friend and an essential member of the community.

But then there was Cindy, alone again and apparently here in Cottonwood to stay. Luke had promised himself he would wait at least a year before even flirting with Cindy. Then that jerk Dexter Shalimar—Marvin Carter, he reminded himself—had shown up, taking advantage of a woman not only grieving for her husband but her mother, who’d passed not long after Jim. Luke’s timing had always been bad when it came to Cindy.

Luke pulled in to the driveway of the tidy little three-bedroom house Jim and Cindy had bought. The grass needed mowing, he noted, and the flower beds were full of weeds. The blinds were drawn.

Before going to the front door, he peeked through a window into the garage. Cindy’s car was there. He felt a prickle of unease.

He climbed the three stairs to the front porch and rang the bell. He could hear a TV inside, then a child’s babble. Adam was okay, at least. But Cindy didn’t answer the door.

He knocked loudly. “Cindy? It’s me, Luke. I know you’re in there, so open the door.”

“I’m busy, Luke,” she finally called through the door. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Would you just for heaven’s sake open the door?”

He heard her unfasten the chain, then crack the door. “What is it?”

He could see only half her face. Her wavy, honey-colored hair hung limply to her shoulders. Her complexion was too pale.

He couldn’t see much of the rest of her, just her shoulder and arm and one leg. She wore faded gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with the Red Dog Saloon logo on it.

She was allowed to look a little grubby, he told himself. But her lack of grooming bothered him.

“How are you doing?” he asked gently. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

“Why? I’m…I’m fine. I’m just very busy. Making wedding plans, you know. I have to pack—”

“Cindy, give it a rest. You’re not getting married. Dexter or Marvin or whoever he is isn’t coming back now that he’s got your money. You’ve been had by a very slick, very convincing con man. The best thing is for you to face what’s happened head-on.”

“Does everyone know?” she asked in a whisper.

“Everyone knows, and everyone wants to help any way they can.”

“Oh, my God.” She turned away from the door but left it open. Luke took the opportunity to follow her inside.

The sight that greeted him was alarming, to say the least. The living room was a wreck, littered with empty pizza boxes, dirty dishes, toys, blankets and stacks of videotapes. The sofa cushions were on the floor. It looked as if Cindy had been sleeping in front of the TV.

He would never have classified Cindy as compulsively neat, but normally she wasn’t slovenly, either.

“Looks like you’ve been in some kind of funk, girl.”

CINDY DID NOT WANT TO SEE Luke Rheems, of all people. He’d warned her about Dex. His lawman’s instincts had picked up on qualities Cindy had missed because of her stupid, blind adoration of a man who had pretended to be everything she was looking for. Seeing Luke made her feel even worse, if that was possible.

She wished he would just go away. If everyone would leave her alone, she would be fine.

“I’m merely taking this opportunity to spend some quiet time with my son,” she said, mustering as much dignity as she could.

Luke went around the living room and dining room opening the blinds.

“It’s like a cave in here. And it doesn’t smell too good, either.” He opened a couple of windows. “There.”

“What sort of rumors have those two women been spreading?”

“They haven’t talked to anyone but me, as far as I know. But, Cindy, it’s obvious to everyone what’s happened. Ed LaRue is not a quiet man. Apparently Marvin Carter made up all kinds of lies about you, the town and the café. LaRue is repeating them.”

“Is the café still open?” Cindy asked. She’d been afraid to call or drive by.

“No. Ed closed it up and fired all the employees. He has an extended family he plans to give full employment to.”

“Oh, no. Poor Kate and Iris and Tonya—and Manson! What will they do?”

“What will you do?”

“I’m fine. I was going to sell the restaurant anyway. I’ll be happy not to ever bake another biscuit as long as I live.”

“You’re not fine, Cindy. If Marvin Carter followed his usual MO, he wiped you out.” He took her by the arms and looked straight into her eyes. “C’mon, honey, snap out of it. You have to do something. You have to take action. It’s not just you anymore. You have a child to support.”

“Adam is being well taken care of, thank you very much.” She shook off Luke’s touch, though in truth it was tempting to just fall into those strong arms, to lean against Luke’s muscular shoulder and cry her little eyes out. “Okay, maybe Dexter’s…unexpected and inappropriate actions have knocked me a little off balance. But I’m taking good care of Adam.” She’d bathed him every day, even if she’d been less scrupulous about her own grooming, and he always got clean clothes and three healthy meals a day.

Instead of believing her, Luke walked into her kitchen, past more piles of dirty dishes and empty cereal boxes and milk bottles, and opened the fridge.

“It looks a little meager.”

“I need to go to the store. Big deal.”

“And how will you pay for the groceries?”

“I have money.” But not as much as she’d thought. The seven hundred-plus dollars in her checking account had dwindled down to under two hundred once her last mortgage check had cleared. She’d figured she could afford another week’s worth of groceries—another week she could pretend that Dex was coming back.

Luke looked at her, his disbelief evident in those deep, knowing eyes of his.

“I’ve got lots of equity in my house. I can get an equity loan to tide me over while I regroup.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The chug-chugging of a diesel engine reverberated outside, coming to a pause in front of Cindy’s house. Curious, she returned to the living room and looked out the window. A huge Ryder truck was in the process of backing over her lawn, the rear headed directly for her front porch.

“Oh, my—” She ran out the front door and up to the truck’s cab, beating on the driver’s door.

The window slid down and Ed LaRue was behind the wheel, grinning ear to ear. “Well, hi, there, sweet thing. Thought you’d be long gone to your new house in San Francisco.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cindy sputtered. But she knew. Oh, Lord, she knew. Dex—Marvin, dammit—had sold her house, too. She was not only penniless, she was homeless. Next thing she knew, the insufferable Ed LaRue would claim her car.

Luke convinced LaRue to give Cindy another twenty-four hours to clear out of her house. To seal the deal, he pulled out his wallet and handed Ed a wad of cash. “Dinner’s on me, okay?”

Slightly mollified, Ed took the money. “I’ll agree to this, you being a lawman and all. But this house by God, better be empty by tomorrow morning, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

He closed the window and the truck lumbered out of the front yard and down the street.

Cindy just looked at Luke. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to help. That’s the main reason I got this job, you know. To help people. To resolve conflicts.”

“How much did you give him? I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about that. The main thing is I bought you a little time, but not much. I get off at three and I can get a horse trailer from my brother’s place and help you move.”

Where? Where was she going to move? She’d sold her parents’ house. She had no other relatives in the area. She couldn’t possibly move in on Tonya or Kate or Iris—they had enough trouble, what with their sudden unemployment and all.

But she couldn’t admit her dire straits to Luke. He was the one who’d warned her about Dex—Marvin, dammit. She was so humiliated, felt so stupid, and she just couldn’t bear to rely on his kind, compassionate help a moment longer.

Plus, she was going to have an emotional crash. She’d been holding back a colossal crying jag for days, and she didn’t want him to witness that.

“I do have a place to go,” she said. “And I’m not going to worry about moving furniture. It’s all garage-sale stuff anyway—let Ed LaRue have it. I’ll take our clothes and a few personal items, nothing that won’t fit in my car trunk. I appreciate your offer to help, Luke—I really do. But I’ll be fine.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe her.

She forced a smile and made shooing motions with her hands. “Run along. Go catch some criminals. I have a little packing to do.”

“If I find out you’re lying about this, I’m coming after you,” he threatened. “Call me when you’re settled someplace.”

“Sure.” When hell froze over.

“Oh, and you need to contact those women—Brenna and Sonya?”

She sighed. “Why?” She didn’t want to wallow in shared stupidity with these other women, women who’d loved Dex or whatever name he’d given them, women who’d probably slept with him, who’d thought they were marrying him. “I want to move forward, not dwell on past mistakes.”

“Well, they want to catch Marvin and get their money back, or at least enjoy the satisfaction of putting him behind bars. I’ve agreed to help them. You have the most current information on Marvin. You could help a lot.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, though she hadn’t yet managed to summon up enough anger toward Dex/Marvin to want vengeance. She was still in disbelief with more than a hint of denial. Part of her expected Dex’s familiar lemon-yellow Porsche to come hauling up the street, the trunk full of presents for her and Adam.

“Just one more thing.” Without warning, he hauled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.

“Luke!”

“Hush. You need this.”

The security of his embrace, the warmth of his body, felt way better than it should have. She knew she should end it, but for a few moments, all she wanted to do was empty her mind and drown in his warmth, his caring.

She’d always been able to count on his caring. Even when she’d treated him not so nicely, back in high school, he’d had a seemingly inexhaustible ability to forgive her, even if he couldn’t understand exactly what made her tick, what made her want to wander the world in search of new sights, new adventures.

After a few moments, it was Luke who loosened his arms first. She pulled back reluctantly, realizing as she did that hugging her might not be that pleasant given that she hadn’t bathed in two days. “Thanks, Luke,” she whispered, perilously close to tears again as she escaped inside her house.

Which wasn’t really her house any longer, she reminded herself. Cindy mentally shook off her lethargy. She couldn’t take refuge in inactivity any longer. She had to move, make decisions.

When she’d told Luke she had someplace to go, she’d thought she was lying. But maybe there was someplace.

Her parents had owned a boat, which was moored at Town Lake. It was an old, twenty-foot cuddy cruiser. Her father’s idea had been that they would fix it up, then take it to Lake Texoma. When Cindy was little, they used to close the restaurant on holidays and spend a day or two on the lake, floating aimlessly on the water while they sanded and painted and sewed curtains. But then their interest had waned. No one had used the boat for years and Cindy had been meaning to sell it.

She’d surely never mentioned the boat to Dex. It might be the one asset he’d overlooked. And though it was small, it had a sleeping cabin with a real bed and a tiny galley with a one-burner stove and a marine toilet. She’d recently paid for six months’ dock fees at the marina.

Maybe it wasn’t a great plan, but it beat sleeping in her car.

Cindy started packing. She found a few boxes and suitcases in the attic and filled them with clothes—she didn’t have many—toiletries and Adam’s favorite toys. She did laundry—no telling when she’d have her next chance. She loaded everything in her car, along with Adam’s collapsible playpen.

Lastly, she packed up her food—every crumb. It was enough to last her a few more days. She put the stuff from the fridge in a cooler, along with some ice.

“Well, baby,” she cooed to Adam, “I said I wanted adventure. Guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh?”

Adam laughed and made a grab for her earring. She was glad he was too young to understand, too young to share the insidious fear that had crept into every cell of her body.

Broke, homeless, jobless and with a child to support. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

Chapter Three

Luke watched from a distance, lurking in the shadows at the marina behind a houseboat. He’d heard a rumor that Cindy and Adam were living here on her parents’ old boat, but he had to see for himself.

Sure enough, the canvas cover had been removed from the old cuddy, which was called the Cindy-Lou—Cindy’s childhood nickname. It looked as if someone had cleaned the worst of the grime off the boat. Carlo Bruno, the marina manager, had told Luke the boat had been docked here for years, with only the lightest routine maintenance to keep it from sinking.

He saw no other signs of life. He decided it was his official duty to check on Cindy again and to keep checking on her until he was sure she was okay. She’d been in a fragile state when he’d seen her a few days ago.

He remembered a time when his own mother had been in a similar fix. He’d been about four at the time, and his mom had been evicted from her grungy apartment in Tyler. They’d been forced to live in the car for a while. He remembered a highway-patrol officer shining a flashlight into the car, where they’d been parked in a parking lot trying to sleep, bundled up in blankets. And this upstanding law-enforcement officer, sworn to serve and protect, had told them without an ounce of concern that they would have to move on, that it was illegal to sleep there.

He wished someone had tried to help his mother back then, when she hadn’t yet been beyond help.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to be like that state trooper.

He stepped on board and knocked on the hatch. It suddenly occurred to him he’d spent a lot of his life knocking on doors, waiting for Cindy. Even when she’d been in love with him, she’d always kept him waiting.

Eventually the hatch opened. He was gratified to see that Cindy looked much better than she had a few days ago. No puffy eyes. Her hair was sparkling clean and pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore jeans and a pale pink T-shirt, the V-neck showing just a hint of cleavage. She’d put on a little weight, he noticed. And it was in all the right places.

“What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

“I heard you and Adam were living here. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You can tell that to all the town gossips. Man, they must be having a field day with this.”

“Cindy, if you think your friends and neighbors are getting enjoyment out of your bad luck, you’re wrong. Everyone who knows you is worried. Can I come in?”

With a careless shrug, she retreated down the short staircase and he followed. The boat wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. She’d obviously been cleaning, because the whole place smelled like oranges.

“You want some coffee?” she offered grudgingly. “It’s instant, not like what I serve at the café, but the caffeine still works.”

“Sure, I’ll have some. Where’s Adam?”

“Still asleep. We’ve been busy the last couple of days trying to get settled in here.”

She moved into the tiny galley, which was only a couple of steps away. In fact, nothing was more than two steps away. It was a cute and cozy boat, he’d give it that. The carpeting and upholstery all looked new, the paint surprisingly fresh. Everything was tidy and efficient—except for the stack of boxes shoved to one side of the living room.

Moments later, Cindy handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.

“What, no biscuit with honey?”

“You know, a few days ago I was complaining about all the biscuits I had to bake. Now I’d give anything to be back in that stifling kitchen with flour all over my hands.”

“Maybe you can get it back.”

“How? I don’t even know where to start.”

“To start, you need to talk with Sonya and Brenna.”

“You mean they’re still here?”

“They’re trying to pick up as much information as they can about Marvin, but they don’t have much without you.”

“I’m not sure what the point is.” She sank onto one of the miniature built-in sofas opposite him and sipped on her own coffee. “Everything I know about him is a lie, apparently.”

“But maybe not. Con men often use bits and pieces of the truth to make themselves sound more authentic. You might know more than you think. For instance, his car. You spent a lot of time in it. Do you recall the license plate or any distinguishing features like dents or scratches? We might be able to trace him that way.”

Cindy’s brow furrowed. “It all seems like a blur. But I’ll try to remember.”

“Talk to the ladies.”

“Oh, all right.”

He hesitated to press her further, but there were questions he had to ask. “Cindy, what are you going to do? You can’t live here.”

“Why not? I have a kitchen.” She pointed to the one-burner stove, a single cabinet and about one square foot of counter space. “I have a bathroom.” She indicated a closed door marked Head, which probably housed only a marine toilet and sink—no bathing facilities.

“Where do you sleep?”

“There’s a compartment in the bow. You can see for yourself.”

“I don’t want to wake Adam if he’s—”

“It’s really time he got up.”

Luke put down his coffee and worked his way to the front of the boat. He had to stoop slightly—he couldn’t even stand upright, the ceiling was so low. He pushed open a couple of louvered doors and found himself in the “bedroom”—a tiny triangular area with sheets and blankets spread out over oddly shaped cushions. Adam was already awake, sitting up in bed, looking out the porthole. Most babies he knew of started screaming the instant they awoke. But from what he’d seen of Adam, he was an easygoing kid.

“Hey, there, sport,” he said softly. Adam turned and studied Luke, appearing neither scared nor pleased to see him. More curious. “I bet you’re ready for some breakfast.”

“Do you mind bringing him out?” Cindy asked.

“If he’ll let me.” But when Luke reached for Adam, the baby held his arms out, perfectly accepting. Not that Luke was a complete stranger. But the baby had seen him up close maybe half a dozen times in his young life. Luke wrapped his arms securely around Adam’s warm body, dressed snugly in Carter’s pajamas. Adam babbled happily and snuggled against Luke.

Luke felt an odd sensation holding that baby. If things had gone the way he’d once hoped, Cindy’s child would also be his child. They’d have had a houseful by now.

“There’s my little man,” Cindy said with a dopey, maternal smile, holding out her arms. “Bet you need a diaper change.” She glanced at Luke as she took the baby. “Don’t worry, I’ll open some portholes first.”

He laughed. “I’m not worried. You want me to get you a diaper?”

She pointed to a box of disposables and a container of baby wipes, and she proceeded to efficiently change Adam’s diaper.

“Where do you bathe?” Luke blurted out. Though it sounded as if he was being nosy, this really was his business, he told himself.

“The marina has a very nice bathroom with showers and everything.”

“So Adam’s a shower man.”

“He’s learning. We shower together.”

Luke didn’t want to dwell on the image that popped into his mind.

“Cindy…you can’t stay here.”

“Why not? We’re managing just fine. Anyway, it’s only temporary, just until I figure out what to do.”

“Does this place have any heat?”

“No. But the weather’s very mild right now.”

“It’s October. You know the weather can change in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll deal with that problem when I come to it.”

They were saved from further argument by another knock on the hatch. For a moment, Cindy had a look on her face that reminded Luke of a scared rabbit.

“You want me to get that?”

“Would you, please?” She was just snapping up Adam’s pajamas. “And if it’s those women, tell them I’ll talk to them when I’m ready, not before,” she added crossly.

Luke climbed the steps and unfastened the barrel bolt. He pushed the hatch outward and found himself staring into the round, brown eyes of an attractive African-American woman wearing a worn sweaterdress, white stockings and scuffed black pumps. Not exactly boating clothes.

She smiled uncertainly. “Hi, I’m Beverly Hicks. I’m looking for a Cindy Lefler?”

Alarm bells went off in Luke’s head. The woman’s appearance and demeanor screamed one thing to him—government employee. Required to dress up for work but not paid enough to look slick or stylish. Polite demeanor with just a hint of authority.

“You’ve got the right place,” Luke said. Keeping her out wasn’t going to help Cindy in the long run.

“How can I help you?” Cindy said coolly.

“I’m from Social Services. I’ve had a report that you’re living with a baby on this boat.” Beverly Hicks looked pointedly at Adam, then at the stack of boxes.

Damn. The social worker had picked the worst possible time to show up—when the boat was redolent with a used Huggie. Luke grabbed the plastic bag that held the old diaper. “I’ll take care of this.” He’d seen a trash barrel on the dock and he exited the boat in search of it.

When he returned, Beverly was going through the same list of questions Luke had just asked Cindy—bathroom facilities, sleeping arrangements, heating and cooling. And she apparently didn’t like the answers she was getting, judging from the frown and the decisive way she scribbled on a form attached to a clipboard.

Cindy wasn’t exactly helping matters with her confrontational attitude, either.

“Ms. Hicks, does this baby look neglected or abused to you?”

Adam, at that moment, was bouncing on Cindy’s knee, laughing as if this were the greatest entertainment in the world. Anyone could see he was happy, plump and healthy, dressed in clean clothes that fit him well.

“No, he looks very happy,” Beverly agreed. “But I have to follow the guidelines,” she added, not without sympathy. “Someone made a complaint about you.”

“Who?” Cindy shot back. “Who complained?”

“I have to keep that information confidential. But I have to ascertain that certain criteria are being met. And clearly they aren’t. The baby doesn’t even have his own bed.”

“He sleeps with me. Lots of parents let their little ones sleep in their bed.”

“But the rules state the child has to have his own bed. And a place to bathe. And heat.”

Oh, boy, Luke thought. He didn’t like the sounds of this.

“This is only temporary,” Luke put in. He extended his hand to the social worker. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Luke Rheems. I can vouch for Cindy—she’s a really great mother.”

Beverly shook his hand, silently appraising him. “I’m sure Ms. Lefler does the very best she can. Still, these arrangements aren’t satisfactory. Adam is ambulatory. He could wake up, walk outside, fall off the boat and drown.”

“That would never happen!” Cindy objected.

“Nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ll have to take temporary custody of Adam. We’ll put him in foster care until you can make other living arrangements that meet the state’s requirements.”

Cindy looked horrified. She wrapped her arms around Adam. “You are not taking my baby. No. No way.”

Beverly looked at Luke, pleading for understanding. “You’re in law enforcement. You understand how these laws work, don’t you?”

Unfortunately he did. But he agreed totally with Cindy. No way was Adam going into foster care. The mere thought of what could happen to a baby dropped into the hands of supposedly caring, qualified strangers made that instant coffee he’d drunk churn bitterly in his stomach.

“There must be some other way to deal with this,” Cindy said, obviously struggling not to lose her cool completely.

“Well, if there’s a qualified relative he could stay with,” Beverly said. “What about the father? Is he in the picture?”

Cindy opened her mouth to answer, no doubt about to inform Beverly that the father was deceased. But Luke beat her to the punch.

“Actually, I’m Adam’s father,” he said. “Cindy and I were just discussing the possibility of Adam coming to live with me for a while until she can pull things together.” He hadn’t planned to tell such a whopper. It had just come out of his mouth, naturally as could be.

Cindy’s jaw dropped, a denial ready, but Beverly smiled, obviously relieved. “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so? That’s a different situation altogether. You two are on amicable terms, then?”

“Oh, yes,” Luke answered quickly to keep Beverly’s attention on him. Cindy was still gaping in shock, but so far she hadn’t objected aloud.

“Do you have experience caring for a baby?” Beverly asked suspiciously, obviously doubting that this big, strapping lawman knew the difference between a diaper and a pacifier.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I grew up in a foster home with lots of kids. I got real good at the diaper changing and bottle warming.” As if to emphasize the point, he picked up Adam and cuddled him, knowing he would look perfectly natural and comfortable with the baby—and that Adam wouldn’t object.

Beverly nodded. “What sort of child-care arrangements could you make while you’re working?” she asked, taking notes now.

“My mother—well, she’s my foster mother—lives nearby. She’s retired and I know she’d love taking care of Adam while I’m at work.”

Beverly looked expectantly at Cindy, who had managed to school her face. “Is this arrangement satisfactory to you?”

“It’s not ideal,” she said. “But I’d rather that than foster care.”

Beverly’s eyes flickered with worry. “Do you have concerns about Deputy Rheems’s ability to adequately care for Adam?”

Cindy shook her head. “No. He’s very responsible. It’s just—oh, never mind. It’s fine.”

Beverly smiled. “Very good, then. I’ll get some information from you, then I’ll check back in a day or two to make sure everything’s A-OK.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, meaning it. Beverly took down some pertinent information about him—address, phone, work schedule, his foster mother’s name and address. Then she turned her attention back to Cindy.

“Now, then. Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need food? Diapers?”

“I’m not some welfare mother,” Cindy said indignantly. “I’ve always paid my own way and I’ll continue to do so.”

Beverly seemed to frost over. “Excuse me, but I used to be a ‘welfare mother,’ as you call it. Everyone needs help now and then. Don’t let your pride get in the way of common sense.” She gave Adam a look of pity, tousled his downy hair, then saw herself out.

Luke and Cindy stared at each other in silence until the sound of Beverly’s heels thump-thumping on the wooden dock receded into the distance.

“Are you out of your mind?” Cindy reached for Adam, who had started to fret.

“I should think you’d be thanking me. I kept that woman from taking Adam away, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, with a huge lie! What’s going to happen when she finds out the truth?”

“She won’t find out.”

“Of course she will! She’ll go back to whoever made the complaint and tell them Adam’s going to live with his father, and then she’ll find out Adam’s father is dead and all hell will break loose.”

“Cindy, listen. Social workers have to adhere to privacy laws. If she tells the complainant anything, she’ll simply say that the matter is taken care of. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?”

Adam’s fussing got louder. Luke theorized the baby was responding more to the escalating tension than his hunger, but Cindy moved into the tiny galley and fished around in a box while jiggling Adam on one hip the way all mothers instinctively learned how to do. She produced a jar of baby cereal and a spoon.

“Don’t worry—right.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “That woman’s going to be back, and she’s going to expect to find Adam all cozy in your house, with his granny taking care of him.”

“That’s what she’ll find, all right.”

“Over my dead body. Just because you’re a deputy sheriff doesn’t mean you can take my kid away, so just get that out of your head.”

CINDY PULLED SOME ORANGE juice from a cooler of melting ice and poured it into a Tommy Tippee cup. Adam eagerly reached for the cup, the juice magically silencing his fretting.

She wished Luke would just go away. He was too big for this little boat, his presence too overpowering. Even Beverly, a complete stranger, hadn’t been immune to his sense of authority and the way his feet practically grew roots wherever he stood.

Cindy imagined Beverly hadn’t been immune to Luke’s sex appeal, either. What living, breathing woman could miss it? Though Beverly was at least ten years older than Luke, she’d batted her eyelashes at him like a teenage girl with a crush.

He was impossible to ignore, though Cindy was trying her hardest.

“Maybe you missed what just happened,” Luke said tightly, “but I’m trying my best to keep you and Adam together, not strip him away from you.”

Cindy knew what he said was true. That was what Luke was all about—keeping families together. He was the best lawman Cottonwood had ever seen. And though he was adept at solving crimes—the few there were in their little town—his main priority had always been helping kids, keeping them in school, keeping them off drugs. He volunteered a ton of hours at schools and churches and rec centers, organizing after-school sports programs and homework study groups.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she finally said. “This whole thing has just thrown me so off balance. I feel like a stray mother cat, hissing and clawing at anyone who comes near, even people trying to help.”

She reclaimed her seat on the banquette, opened the jar of cereal and quietly began to feed Adam. Just recently he’d started grabbing the spoon on his own, trying to shove food into his own mouth. Today she didn’t have the patience to clean up the results of such efforts, so they both held on to the spoon, managing to get most of the cereal into Adam rather than onto his shirt. He had bibs, but she didn’t know where they were.

“You can’t just ignore me and hope I’ll go away,” Luke continued. “You have to start dealing with the reality of your situation.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“I have an idea. There’s a carriage-house apartment behind my house. It hasn’t been used in years, but if memory serves, it has a bathroom and a kitchenette.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t afford rent.” It was the first excuse that came to mind. What she really couldn’t afford was to install herself so close to Luke. She was not immune to his appeal, despite all the years that had passed since they’d been lovers. Eight years of marriage, a baby plus her whirlwind affair—what else could she call it?—with Dex/Marvin, and she’d never once gone to sleep at night without at least a fleeting thought to her first love and what might have been if they’d wanted the same things out of life.

She didn’t need that right now. Lord knew, the last thing she could use in her life was a man, even if he was promising to help her out of a jam. Anyway, she didn’t trust herself. She had the good judgment of a fungus, given her recent history.

“Did I say anything about rent? Come on, Cindy, the apartment’s just sitting there. It’s not much, and it’ll have to be cleaned out and fixed up a bit, but it should make Social Services happy.”

“I really wish you’d just leave me alone.”

He stared at her, challenging, for a few seconds before dropping his gaze. “Yeah, I’ll go. But you’ll have to answer a few questions, first.”

“Whatever.”

“What should I tell Beverly Hicks when she comes calling tomorrow or the next day?”

“Tell her we changed our minds.”

“Uh-huh. And when she comes back here? She will, you know. It’s her job. You might think she’s a nitpicking pain in the butt, but she cares about children or she wouldn’t be in that line of work. And she’s not going to sweep this under the rug. She’ll be back, and next time she will take Adam. And if you won’t give him up willingly, she will summon the law—me—to enforce her decision.”

“Can she do that?” Cindy asked, feeling truly afraid for the first time.

He nodded grimly, his fists so tight he could feel his skin tightening over the knuckles. “It happens all the time. It happened to me, Cindy. And my mother never got me back.”

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