Tea and Destiny
Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Ann Davies was always giving away her heart—to her therapy patients, and to the dolphins she used to help them. For any stray kid that needed a home, she opened her arms in welcome. She never hesitated to give herself to anyone who asked. Until Hank Riley. The big contractor demanded everything—her body, her heart, her life.

Part of her wanted to give it all to him. She craved being desired, being cared for—after all, what had she ever done for herself? But another part feared everything he stood for—losing control, throwing away logic, living for the moment, surrendering. If she allowed herself to do that, what would be left when he walked away?

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1

It was already late Sunday afternoon when Hank pulled his pickup truck to the side of the narrow road, turned off the engine and stared. His gaze turned not to the spectacular red-tinted sunset in the west, but east, with a sort of fascinated horror, toward the worst-designed house he’d ever seen. As an engineer with a healthy respect for architecture, that house offended his sense of style, his sense of proportion, even his sense of color.

What had once been a small and probably quite pleasant waterfront cottage now lurched improbably across a tiny spit of land that poked into the Atlantic. Additions had been tacked on willy-nilly, adjusting to whatever natural obstacle had been in the way. One wing took a left turn away from the abrupt curve in the beach. Another detoured around a banyan tree. Although it was all one story high, the rooftops were not level, as if the specifications for the additions had been dreamed up without paying the slightest attention to the original.

The color scheme… He shook his head in wonder. Was it possible that there had been only one can each of the salmon-pink, dusty blue and canary-yellow paint in the local paint store? The effect was jarring when it should have been soothing. The house reminded him of the owner.

Hank had met Ann Davies during the three days of festivities surrounding his best friend’s wedding. Her effect on his system had been about as soothing as rubbing sandpaper across metal. Ann was a tall, rawboned woman with short black hair that he was convinced had been sheared off by a lawn mower. Her idea of makeup was apparently limited to a slash of lipstick across a generous mouth that was always in motion. The woman talked more than any other human being he’d ever met. She had opinions—strong opinions—on everything from football to mushrooms. She thought the former too brutal, the latter unappetizing. Hank loved them both.

So why, in the name of all that was holy, was he parked at the edge of her property? More to the point, what had possessed him to listen to his friends Todd and Liz when they’d suggested he come here? They had actually managed to persuade him—even before he’d finished the six-pack of his favorite beer they had settled in front of him—that he could survive in the same house with this irritating woman for the next few months while he supervised construction of a shopping center being built in nearby Marathon. They were crazy. He was crazier.

He was also desperate, he reminded himself with stark realism. It was early January in the Florida Keys, the worst possible time to be starting a construction job. Condos, houses and hotels were filled to overflowing with tourists. Those accommodations that were still available cost an arm and a leg. The company could have written off the expense, of course, but the few places still sitting empty weren’t available long-term. They’d already been booked for scattered weeks of the season.

Even so, he’d looked at every one of them, hoping to find something that would do even short-term. Most consisted of nothing more than a tiny room and a shower. They were all too cramped by far for his big frame. He would have felt claustrophobic after a single night. He’d actually stepped into the shower stall in one and come close to being wedged in.

The remaining alternative, to commute from Miami, while not impossible, would have driven him nuts inside of a week. Traffic this time of the year required the patience of a saint. Hank recognized his limitations. He was no saint. Just the prospect of being locked bumper to bumper with a bunch of sight-seeing tourists made the muscles in the back of his neck knot.

Then Ann had offered, via Liz, to let him have a room in her spacious home at no charge. She’d even volunteered to throw in meals, if he’d pick up his share of the groceries. He couldn’t imagine what sort of blackmail Liz had held over her to convince her to invite him.

“Why’s she doing it?” he’d asked Liz suspiciously. “I didn’t exactly charm the socks off her at the wedding.”

He’d meant it quite literally. He’d never before known a woman who wore bright yellow socks and blue tennis shoes with a green skirt and hot-pink T-shirt. Not even to the movies, much less to a wedding rehearsal. He shuddered at the memory. He should have known right then what this house would look like.

Liz had given him one of her serene smiles and said blithely, “Oh, you know how Ann is.”

He didn’t know. He didn’t even want to. Yet the fact remained, here he was, a couple of suitcases in the back of the truck along with three bags of groceries he’d picked up at the supermarket. Actually it was two bags of food and one of beer and sodas. After a hot day on the job, nothing was better than lying peacefully in a hammock sipping an ice-cold can of beer. The soda was for breakfast. The carbonation and caffeine got his blood circulating. The sugar content of the jelly doughnuts he ate along with it gave him energy. He could have used both right now.

With one last fortifying breath, he turned on the ignition and drove into a driveway with ruts so deep they jarred his teeth. He pulled the truck around to the side of the house. He’d climbed out and was in the process of trying to adjust all three bags of groceries in his arms when he was slammed broadside by something that hit him about knee-high. The bags went flying. Hank grabbed for the beer the way a dying man reaches for a lifeline. He knew in his gut he was going to need that beer, probably before the night was out.

When he and the bag of beer were upright—the groceries were strewn across the lawn—he looked down and saw a child of about three staring solemnly up at him. She had a thumb poked in her mouth and a frayed blanket dangling from her other hand. He only barely resisted the urge to moan. He had forgotten about the kids. More likely, he’d conveniently blocked them right out of his mind.

Hank really hated kids. They made him nervous. They aroused all sorts of odd feelings of inadequacy. They were noisy, demanding and messy. They asked endless, unanswerable questions. They caused nothing but worry for their parents, aside from turning perfectly enjoyable lifestyles upside down and inside out. Girls were even more of a mystery to him than boys. At least he’d been a boy once himself.

Still, he had to admit there was something appealing about this little girl. With her silver-blond hair curling in a wispy halo, she looked placid and innocent, as if she’d had absolutely nothing to do with virtually upending a man six times her size.

“Hi,” he said cautiously. It had been a long time since Todd’s son—his godson—had been this age, and he’d vowed to avoid Todd’s new baby until she could speak intelligently. He’d figured that was another twelve to fourteen years away. He stared at the child in front of him. Beyond hello, what else did you say to a three-year-old, especially one who still had a thumb tucked in her mouth and showed no inclination to communicate?

“Where’s your mommy?” he tried finally.

To his horror, tears welled up in the wide, blue eyes and the child took off at a run, dragging her thumb from her mouth long enough to let out a wail that would have wakened the dead.

Hank was just considering getting straight back into the pickup and bolting to the most expensive, tiniest condo he could find when a screen door slammed. The woman who’d loomed in his memory rounded a corner of the house at a run, her ankle-length purple skirt flapping, a butcher knife clutched threateningly in her raised hand. She skidded to a stop at the sight of him and slowly lowered the knife. Her furious expression calmed slightly.

There was nothing at all calm about his own reaction to the sight of her. His heart lurched with an astonishing thump. He dismissed the sensation at once as delayed panic. He’d rarely been confronted at the door by knife-wielding women. Surely that explained the surge of adrenaline that had his blood pumping fast and hard through his veins.

And yet… He took a good long look at her. Somehow all those uneven features he’d recalled had been rearranged into a face that was interesting, rather than plain, especially now with her color high. The tall, gaunt body, still dressed in an utterly absurd combination of colors and styles, seemed, for some peculiar reason, more appealing than he’d remembered. Her hair, still cropped short, suddenly seemed to suit her face with its feathery softness. It emphasized her eyes and those thick, sooty lashes. She looked…good. Damned good. Even with a knife in her hand.

He’d obviously lost his mind.

“Well, here you are,” Ann said briskly as she put down the knife and began methodically to gather up the groceries. It gave her something to do to cover the nervous, fluttery feeling that had suddenly assailed her without warning. Nabbing a box of jelly doughnuts, she regarded them disapprovingly, then stuffed them in the bag along with assorted snack foods that she absolutely refused to have within a five-mile radius of the kids except on special occasions. She would deal with Hank Riley’s dietary habits later, after she’d reconciled her memory of the obnoxious, arrogant man with the disconcertingly appealing sight of him.

“Sorry about Melissa,” she apologized distractedly, fingering a head of lettuce. Lettuce was good. The choke hold this bearded giant of a man seemed to have over her senses was not. She swallowed hard. “I gather she’s responsible for this.”

“If she’s about so high and partial to her thumb, she’s the one,” he acknowledged with a smile that made her stomach do an unexpected flip. “Did I frighten her or something? I asked where her mommy was and she let out a war cry that would have straightened the hair on Hitler’s head.”

Ann struggled with the unfamiliar sensations that continued to rampage through her, decided her panic at Melissa’s scream was to blame and reclaimed a bit of control.

“So that’s it,” she said, satisfied with the explanation for her nervousness and oblivious to Hank’s confusion.

He was regarding her oddly. “That’s what?”

She tried frantically to recall what he’d just said. Something about Melissa’s mother and Hitler? She wasn’t sure what the Nazi connection was, but she understood precisely what had happened when Hank had mentioned the child’s mother.

“I wondered what brought on all the tears. She came in crying about some man.”

“Which explains the butcher knife.”

She glanced down at the weapon she’d grabbed on her way out the door. It was lying at her feet. “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. In this day and age, I don’t suppose a woman can be too careful,” he said, reaching down to pick it up. “Since you didn’t use it on me, I gather you’ve decided I’m harmless.”

Harmless? No less than a pit of vipers. How had she forgotten that he had this strange effect on her? All she’d recalled after the wedding had been his infuriating habit of contradicting every opinion she held.

“Maybe I’d better explain about Melissa’s mother,” she said, clinging to a neutral topic. “The woman abandoned her a year ago, just took off without a word to anyone. A neighbor found Melissa all alone the next day. They say children adjust pretty easily, but Melissa hasn’t. She still wakes up in the middle of the night crying for her mother. Any reminder tends to set her off.”

Professional training kept her tone matter-of-fact, but she still seethed inside when she thought about it. “It’s beyond me how a mother could leave a child all alone like that. Anything could have happened to her. What if there’d been a fire? Good God, can you imagine?” she said, shuddering visibly. “Even waking up and being all alone would be enough to terrify a baby. When the social worker told me about it, I felt like going after the woman myself. No wonder Melissa’s not adjusting.”

Hank muttered what sounded like an indignant curse under his breath, then said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I guess I was just thinking of you as her mother.”

“We don’t do a lot of swearing around here,” she warned automatically. “The kids, well, some of them anyway, are at that impressionable age. As for Melissa, she calls me Ann. Some of the kids refer to me as Mother. It all depends on what they’re comfortable with. Since you’re going to be here awhile, I’ll give you a rundown on each of them, so you’ll understand how they ended up here. The older ones are pretty open about things, but the little ones are still a little sensitive.” She fingered a package of cupcakes, regarded them distastefully and sighed. “Then there’s Jason. He rarely talks at all.”

Hank didn’t seem to notice the fact that she couldn’t shut up. In fact, he looked decidedly uneasy. “How many are there?” he asked, as if he were inquiring about enemy troops just beyond a strategic hill.

“Five. Six. It depends on whether Tracy stays with friends after her classes at the junior college in Key West. Tonight they’re all here. Occasionally one of the kids who used to live here comes back for a visit.”

Hank, a man who struck her as big enough and tough enough to fear nothing, seemed to take a panicky step closer to his truck. He looked as though he wanted to escape. She could relate to the feeling. She’d felt that way since the instant she’d spotted him standing in the yard in faded jeans, a body-hugging T-shirt and sneakers. He hadn’t seemed nearly as devastating in the suits he’d worn the weekend of the wedding.

“I probably won’t see all that much of them,” he said, an edge of desperation in his voice. “I’ll be working pretty long hours.”

She waved aside the objection. “Nonetheless, it’ll be better if you know. Come on in now and I’ll show you around.”

She led him in through the kitchen, simply because it was closest. It was also a mess, as it always was by Sunday night after a weekend of having everyone at home. She saw Hank’s eyes widen at the sight of dishes stacked all over the counter and tried to view the clutter from the perspective of a bachelor who probably paid a maid to do his housework.

Toys were scattered all over the floor and her papers were strewn across the round oak table that could seat ten easily and usually was surrounded by that many or more, all trying to talk at once. It was chaotic, but she loved the happy confusion. She could understand, though, how it might seem daunting and disorganized to an outsider. She shrugged. He’d just have to get used to it.

“We have cleanup in another hour,” she said, stepping over a toy tank and rolling a tricycle out of their path as she plopped the groceries on top of the stove. “It’s hard to imagine now, but by the time we sit down to dinner, this room will be spotless. Look quick, though, because it’ll only be that way about twenty minutes.”

Hank was still standing uncertainly in the doorway. “Are you sure I’m not putting you out? I know you told Liz it would be okay, but…” He waved a hand around the room. “You seem to have enough on your hands.”

“Can you do your own laundry?”

“Yes, but…”

“Make your own bed?”

“Of course, but…”

“Are you any good at making coffee?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then it’s no problem.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ann regretted them. If he wanted to run for his life, she should have let him. She should have encouraged him.

When Liz had first approached her about helping Hank out, she’d been adamantly against it. The man was the epitome of everything she disliked in the male of the species. He was handsome in some indefinable way that made him all the more dangerous. He had the powerful shoulders and chest of a lumberjack. He managed to have a light tan on slightly freckled skin that by all rights should only turn beet-red in the sun. His hair and beard were a golden shade just shy of red. He had laughing blue eyes that could undress a woman in ten seconds flat, usually before the introductions were completed. He was bold and brash and irritating. His treatment of women had all the finesse of the caveman’s, yet they flocked to do his bidding. With a reaction that was part astonishment, part dismay, she’d observed his effect on them at the wedding.

To top it off, his opinions on most subjects were diametrically opposed to her own. At the rehearsal dinner they’d been barely civil to each other. Their introduction had quickly escalated from hello into an argument about something so inane she couldn’t even recall it now. It might have had something to do with the hors d’oeuvres. Liz had witnessed the clashes with interest, which made her plea to Ann for help all the more unbelievable. Ann realized later it should have made her suspicious at once.

“Think of him as a project,” Liz had challenged. “You’ll have weeks to work on him.”

“I have six kids staying with me, plus a full-time career. I don’t need a project. I need a maid.”

“You need a man.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ann said, just catching on to the direction of her friend’s devious thoughts. “Just because you’re crazy in love and radiantly happy doesn’t mean that everyone aspires to the same state of marital bliss. I do not need a man. I especially do not need a man who thinks that watching wrestling is cultural.”

Liz had laughed. “Hank does not watch wrestling.”

“Okay, maybe it was tractor pulls.”

“You’re just a coward.”

“Hardly. I just don’t have time to waste trying to rehabilitate a thirty-seven-year-old man. It’s too late.”

“You’re a psychologist. You know perfectly well it’s never too late to reform someone.”

“If they want to be reformed. What gives you the idea that Hank Riley has any desire to change?”

“Think of it as an experiment. You could probably get a great research paper out of it.”

“You’re stretching, Liz.”

“I’m desperate,” Liz had admitted finally. “I already told him you’d do it.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was a calculated risk. When have you ever turned down a stray?”

“Hank Riley has a home to go to. From everything you’ve told me and my own observations, he has more women to look after him than Hugh Hefner. He does not need me.”

Liz merely smiled. Ann found the reaction irritating. And, unfortunately, challenging.

“Maybe you’re the one I should be trying to reform,” Ann had finally said with a sigh of resignation. “Send him on. I suppose it won’t kill Jason and Paul to share a room for a couple of weeks. I’ll put Hank in Jason’s room. It’ll probably give him nightmares with all those awful sci-fi posters on the walls.” That thought had cheered her considerably.

Liz, however, had looked very guilty. It had left her virtually tongue-tied for just long enough to panic Ann.

“Okay, Liz. What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Now don’t be upset,” Liz pleaded. “You can still back out if you really want to.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Lord. It must be even worse than I thought.” She peeked. “Okay. Out with the rest of it.”

“It’s just that it’s more like a couple of months, actually. Maybe three or four.”

Ann had protested loudly at that, but she’d known she was beaten. There were moments when she’d even convinced herself it would be just fine. It would be good for the boys to have a male role model around. Not that Hank was the one she would have chosen, of course, but a little of that macho nature of his might be okay for them for a short time. He could take them fishing, play baseball. She could do those things perfectly well herself, but she knew in her heart it probably wasn’t the same. Whole textbooks had been written on a boy’s need for male bonding.

Now that Hank was actually here in the kitchen, though, she wondered. He seemed a little overwhelming somehow. At the wedding, he had infuriated her with such frequency that she’d barely noticed that he had an interesting effect on her pulse. She’d assumed that it had been part of her constant exasperation with him, but he’d done nothing in the past five minutes to flat out annoy her and her heart was reacting peculiarly just the same. Maybe it was the sight of all those empty calories—doughnuts, potato chips, corn curls.

“These have to go,” she said, taking a handful of packages and reaching for the garbage can.

Hank snatched them away from her, an expression of horror on his face. Indignation radiated from every considerable inch of him. “Are you out of your everlovin’ mind, woman? Liz said you wanted groceries. I brought groceries.”

“You brought junk. The kids will all be hyperactive if they eat that.”

“So tell ’em not to touch the stuff. I’ll sacrifice. I’ll eat every last chip myself.”

“You can’t tell children not to eat foods like that, then put them right smack in front of them.”

“I’ll hide every bit of it in my room.”

“See,” she said, waving a finger under his nose. “That is exactly what I mean. You’re addicted to that junk. That’s what it does to you.”

His blue eyes took on a challenging glint. “I enjoy it. I am not addicted to it. There’s a difference.”

“Smokers enjoy their cigarettes, too. That doesn’t mean they’re any less addicted.”

He took one step toward her, which put them toe-to-toe. Close enough for her to smell the minty freshness of his breath and the clean, masculine scent of his soap. Near enough to kiss. Oh, dear heaven.

“The food stays,” he said softly.

That gleam in his eyes turned dangerous. It might have been a warning about those damn corn curls, but she had a feeling it was something else entirely. She wasn’t particularly crazy about the alternative. She took a step backward, then lifted her chin to counter any impression of retreat.

“Keep them out of sight of the children.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

The response was polite enough, but the bold and brash tone made her want to slap him. Hard. She was shocked by the intensity of her desire to strike that smug, unrepentant expression off his face. She was a trained psychologist, a woman who believed in rational thought and the importance of calm communication. She did not believe in spankings for childish misbehavior, much less in beating up on people just because they infuriated her.

“Anything else?” he inquired.

She bit back a whole string of charges about his attitude. He was Liz’s friend. Well, more precisely he was Todd’s friend, but she would tolerate him just the same. He was only a temporary boarder, after all. With any luck he’d chafe at the restrictions of living with them and be gone by the following weekend.

“Dinner’s at seven. We all help. House rule.”

“No problem.”

“There are others. Rules are important, especially for kids who aren’t used to having anyone around who cares enough to enforce them. I’ll explain them as the occasions arise.” She tried her best to make it sound as though the household adhered to strict military discipline.

“Whatever you say.”

She hadn’t expected him to be quite so agreeable. For some reason, it increased her irritation. She nodded curtly. “Then I’ll show you to your room.”

Before they could even gather up his suitcases, though, there was another of those bloodcurdling yelps from the far side of the house. Ann dropped the bag she was holding and took off at a run.

“Does everyone in this house do that?” Hank said, sprinting after her.

“Only when disaster strikes.” She hoped that sounded sufficiently ominous to terrify him.

“Does it strike often?” he inquired with what sounded more like curiosity than panic.

“If it makes you nervous—” she began.

“It does not make me nervous. I’m just worried it might be bad for their lungs.”

“Their lungs are very healthy, except maybe for Paul’s. He’s had a few too many colds this winter.” She paused in midstep. “I wonder why that is?”

Hank looked confused. “Why what is?”

“Why Paul was the only one to get so many colds?”

“Is this something you really need to figure out now? Shouldn’t we find out why someone screamed?”

“Right.” She turned a corner into the west wing of the house. “My guess is that the tub is overflowing. Sometimes the faucet leaks and the drain stops up. When both things happen together, well, you can imagine.”

As if to prove her point, her sneaker-clad feet hit a wet patch of floor and shot out from under her. Hank grabbed her from behind and held her upright. She enjoyed the sensation of his hands on her waist far too much. She was almost disappointed when he released her. It was not a good sign.

“Stay here,” he ordered in the tone of a man used to taking charge. That tone snapped her back to reality. She immediately bristled when he added, “I’ll take care of it.”

As if she needed him to, she thought with well-honed defensiveness. “I can handle it,” she said, stepping past him and immediately skidding again.

“Stay put before you break your neck.”

Leaving her sputtering indignantly, he waded off through water that was already soaking the hallway rugs. She glared after him. She could either make an utter ass of herself by arguing or she could do the pragmatic thing and help. Life had taught her the importance of being pragmatic.

She grabbed up the rugs and took them outside, then ran back for a mop. She was trying to stem the flow of water when Hank emerged from the bathroom with Melissa and Tommy wrapped in towels and tucked awkwardly under his arms like a couple of sacks of grain. He looked decidedly nervous. He handed them over as if he couldn’t get rid of them fast enough.

“I’m going to get a couple of tools out of the truck. You might want to find some dry clothes for these two.”

“Where’s Tracy?”

“I left her figuratively holding her finger in the dike. Other than her hysterical scream, she keeps a pretty cool head in a crisis. This could have been a lot worse.”

“She’s used to it. The tub overflows about twice a week.”

Melissa and Tommy, who’d seemed tongue-tied until now, began chattering enthusiastically about splashing through the water. Unfortunately it had become their favorite form of recreation. Ann had a suspicion they were secretly delighted every time the blasted tub overflowed. Hank listened to their excited stories and shook his head.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you to call a plumber?”

It had. She’d dismissed it as too costly. She was not about to admit that to him. “The thought has crossed my mind, but I thought I could handle it myself.”

“If you handle it any more effectively, you’ll have to replace all these wooden floors.”

His sarcasm set her teeth on edge. “Mr. Riley, may I remind you that you are a guest in this house. I do not need you to come in here and start telling me how to run my life or fix my house.”

“Any more than I need you telling me what to eat,” he retorted, matching her hands-on-hips stance. She had to admit he was better at it than she was. He was also grinning, which was not one bit like what she felt like doing.

“Okay,” she snapped back. “Eat what you darn well please.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll fix my own darn tub.”

His smile widened. Then to her amazement, he backed down so fast it left her head reeling. “As you like,” he said pleasantly. He waded off through the water, leaving her gaping after him. She was left with a throatful of angry words and no target at which to spew them.

“Where are you going?” she shouted at his retreating back.

He turned around and shot her a lazy, carefree grin. “I thought I’d have a beer. What about you? Want one? I could pour it while you’re working on the tub.”

“Go to…”

He halted her in midsentence by gesturing toward the suddenly silent, wide-eyed children standing beside her. “Tsk, tsk, Annie. No swearing in front of the children. Isn’t that what you told me?”

As he disappeared from view, she wondered exactly how traumatic it would be for the kids to watch her take a shotgun to their houseguest.

Chapter 2

Ann was horrified. The serene, in-control woman she had always thought herself to be did not yell at the top of her lungs in anger. She did not consider using a shotgun to settle an argument. For that matter, until this afternoon, she’d never lifted a butcher knife except to slice a turkey. What was Hank Riley doing to her?

Bewildered and still fuming, she felt a tug on her skirt and looked down into Tommy’s dark, troubled eyes. She was promptly overcome by guilt on top of everything else. She knew how much violence Tommy had endured in his first three years in war-torn Afghanistan. For the two years that he’d been with her, she’d tried very hard to protect him from irrational outbursts. Even with seven very different people in the house, she’d been able to maintain an atmosphere of relative calm. Her own temper was blessedly even.

Until today, she reminded herself. In less than an hour Hank Riley had shaken her normal aplomb to its very foundations. That made her very nervous. She knew perfectly well that any man who aroused that much fury could probably arouse an equal amount of passion.

When hell freezes over, she declared, just as Tommy tugged again and asked in his softly accented voice, “Is he the plumber?”

“No, he is not the damn plumber,” she snapped irritably, then immediately felt contrite. She hugged the dark-haired boy who was watching her with eyes that were far too serious.

“Sorry, baby,” she said to Tommy as Melissa happily singsonged, “Bad word. Bad word.”

Ann considered uttering a whole string of them. Instead she patted the child on her blond head and admitted, “That’s right. That is a bad word and I don’t ever want to hear any of you using it. You two go on to your rooms and put on some dry clothes.”

“Want to swim,” Melissa protested, her face screwing up in readiness for a good cry.

“You will not swim for an entire week if you two are not in your rooms by the time I count to three,” Ann said very quietly.

They recognized the no-nonsense tone. Melissa’s pout faded at once. Tommy was already scampering down the hall, favoring the leg that had been shattered two years ago by guerrilla gunfire. Ann sighed as she watched them go. Another crisis averted. Barely.

“Ann.” Tracy’s plaintive voice reached her. “I can’t stay like this much longer.”

“Oh, good heavens!” She ran into the bathroom and found Tracy exactly as Hank had left her, with her finger stuck at an awkward angle in the leaking faucet.

“Didn’t the man even have sense enough to cut off the water?” she grumbled, turning back toward the door. The man in question was standing in her way, arms folded across a chest that could have blocked for offense on the Miami Dolphins.

“The water’s off,” he said, apparently unperturbed by her scowl or her denigrating comment.

“Oh.”

She glanced at Tracy. “You can let go now.”

Tracy shook her head. “That’s just it. I can’t. My finger’s stuck.”

With an impatient, you-should-have-known glance in Ann’s direction, Hank stepped through the remaining puddles and sat down next to Tracy on the edge of the tub. Using a bar of soap, he worked Tracy’s finger loose from the faucet. Ann was astounded by his teasing reassurances. She was even more startled by his gentleness. When Tracy’s swollen finger was freed at last, he wiped it with a damp cloth, inspected it for cuts, then thanked her.

“You did a great job. Without your quick thinking, this could have been a lot worse.”

Tracy beamed. Ann felt an odd fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t seen a smile like that on the girl’s face in all the years she’d lived there. Usually Tracy was far too quiet and unresponsive, except when she was taking care of the littlest kids. Her inability to get through to Tracy worried her. The ease with which Hank had astonished her.

“Honey, are you okay?” Ann asked, kneeling down in front of her, oblivious to the fact that her skirt was dragging in the puddles.

Tracy turned the radiant smile on her. “Sure.” She held out her hand. “Not even a scratch.”

“Great. Would you go check on Melissa and Tommy for me? After that try to get Paul and David to start cleaning up the kitchen. It’s almost time to start dinner. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure, Ann.” She looked hesitantly at Hank. “Are you sticking around?”

“Yep.” He shot a challenging look at Ann. “At least through dinner.”

When Tracy had gone, Ann got to her feet and quickly began mopping up the floor, her soaked skirt slapping soggily against her legs. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Hank, who was still perched on the edge of the tub fiddling with the faucet.

“You were very good with her,” she finally conceded. “Thanks.”

He didn’t look up. “She seems like a good kid,” he murmured, then began working a snakelike device down into the drain.

“Beware of calling an eighteen-year-old a kid. That’s an offense considered on a par with listening to phone calls or denying use of the car.”

“Umm.” He gave a tug on his probe, which emerged with a small plastic dinosaur. Ann recognized it as one of Tommy’s collection from the zoo. Hank shook his head, tossed the toy aside and went back to poking around. “Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

“I know teenagers pretty well. I’m not so sure about Tracy.”

“She’s not yours?”

Ann shook her head, instantly feeling a familiar defensiveness steal over her. “None of them are mine, not in the biological sense. I thought Liz explained.”

“Only in the vaguest terms. She said you had several children you’d taken in. I assumed that some of the others might be yours.”

“No. I’ve never been married.”

That brought his head up, eyes twinkling. He gave her a grin that was only one quirk of the lips short of being a leer. “From what I hear that’s not a requirement.”

“It is for me,” she said stiffly.

He studied her intently. “I see.”

“I doubt it.”

“Is your sexual hang-up something we should explore?” he inquired in a tone that teased and infuriated.

“I do not have a sexual hang-up,” she said with slow emphasis, her temper reaching an immediate boil again. “And don’t try playing psychologist with me, Mr. Riley. I’m the expert, remember?”

The grin faded. “How could I forget.”

She listened for an edge of sarcasm, but couldn’t detect one. An irrational part of her wished that grin were back, though.

“Tell me about Tracy,” he said.

The ease with which he switched from provocative teasing to less dangerous turf irritated her almost as much as the teasing itself. Okay, she’d be the first to admit that she’d gotten out of the habit of taking sexual banter in stride, but she wasn’t exactly the prude he’d implied. She was inclined to tell him just that, but reminded herself that she owed him no explanations. Instead she took the safe out he’d offered and said succinctly, “Tracy had some problems at home.”

That was like saying World War II had been a small military skirmish. At the memory of the psychological and physical pain Tracy had suffered at the hands of an abusive father and a lousy system, Ann felt a familiar weariness steal through her. Apparently Hank caught her shift in mood.

“Bad, huh?” he said with quick understanding and a level of compassion that surprised her.

She stared into eyes that invited confidences and offered strength. “Lousy,” she admitted. “Though I confess at times I forget just how bad it was for her. She tends to keep it all bottled up under a tough facade. Nothing I’ve done seems to get through to her.”

“Was she a runaway?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish she had been. Maybe there would have been fewer scars.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, glancing up. Blue eyes rebuked her. “All you have to do is ride around a few areas in Miami to see what happens to kids on their own too young.”

She sighed. “I know you’re right. Loss of innocence is pretty crummy at any age, but I doubt if Tracy ever had any innocence. She had a father who…well, I’m sure you get the idea. He wasn’t fit to raise pigs. He cast a long shadow. She’s been away from there for nearly five years now and she’s still not very trusting around men. In fact, she’s pretty wary of all adults, probably because she thinks we all failed her.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Not for a minute. That doesn’t make it any easier when she’s treating me like I’m the enemy, when all I want to do is help. Occasionally it wears me down.”

“She’s stuck around, hasn’t she? You must be doing something right.”

“Maybe,” she said, though she was pleased by his observation. If he could see it, maybe she had been slowly winning Tracy’s trust, after all. Though the girl often stormed out with a chip on her shoulder, she always returned and she always abided by the rules. Of all of them, in fact, Tracy was the one who seemed most in need of the reassurance that someone cared what she did—or didn’t do. How odd that it had taken this virtual stranger with the penetrating gaze and quicksilver mood changes to make her realize that.

Suddenly the bathroom seemed too confining. Or perhaps it was simply that Hank’s body seemed too masculine, too overwhelming, in the intimate space. It reminded Ann in an unrelenting way that she was a woman, something she all too often allowed herself to forget during jam-packed days of counseling and surrogate mothering.

“Why don’t you go on and get settled?” she suggested, feeling a sudden need to reclaim some of her own space. “I’ll finish cleaning up in here.”

“I want to check out these pipes first.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call the plumber in the morning.”

“Why should you do that? I’m here now.”

“Then I’ll pay you.”

“You will not.”

Ann’s temper flared irrationally at his stubborn insistence. “Dammit, I will not have you coming in here challenging my independence!”

To her chagrin, Hank laughed. The sound echoed off the tile walls. “Is that what I’m doing? It must be on shaky ground.”

Fury teased at her insides before she, too, finally chuckled. The tension in her shoulders eased. “Okay. That’s a slight overstatement. But you do need to understand that I’m used to being on my own. It’s important to me.”

“I’ll try not to trample on your pride, but you need to understand that for as long as I’m here I want to do my share. The kids have chores. Why shouldn’t I?”

She lifted her chin to a defiant tilt. “The kids are staying,” she pointed out. “You’re not.”

The words were spoken flatly, with absolutely no hint of feeling, but Hank took one look at Ann’s expression and realized that a whole world of emotion was behind them. In the depths of her eyes he saw stark evidence of feelings he couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Abandonment. Hurt. Betrayal. Had they been her own? Or had she just seen too much in her life, too many innocent children wronged, too many hearts trampled on? Being a psychologist might equip her with a depth of understanding of human foibles, but the nonstop listening and advising had to take its toll. As he watched, she visibly withdrew, gathering her strength, shrouding her vulnerabilities.

The ease with which she did it saddened him. For a fraction of a second Hank wanted to take the tall, stoic woman in his arms. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to challenge her easy acceptance of the fact that he was here today, but very likely gone tomorrow. He wanted to promise her a life filled with warmth and love and commitment. He wanted to tell her that the world really wasn’t such a lousy place. Ironically, he wasn’t sure he believed that himself. Maybe, in the end, he and Ann Davies were two of a kind, both too cynical to believe in happily ever after.

So he didn’t argue. He didn’t hold her. He didn’t do a damn thing, except what he did best: he ran. He turned away from her emotional needs and tackled the practical ones. He went to work on the drain again.

After several minutes of thick, increasingly awkward silence, she left the room. Hank didn’t look up. He said nothing.

When she’d gone, the faintest scent of strawberries lingered. It taunted his senses in a way that expensive French perfumes never had. He wondered if the taste of strawberries was on her lips. The possibility was provocative. Maddening. He had the oddest feeling, now that she was out of reach, that he’d made a terrible mistake in not acting on impulse and kissing the woman senseless. Maybe once he’d done it, her odd grip on him would loosen.

His hand slipped and his knuckles scraped along the jagged inside edge of the drain. He cursed as blood welled slowly. He ransacked the medicine cabinet for antiseptic and dumped it on, grateful for the pain. For an instant, anyway, it blocked out his unexpected, inexplicable sense of loss.

It was going to be a very long couple of months.

It was a very long evening. There was absolutely no gracious way Hank could think of to get out of joining the whole unorthodox, noisy family for dinner on his very first night. He figured it was a test contrived by an irritated Maker. He barely passed. His nerves were so tightly wound by the time they finished saying grace and passed the heaping platters of food that his shoulders felt as if he’d been lifting weights for an hour.

He discovered that there was no such thing as conversation, much less seductive intimacy, at a table with six children. There were pokes. There were grumbled complaints about vegetables. There were muttered gripes about the choice of baked rather than fried chicken. There were threats of banishment if one single spoonful of mashed potatoes was actually flung across the table. There were promises of dessert for those who finished their glazed carrots. And there was intense bargaining over dishwashing duties. Ann presided over it all with Madonna-like serenity.

Hank watched her and marveled. While his muscles knotted at the confusion, she seemed to thrive on it. Her cheeks glowed. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter. She was as adept as an experienced referee in the midst of a goal-line pileup. She knew exactly what everyone needed at any given second and provided it. Platters and bowls came and went with the precision of a banquet caterer. No argument was allowed to erupt into anger. She teased. She soothed. She tolerated spilled milk and gravy stains with equanimity, but drew the line at food fights.

“Enough,” she said, unable to hide a grin as David—or was it Jason? Nope, Jason was the one who never talked—promised to stuff cold potatoes down Tracy’s throat if she dared to reveal some secret he’d entrusted her with. Ann moved the potatoes safely out of reach.

“You are such a jerk,” Tracy countered with a look of supreme disgust for the red-haired boy beside her. “Why would I want to tell anyone that you—”

“Tracy!” he threatened, stretching to try to get a grip on the bowl that Ann had just moved. An embarrassed flush spread beneath his freckles.

Tracy grinned back. “Gotcha.”

“Mom, make her promise,” David implored.

“Not me,” Ann said, getting up and beginning to clear the table. “You two work it out or leave the table.”

David moved his chair with a thump. Tracy propped her elbow on the table and settled her chin in her hand. Her expression of exaggerated innocence amused Hank. He waited for David’s next move.

“What’ll it cost me?” he said resignedly, sinking back in his chair.

Tracy reacted indignantly. “I am not blackmailing you, you little twerp. Jeez, what’s wrong with you? I was only teasing.”

Ann paused behind Tracy’s chair and put a warning hand on her shoulder. Hank watched as the girl struggled with her anger. “I’m sorry,” she muttered finally.

David blinked at the apology, then stared at the table. “Yeah, me, too,” he mumbled.

“Now how about dessert?” Ann said cheerfully, ending the brief moment of tension. “Who wants strawberries with ice cream?”

“Me.”

“Me.”

The chorus came from around the table. Hank found himself chiming in, though the thought of strawberries brought all sorts of dangerous memories to mind. “I’ll help,” he said, feeling a sudden need to move, a surprising desire to be an active participant, rather than an observer.

“Not tonight,” Ann said, her gaze pinning him where he was.

“You told me everyone helped,” he reminded her, wondering if this was yet another attempt to set him apart, to remind him that he wasn’t a permanent fixture.

She grinned. “We have another rule. No one helps on the first night here.”

“Yeah, but after tonight, watch out,” Jason warned in a sullen tone. They were the only words he’d spoken since the start of the meal. “Mom’s schedules make the army look like summer camp.”

“Who’d like Jason’s share of dessert?” Ann queried lightly.

Though he’d been slouched down in his chair, feigning disinterest, Jason immediately scrambled to his feet and reached for the bowl.

“Hey, hand it over.”

A grin on her face, Ann held the bowl just beyond his reach. Wiry and swift, he tried to grab it, but she made a move as smooth as any quarterback could have performed and passed it over to David at the table. Jason didn’t waste time bemoaning the loss. He simply nabbed the one remaining bowl on the counter, and clutching it securely to his chest, went back to his place at the table. The lightening of his mood surprised Hank.

“That’s mine,” Ann said.

“Oh, really,” Jason said with exaggerated innocence.

“Give that back this minute.”

“Gee, Mom, are you sure you should be eating all this rich food? There’s gotta be cholesterol in this stuff, right? We wouldn’t want to watch you die of clogged arteries or something,” he said in a way that brought a laugh bubbling up from deep inside Hank. She glared at the two of them, though he was sure he detected a hint of delight as she watched Jason interacting like the rest of them.

“It’s really frozen yogurt,” she admitted with a look of supreme satisfaction.

“Oh, yuck.” David groaned.

“What do you mean, ‘oh, yuck’?” Ann retorted. “You ate every bit of it.”

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. Next time I take you all out for frozen yogurt, I expect a few less protests.” She scowled at Hank and Jason, who were still laughing. “As for you guys, tomorrow the two of you are on KP and I expect something healthier than hot dogs.”

“Hamburgers,” Hank suggested hopefully.

She gave him a wilting look that relegated hamburgers to the same junk heap that contained corn curls and potato chips.

“I will not fix steamed vegetables,” Hank said staunchly.

That drew a chorus of cheers. He turned to Jason and said impulsively, “Think we can catch some fish tomorrow?”

Jason regarded him hesitantly, his brown eyes suddenly hooded and suspicious. There was an instant’s tension before he finally said, “Yeah, I guess.”

Ann ignored the hesitation and regarded the two of them with pointed skepticism, then turned to Tracy. “If they’re not back here with the fish by five-thirty, you might defrost that chicken in the freezer.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Hank said.

“I’d be delighted to have you prove me wrong,” she retorted cheerfully as she began clearing the dessert plates.

Hank felt his blood stir at the challenge in her voice and the look in her eyes. It was a look that taunted and teased like a delicate spring breeze. No other woman should dare a look like that unless she meant it, but Hank knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ann didn’t. In fact, he seriously questioned whether she was even aware of its effect on him. He’d never met a woman less interested in using her femininity to lure a man.

Acting on an irresistible impulse, his arm circled her waist and he pulled her down until their eyes were even. Hers were startled and definitely wary.

“You’re playing with fire, lady,” he warned in a low voice, not meant to be overheard, though of course it was. He released her slowly, watching as the color heightened in her cheeks, enjoying the sudden, sharp catch of her breath as giggles erupted around the table.

And, then, he felt like a heel. The woman had done nothing but welcome him into her home, and here he was blatantly taunting her right smack in front of her family. He was deliberately trying to seduce her, when he knew perfectly well they were about as suited as a porcupine and an armadillo. When would he learn that not every challenge had to be taken, not every bet won? When, he thought in disgust, would he learn to walk away before someone got hurt?

This time, he promised, glancing around at six expectant young faces. Definitely this time.

Then he made the mistake of looking into those blue, blue eyes again and his pulse ran wild. Common sense and decency fled, chased by something much more primitive.

Oh, hell. Maybe not this time after all.

Chapter 3

As exhausted as if she’d never once closed her eyes, Ann dragged herself out of bed when the alarm went off at six and stumbled into the bathroom. Bleary-eyed, she stared at her pale reflection in the merciless mirror. She looked like hell and felt ten times worse. What was wrong with her? She usually enjoyed getting up early. It gave her an hour to herself before the house filled with noise and her day became guided by other people’s demands. Today, though, she felt like crawling back into bed, pulling the covers up over her head and staying there until Hank Riley moved out. Unfortunately that was impossible.

Splashing ice-cold water on her face revived her somewhat. She ran her fingers through her hair in lieu of combing it, then pulled on a pair of running shorts and a shapeless sweatshirt. When she’d added her socks and sneakers, she wandered into the kitchen, put the decaf into the coffeemaker and then began a series of warm-up exercises. She groaned with every single stretch.

Her body was tight as a drum, probably due entirely to the tension set off by that look in Hank’s eyes when he’d wrapped his muscular arm around her waist and deliberately taunted her at dinner the night before. Most men did not look at her as if she were a tasty morsel of prime rib and they’d been on a starvation diet. Knowing that Hank probably never looked at any woman in any other way didn’t seem to stop the palpitations.

A long, strenuous run was just what she needed to take her mind off the man’s invasion of her home. She stepped outside and took a deep, reviving breath of the salty air. The sun was just beginning to lift over the edge of the horizon. It would be another hour before it began to burn off the morning fog. For now it was like being all alone in the world. A sense of peacefulness stole over her.

“You’re up early.” Hank’s voice, low and seductive, emerged eerily from the mist. Ann’s just-loosened muscles immediately went taut again. She just barely resisted the desire to curse.

“I’m going running,” she replied briskly instead, stepping off the porch. Waving in the general direction of the house, she added, “Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast, if you don’t have time to wait for the rest of us.”

She took off at a slow jog. Instead of taking the hint, however, Hank fell into step beside her. She heard the clank of a can as he tossed it in the direction of the porch. Soda? For breakfast? Good God, the man would be dead before his fortieth birthday.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Would it matter if I did?”

“It might. Try me.”

“Stay,” she ordered as authoritatively as if he were a resistant puppy. He’d obviously had no obedience training. He stayed right beside her.

“I guess that answers that,” she said with a sigh. She glanced sideways and noted that he was wearing a University of Miami Hurricanes sweatshirt that had clearly been through several seasons. The neckline had been stretched, the sleeves cut out. His cutoff jeans revealed powerful legs, corded with muscles. For a man who ate garbage, he looked awfully solid. And strong. And tempting. She dragged her gaze away.

“How far do you usually run?” Hank asked.

“Five miles.”

He uttered a choking sound. Ann grinned. Despite his awesome physique, she doubted if Hank Riley ever ran farther than the corner grocery to grab another six-pack. She deliberately picked up her pace. He easily lengthened his stride to match hers.

“Do you do this every morning?” he asked.

“Just about.”

“Ever do a marathon?”

“I used to. Now I don’t have the time to train properly.”

Hank muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t run,” he said, confirming her suspicion. She figured that gave him maybe another mile before he started huffing and puffing.

“I do work out at the gym every day, though,” he said, sending her hopes plummeting. “I was going to look for a place down here, but maybe I’ll just go running with you instead. I hate to exercise alone, don’t you?”

Actually Ann had always considered the solitude the height of heaven. To declare that now, though, would only lead to all sorts of speculation on Hank’s part. She could tell he was grinning at her. She glanced over. Yep, the smirk was in place all right. There was also a disconcerting gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her from head to toe, lingering an unnecessarily long time on her bare legs.

“You have great legs,” he observed with the authoritative tone of a connoisseur.

Ann could feel the heat begin to rise and it had nothing to do with the exercise. If he expected her to thank him for the compliment, he could wait from now till she won the Boston Marathon.

“Why do you always cover them up with those long skirts?” he persisted.

She frowned at the implied criticism. “I happen to like long skirts.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to have a reason?”

“In the overall scheme of life, probably not. As a psychologist, though, I’d think you’d be a little curious about your motivations.”

“Long skirts are comfortable.”

“And concealing.”

“I am not trying to conceal anything,” she said adamantly.

“I hope not. With legs like yours…”

“I do not want to talk about my legs.”

“So it does make you uncomfortable when men find them attractive?”

“It does not!”

He was laughing at her again. “I thought so,” he said with that infuriatingly self-satisfied tone that made her want to rip the hairs of his beard out one by one.

Ann finished her run ten minutes faster than usual. She’d run, in fact, as though she were being chased by the devil himself. All in all, she figured it was an apt analogy.

Hank was late. In fact, he’d been running late ever since he’d gone jogging with Ann. He’d skipped breakfast to try to catch up, but that lost half hour in the morning plagued him the rest of the day.

It had been worth it, though. The discovery that the woman had an absolutely knockout body under all those layers of clothes had practically taken his breath away. He hadn’t been able to get the image of those slender, well-shaped legs, the smooth white skin and the subtle bounce of her breasts out of his mind. He’d lost a good ten minutes of every hour daydreaming about her. He’d wasted another five cursing himself because of it.

Now he was running behind for his fishing date with Jason. He’d promised to meet him at four, but at three-thirty the construction crew started balking over the quality of some of the materials that had been delivered that morning. Hank went with them to check up on the complaints and found they were valid. The materials were obviously an inferior grade. Whether it was a simple mistake or an outright attempt to defraud the company, it meant a waste of time and money to correct. Had it not been caught, it could have been disastrous down the line. It was the sort of corner-cutting he and Todd had never tolerated on one of their jobs.

Furious, he spent the next hour on the phone trying to reach the supplier, whose assistant was amazingly adept at evasion. No doubt she’d had a lot of practice. He slammed the phone down for the fifth time, then glanced at the clock. It was already four-thirty. He picked up the phone again and called Miami, this time for Todd.

“Do me a favor, would you, and see if you can straighten this mess out,” he requested when he reached his partner.

“I’ll try, but you’ve dealt with this guy before. Can’t you get anywhere with him?”

“I might be able to if I spent the next hour hanging around waiting for him to get back to me, but I have an appointment.”

“One that’s more important than this?”

Hank hesitated. He could understand Todd’s amazement. In all the years they’d known each other, Hank had never walked out in the middle of a fight. He actually enjoyed sparring with the more difficult personalities.

Before he could think of an adequate response, Todd demanded, “Okay, buddy, what’s up down there?”

Hank evaded. “Nothing.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got a heavy date at five in the afternoon.”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled. He was used to the teasing about his active social life, but today it made him even more irritable than usual. He’d have hung up if he hadn’t known that Todd would only call back with more amused taunts. As a recently reformed ladies’ man himself, Todd’s wit could be particularly barbed and uncannily accurate.

“What, then?” he was asking now.

“I’m going fishing.”

Todd’s hoot of laughter could have been heard clear to Marathon without benefit of the phone line. Hank bristled. “What’s so damn funny about that?” he growled.

“The last time you went fishing, you got seasick. You swore you’d never go near a boat again unless it was the size of the biggest liner in Carnival’s fleet.”

“I’m not going in a boat. I’m going to stand on a dock.”

“Ah-ha,” Todd said slowly. “It’s all beginning to make sense. As I recall, Ann loves to fish. Did she talk you into this?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you would never decide to spend the evening this way on your own, but with a woman involved, now that’s another story entirely.”

“Actually, it was not Ann’s idea. Not exactly anyway. I’m in charge of dinner tonight. Since she turned down hamburgers and we had chicken last night, that left fish and if I don’t get out of here in the next ten minutes, it’s going to be too dark for me to see to bait the damn hook.”

“You could stop at the fish market.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, I promised Jason.”

“Jason?”

“One of the kids.”

“I see. Sounds domestic.”

“Cut it out, Todd. Will you call the supplier back or not?”

“I’ll call him.”

“Thanks.”

“Hank?”

“Yes?”

“The fish market’s right on the highway. You can’t miss it.”

“Go to hell, buddy.” He slammed the phone down on another hoot of laughter. He was still muttering about Todd’s uncalled-for glee when he pulled into the driveway at the house. Tracy was sitting on the steps watching Tommy and Melissa play on the swings that hung from the branches of the banyan tree.

“You’re late,” she announced.

“I know. Where’s Jason?”

She shrugged. “He got tired of waiting.”

“Damn.” For some reason, Jason’s attitude the night before had made him nervous. He’d been counting on this time alone with him to see if his uneasiness was justified.

“He took a fishing pole with him, though. Try across the street. There’s a dock over there.”

“Any more poles around here?”

“Ann’s is by the kitchen door. Right over there,” she said, pointing behind her.

“Thanks.” He found the pole and was halfway around the house when he looked back and saw Tracy staring dejectedly at the ground. He realized then that she’d looked just as down when he’d driven up. With Ann not due home for quite a while, he couldn’t bring himself to walk off and leave her that way.

He came back, dug around in the tackle box for a minute and asked casually, “You okay?”

She glanced up, looking surprised by the question. Then her gaze shifted down again. “Yeah, sure.”

“No school today?”

“Yeah. I went.”

There was an odd, flat note in her voice. He couldn’t quite recognize it, but it disturbed him. He sat down beside her. Uncomfortable at being cast in the role of confidant, he searched for the right question to ask a sensitive teenager who was practically a stranger. He opted for being direct. “Did something happen?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

He recognized the evasion. “Which means something did, but you don’t want to talk about it?”

That drew a slight smile. “I guess.”

“Okay, fair enough,” he said, respecting her need for privacy, even though her mood worried him. “Sometimes things don’t seem quite so awful once you’ve talked them out. Keep that in mind, okay? Ann’s a pretty good listener from all I hear and I’m willing to give it a shot, too, if you need somebody as a sounding board.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Reluctant to leave her and still hoping that she might unburden herself, he sat there for another couple of minutes watching as Paul came racing out of the house and started shooting baskets. David hovered in the doorway.

“Hey, David,” he called out. “Why don’t you get out there and challenge him? I’ll bet you’re every bit as good at basketball as he is.”

David shook his head.

“He doesn’t play much,” Tracy explained. “Ann says it’s because he got kicked out of so many foster homes for being too much trouble. He was always getting hurt and stuff.”

Hank was shocked. “But that’s what boys do.”

“I know, but some foster parents don’t want to be bothered. Now I guess he’s scared Ann will make him leave, too.”

“That’s…” He couldn’t even think of a word to describe an adult who’d beat down a child’s spirit that way.

“Awful,” Tracy supplied. “I know. Sometimes Jason can get him to do stuff, but most of the time he doesn’t bother, either. Ann figures we just have to keep trying. Sooner or later David’s gonna realize that it’s different here.”

Hank’s respect for the challenges Ann faced with these kids increased tenfold as he studied the wistful expression on David’s face. His heart ached for him. While he was trying to figure out if there was something he could do, Tracy cast a sidelong look at him. “You’d better go catch those fish. Ann will be home soon. She’ll never let you forget it if she has to cook that chicken tonight.”

Reluctantly he got to his feet. “Never fear,” he said, then leaned down to whisper, “I know where the fish market is.”

Tracy giggled at that and, for an instant anyway, her somber expression vanished, replaced by that glorious smile that would turn her into a heartbreaker in another couple of years. An unfamiliar stirring of tenderness welled up inside him and he got the first inkling why some adults got so hooked on parenting. It was the first time he’d experienced the impact that youthful, carefree laughter could have on a jaded heart.

The water was calmer on the gulf side of the key. The setting sun was hovering at the edge of the horizon, a huge orange ball ready to dip below the endless sea of blue. Already there was a chill in the air, which made Hank glad he’d thought to grab his jacket from the truck on the way over. When he spotted Jason, however, the teenager was huddled at the end of the dock wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He could practically see the goose bumps standing out on his skinny arms.

Hank walked to the end of the dock and put down his gear. Jason didn’t acknowledge his presence with so much as a glance. Only a slight stiffening of his shoulders indicated that he was even aware that Hank had joined him.

“Catch anything?” Hank asked.

Jason said nothing.

“Sorry I’m late. I got held up at work.”

The apology was met with silence. Hank’s earlier feelings of guilt were rapidly changing to impatience. “Jason, I’m talking to you.”

The boy turned a sullen gaze on him. “So?”

“I expect you to answer me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s polite.”

“It’s polite to keep your promises, too. Ain’t that right?”

Hank held on to his temper. He recalled what Ann had said about these kids having been mistreated by far too many adults along the way. “Yes, that is right. I’ve explained, though. I am sorry I got held up.”

“Right.” He sounded skeptical and angry. Years of rejection had obviously taken their toll.

Hank tried again with a more neutral topic. “I understand I’m borrowing your room.”

“It’s Mom’s house. She can do what she wants.”

“But it’s your room and I appreciate your letting me use it. I like the posters.”

Jason ignored him. Hank had no idea what else to say in the face of all that pent-up hostility, so they sat on the dock in silence until Jason reeled in a good-size snapper.

“That’s a beauty,” Hank said. Jason almost managed a smile as he unhooked the fish and plopped it into a bucket of seawater. “You’re good at this.”

Jason shrugged, dismissing the success. “There’s not much to it.”

“I don’t know about that. I haven’t caught anything yet.”

After another instant of suspicious silence, Jason suggested grudgingly, “Maybe it’s your bait. What’d you bring?”

“Shrimp.”

“That should be good.”

“You fish a lot?”

“Some.”

“Who taught you?”

“I just did it. All the guys in Key West did.”

“That’s where you’re from? Key West?”

Jason nodded, then said, “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to know how I got here?”

Hank knew at once he was treading on treacherous ground. As he had earlier with Tracy, he felt out of his depth. “If you want to tell me,” he said finally.

“I was in jail,” Jason said bluntly. His expression was defiant, daring Hank to react badly.

“Mom bailed me out,” Jason added. “Then she brought me here.”

Hank had to swallow his shock. He didn’t want Jason to see how troubled he was by his belligerent announcement. Was Ann out of her mind, though? What on earth had possessed her to take in some kid who was in trouble with the law?

“What did you do?”

Jason glared at him. “Who says I did anything?”

“There usually aren’t too many innocent people in jail, at least not for long.”

“Okay, so maybe you’re right.”

“And?”

“I stole a car. So what? It was no big deal.”

“Grand theft sounds like a big deal to me. Why’d you do it?”

“I needed to get to the store.”

His sarcasm set Hank’s teeth on edge. Again he swallowed his irritation and repeated, “Why’d you do it?”

“My old man needed the money.”

The flat tone sent a chill through Hank. “Bad enough to make you steal?”

“When you need a fix bad enough, you don’t worry about how you get it. It wasn’t the first thing I did. It was just the first time I got caught.” Jason made it sound as though that were the crime.

Hank felt his stomach churn. Anger and pity welled up deep inside him. “What you did was wrong,” he reminded Jason.

Jason regarded him defiantly, then retorted with youthful bitterness, “Where I come from you’re taught to mind your parents.”

Hank could see the twisted logic at work. What worried him, though, was how much it was still affecting Jason’s thinking. Was the boy ready to break the law again at any provocation? What kind of influence could he possibly be on all those other kids Ann had taken under her wing? He tried telling himself it was none of his business. He tried telling himself she’d be furious at his meddling. He looked again at the tense, angry kid beside him and decided he had no choice. There was no way in hell he could remain uninvolved. He would talk to Ann the minute they were alone.

Getting Ann alone, however, was no easy task with six children underfoot. It was after nine by the time the little ones were in bed and the older kids were settled down doing their homework. Hank took a beer from the refrigerator, popped it open and held it out toward Ann. She shook her head.

“You want something else?”

“No.”

“Feel like taking a walk by the water? It’s a nice night.”

She regarded him warily. Hank grinned. “Don’t panic. I’m not planning to rip off your clothes and have my way with you.”

Ironically, as soon as the denial was out of his mouth, Hank realized it was a blatant lie. He did want to strip away the layered T-shirts, the too-long skirt and those ridiculous socks. Those socks were orange tonight. With a blue skirt and yellow and green shirts. She reminded him of a particularly colorful parrot.

She also smelled like strawberries again, which made him want to taste the creamy white skin of her neck. Which made him achingly hard. Which would have made the lie obvious if she’d looked anywhere other than straight past him as she said stiffly, “I never thought you were.”

Hank held the screen door open. As she marched past him, he wondered what perversity made him want a woman who was all sharp angles and tart tongue, a woman who clearly regarded him as a nuisance. There were a dozen other less complicated women he could have called for a date. Unfortunately, the only woman he seemed interested in spending time with tonight was this one.

They walked in silence. It was Ann who finally broke it.

“Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Can’t a man just enjoy the night and your charming company without wanting something?”

She regarded him skeptically. “It’s possible, but you don’t strike me as the type.”

“How do I strike you?” he asked, suddenly curious about her impression. She was a psychologist. The possibility that she might be able to read between the lines and detect things about him that even he didn’t admit was troublesome.

“As a man used to getting what he wants, women included.”

He laughed, relieved. There were no uncanny revelations in that analysis. “I can’t deny that. Is there something wrong with going after the things that are important to you? Isn’t that what life is all about?”

“It depends on who gets trampled in the process.”

“Do you think I’m trying to trample on you, Annie?”

“You’ve only been here two days.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “And I’ve been on my best behavior.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure me?”

“You’re the psychologist. You tell me.”

She suddenly hugged her arms protectively around her waist. Hank had an urgent desire to push them away, to draw them around his own waist so that he could feel her slender body pressed into his. He figured she’d slug him if he tried. He decided he’d better change the subject.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jason.”

Her gaze shot to his, her nervousness apparent. “What about him?”

“I think you’re taking a bad risk having him here.”

She stopped in midstep and her hands went at once to her hips. Challenging. Defiant. Mother-hen protective. “Why on earth would you say something like that? You don’t even know him.”

“Simmer down,” he soothed. “I know he’s had problems with the police. He doesn’t seem especially remorseful about it, either.”

Her expression changed to one of astonishment. “He told you that?”

“More or less.”

Her face lit up as if he’d just announced that the kid had been accepted at Harvard. “Don’t you see how wonderful that is?”

“Wonderful? It was scary sitting there with this skinny kid talking about stealing cars and taking dope as if it were perfectly ordinary stuff.”

“In his life, it was.”

“And that’s the kind of influence you want around the others?”

“Jason doesn’t try to influence the others. He practically says nothing at all. The fact that he opened up to you means he’s beginning to trust adults again. He was obviously anxious for your approval.”

“It sounded to me more like bragging. I think he was more interested in shocking me. The boy could be dangerous.”

She waved off his fears. “He’s not dangerous. He’s scared.”

Deep in his gut Hank wanted to believe Ann was right. He’d seen for himself the evidence of vulnerable kid behind the tough, grown-up facade. He’d known a lot of kids just like that in his time. Some of them grew up and made something of themselves. Some of them didn’t. Those were the ones who scared the hell out of him. He reached out and gently touched Ann’s uptilted chin. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked gently.

“I am not wrong,” she said stubbornly. “With the right environment, the right sort of support and a little unconditional love, Jason will do just fine.”

He sighed with impatience at the Pollyanna viewpoint. “You’re too trusting, Annie.”

“And you’re too cynical.”

“Being a liberal do-gooder is just fine, as long as it doesn’t endanger anyone else.”

“I’d rather be a liberal do-gooder than a self-centered jerk.”

“It is not self-centered to worry about you and those kids,” he retorted angrily, though he was surprised himself at the depth of his concern. That she dismissed his fears so lightly made him indignant. The fact that he wanted her anyway stunned him. His blood pounded. When Ann parted her lips to counter his last furious comment, he settled his mouth over hers. It was the only way he could think of to silence her.

It was also the only way he could think of to still the demanding throb that had his entire body quivering with the irrational, uncontrollable need to know her touch. He expected a fight, perhaps even hoped for one to prove how foolish the attraction was. Instead her lips were velvet soft and trembling beneath his. And, after an instant’s startled stiffening, she relaxed against him. Her arms drifted around his neck. Her hips tilted into his, a perfect fit. Pleasure shot through him. Hot, searing desire replaced casual curiosity.

And Hank knew he was in more trouble than Jason had ever dreamed of.

Chapter 4

Ann heard the music the instant she turned into the driveway. Beethoven? At full blast? She had to be hearing things. She was used to being greeted by rock and roll at best. She listened more closely. The familiar classical strains swelled, carrying on the turbulent wind. It was definitely Beethoven. The night air was suddenly filled with violins and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. She felt as if she’d stumbled into the midst of an outdoor concert in which man and nature combined to stir the soul.

Exhausted and drained by a nerve-racking series of sessions, to say nothing of the residual impact of Hank Riley’s totally unexpected and thoroughly devastating kiss the previous night, she leaned back in the front seat of the car. The music flowed over her, soothing, working its magic. Her eyes drifted closed. Hank’s provocative image appeared at once. She opened her eyes to banish him, but the image lingered just as plainly. She gave up the pointless battle and shut her eyes again. Her lips curved in a smile at the pleasantly surprising sensation of peace after so many hours of jarring dissonance.

“Annie?”

Dazed, she blinked at the sound of Hank’s voice.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning down beside the car and peering in at her. His blue eyes were filled with tender concern. Recognizing it, her heart tapped a new and surprisingly sensual rhythm. It had been years since anyone had ever worried about her, even fleetingly. She was the strong, clear-thinking one. She was the one others came to to pour out their troubles. Whether privately or professionally, she was expected to cope, to endure. The fact that this man thought she might occasionally need help in doing that made her feel cherished somehow, even as it sometimes irritated her. Sometimes? It almost always irritated her. But not tonight. Tonight she basked in the unfamiliar warmth of the sensation.

“I’m fine,” she told him now. “I was just enjoying the concert.”

He grinned ruefully. “Sorry if it was too loud. The kids haven’t complained, so I didn’t realize how far the sound carried.”

“Don’t apologize. It was wonderful to come home to that. Just what I needed.”

“Bad day?”

“No worse than most others. I just seemed to have less patience with it.” Probably because she’d been up half the night for the second night in a row trying to make sense of the astonishing effect this man had on her. Her entire body—and her common sense—had melted in his arms. She hadn’t been able to come up with a single, logical explanation for it and she was a woman addicted to logic. Logic made sense of life, brought order out of chaos. And it was tidier by far than being prey to erratic emotions. Even though she knew all that, she looked into his eyes and felt the irrational tug of desire starting all over again.

“Have you eaten?” he said.

She shook her head.

“Then come sit on the porch and let me bring you something. Tracy made vegetable soup. With this chill in the air, it seemed like a good night for it.”

Beethoven? Homemade soup? What was going on here? “Who’s idea was all this?”

“All what?”

“The music and the soup.”

“Tracy had the recipe book out and the soup on when I came in from work. She said something about experimenting. It sounded dangerous to me, but it turned out to be edible. Paul and David actually finished every bite. Melissa picked out all the carrots and Tommy threw them across the room, but I think we found the last of them. It’s safe to come in now.”

She regarded him oddly. He actually sounded as though he’d enjoyed the evening. He was adapting far more readily than she’d anticipated. It sounded as though the children were, too. That pleased her, even as it made her uneasy. How long would it last? How long before he vanished from their lives?

“After all that,” he was saying, “I felt like listening to some music. I hope you don’t mind that I went through your iPod.”

“Not at all. I must admit I’m a little surprised by your choice.”

He turned a knowing grin on her. “I’m sure you expected a preference for twanging guitars over violin concertos.”

“Something like that,” she conceded.

“Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette have their places. So do Beethoven and Mozart. I’ll have you know I can even manage a little Chopin on the piano.”

“You?”

“Three years of piano lessons,” he boasted.

“Your mother must have been very strong-willed to manage that.”

“My mother had nothing to do with it,” he said with an unmistakable edge in his voice. “I took the lessons a few years ago.”

Intrigued by his tone, she was more astounded by his announcement. She stared at him in wonder. “You took piano lessons when you were—”

“Thirty-four,” he supplied, chuckling as he held up hands that looked far too large, far too strong, to be used in such a gentle pursuit. Those hands playing Chopin? Those hands caressing…

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