“I don’t want you here.”

“Too bad, I’m staying.” J.T.’s own anger faded as quickly as it flared. Wow, she was something. All fire and ice.

Had he really thought she was cool and dispassionate? Beneath that calm surface was spirit enough for any man. More than most could handle. He stared into her turbulent gray eyes and felt raw desire rip through him.

He wanted this woman more than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life.

Consumed with need, he couldn’t think for a moment. His gaze zeroed in on that lush mouth, trembling now with the force of her emotions, and heat speared through him. He leaned closer, his gaze fixed on her mouth as his head began a slow descent.

“Kate, you’re not throwing me out.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Special Edition, where a month of spellbinding reading awaits you with a wonderful lineup of sophisticated, compelling August romances!

In bestselling author Jodi O’Donnell’s memorable THAT’S MY BABY! story, When Baby Was Born, a pregnant woman with amnesia meets a cowboy she’ll never forget! Beloved author Ginna Gray sweeps us away with another installment of her miniseries, A FAMILY BOND. In her emotional book In Search of Dreams, a woman with a scandalous past tries to say no to the man who vows to be in her future. Do you think a reunion that takes seventeen years to happen is worth waiting for? We’re sure you’ll say yes when you read When Love Walks In, Suzanne Carey’s poignant story about a long-ago teenage passion that is rekindled—then a secret is exposed. When the hero of Carole Halston’s Because of the Twins… needs help caring for his instant brood, the last thing he expects is a woman who turns his thoughts to matrimonial matters, too! Also this month is Jean Brashear’s Texas Royalty, in which a tough, once-burned P.I. seeks revenge on the society girl who had betrayed him—until she manages to rekindle his desires again! And finally, Patricia McLinn kicks off her compelling new miniseries, A PLACE CALLED HOME, with Lost-And-Found Groom, about a treacherous hurricane that brings two people together for one passionate live-or-die night—then that remembered passion threatens to storm their emotional fortresses once and for all.…

All the best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

In Search of Dreams
Ginna Gray

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Ginna Gray

Silhouette Romance

Golden Illusion #171

The Heart’s Yearning #265

Sweet Promise #320

Cristen’s Choice #373

*Fools Rush In #416

*Where Angels Fear #468

If There Be Love #528

*Once in a Lifetime #661

*A Good Man Walks In #722

*Building Dreams #792

*Forever #854

*Always #891

The Bride Price #973

Alissa’s Miracle #1117

*Meant for Each Other #1221

†A Man Apart #1330

†In Search of Dreams #1340

Silhouette Romance

The Gentling #285

The Perfect Match #311

Heart of the Hurricane #338

Images #352

First Love, Last Love #374

The Courtship of Dani #417

Sting of the Scorpion #826

Silhouette Books

Silhouette Christmas Stories 1987

“Season of Miracles”

GINNA GRAY

A native Houstonian, Ginna Gray admits that, since childhood, she has been a compulsive reader as well as a head-in-the-clouds dreamer. Long accustomed to expressing her creativity in tangible ways—Ginna also enjoys painting and needlework—she finally decided to try putting her fantasies and wild imaginations down on paper. The result? The mother of two now spends eight hours a day as a full-time writer.

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 One

“Quit! Whadda you mean? You can’t quit!” Charlie Van Horn bellowed.

The bellicose editor-in-chief of the Houston Herald stuck out his chin and glared at his top reporter across the cluttered surface of his desk. The beady-eyed look and pugnacious set of his jaw would have reduced any other person on his staff to a stammering wreck.

J. T. Conway grinned.

“Sure I can, Charlie. This is a newspaper, not a prison.” Sitting slouched on his spine with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, J.T. gazed back at his boss with a devilish twinkle in his blue eyes, the picture of unruffled male confidence.

The veins in Charlie’s neck bulged, and his face turned an alarming shade of purple. Pressing all ten fingertips to the desktop, he levered his stocky body out of the chair and leaned forward. The threatening stance merely widened J.T.’s grin.

“Now you listen to me, Conway, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have time for it. Now get back to work. I’ve got a paper to run.”

“This is no game, Charlie.” J.T. withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his suitcoat, leaned forward and tossed it onto Charlie’s desk. “That’s my formal resignation. It’s effective in two weeks.”

Without bothering to open the envelope, Charlie tore it in two and tossed the halves over his shoulder in the general direction of the overflowing wastebasket.

“Nice shot,” J.T. drawled as the pieces hit the top of the pile and slid to the floor. “But I still quit.”

Charlie spat out a string of curses that turned the air blue. When that failed to faze J.T., he plopped back down into his chair, plucked a half-chewed cigar from the ashtray and stuck it in his mouth. “All right. What’s this about?” he growled. “Is this a bluff to get more money? Hell, man, you’re already the highest-paid reporter in Houston. Not to mention your generous expense account.”

“This isn’t about money.”

Leaning back in his chair, Charlie laced his ink-stained fingers together over his belly and rolled the foul-smelling stogie from one side of his mouth to the other. He never lit the disgusting things anymore. At his wife’s insistence, he’d quit smoking a year ago. She would skin him alive if he started again.

However, whenever Clarice wasn’t around he always had an unlit cigar stuck in his mouth like a nasty, brown pacifier.

“Then what is it you want? More vacation? A bigger picture with your column? A fancier car? A bigger desk? What?” Before J.T. could answer, an arrested look came over Charlie’s face. “Aw, hell, don’t tell me this is another push to get your own office. How many times do I have to tell you, the other reporters would set up a howl if I okayed that. No. No way. Forget it, Conway. It ain’t gonna happen.”

“Charlie, you aren’t listening. I’m not putting the squeeze on you for anything. I’m resigning. Period. That’s it.”

Charlie stared at him. Slowly his anger faded into shock. His flabbergasted expression was so comical J.T.’s grin returned.

“You’re really serious,” the older man said in an incredulous voice, sagging back in his chair as though he’d just had the wind knocked out of him.

“I’m serious.”

“Have you lost your mind? Dammit, man, you’ve been with this paper for twelve years. You’ve built a name for yourself in this town. Why in God’s name would you throw away a successful career? Are you having a midlife crisis or something?”

“Maybe.” J.T. hesitated, not sure he wanted to explain his reasons. However, from his boss’s expression it was apparent that he wasn’t going to accept the resignation until he did.

“I want to write a novel. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do with my life, not be a reporter. When I took this job it was supposed to be temporary, but I got caught in a rut. Anyway, I have enough money put away to live comfortably for a few years, so I decided to give it a shot.”

“Oh, good night, nurse. Not another one,” Charlie muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never met a reporter who didn’t think he had the next great American novel in him. I thought you were different. Shoulda known better.”

“Looks like it,” J.T. replied with his usual nonchalance, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Normally he was slow to anger, but Charlie’s derision touched off an uncharacteristic spurt of fury that he barely managed to hold in check.

Charlie slammed his hand down on his desk. “Do you know what the odds are of getting a book published? Particularly a novel? You’re living in a dream world.”

“Actually…I have an in. An old friend of mine is a vice president at Hubbard and Rhodes Publishing. He wants to see my manuscript when it’s finished. But that’s not the only reason I’m leaving. I also want to devote time to finding the rest of my family if I can.”

“Why, for Pete’s sake? I’d think after learning that that hard-nosed cop was your brother the last thing you’d want would be to go looking for another one. Hell, this one may turn out to be even more annoying.”

“Matt’s not so bad. Anyway, my missing sibling may be a sister.”

“Humph. That could be worse. I’ve got four of them. Take it from me, sisters are a real pain in the arse. They’re either driving you nuts with all their chatter and giggling and all that feminine clutter, or worrying you to death making eyes at boys. I spent half my twenties checking out the losers that came sniffing around my sisters.”

J.T. grinned, his good humor restored. He had a mental picture of Charlie protecting his sisters like a junkyard dog. They’d probably wanted to kill him for his efforts. “You may be right, but I have to try. If I don’t I’ll always wonder.”

For most of his life J.T. had known that he was adopted, but it hadn’t been until six weeks ago that he had made the startling discovery that he was one of a set of triplets, and that his old nemesis, Matthew Dolan, was actually his brother.

Until recently Matt had been a detective with the Houston Police Department. He and J.T. had been butting heads for the past twelve years whenever J.T. showed up at a crime scene to get the story.

Discovering that they were brothers had been a shock to both of them. At first neither he nor Matt had been ready to initiate a search for their missing triplet. Recently, however, J.T. had grown curious.

“How the devil do you expect to find this person, with nothing to go on except that he or she presumably has the missing third piece of a medallion and was adopted at age two? Talk about your needle in a haystack. It’s a waste of time.”

“Not necessarily. As a matter of fact, I already have a lead to check out.”

“Humph. So you’re determined to do this, are you?”

“Yep. I’ve put it off too long already.”

Charlie rolled his eyes and muttered another curse. “All right, fine. Do what you gotta do. But there’s no need for you to quit. Take a leave of absence.”

“I don’t—”

Charlie held up his hands. “Just hear me out. You take all the time you need. Go write your novel. Look for your other sibling. When you’re done and you find out you’re not Hemingway, then you come back here. Your job will be waiting.”

“Charlie—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to let you throw away your career on a whim. Just go get all this nonsense out of your system once and for all, then come back here where you belong.”

J.T. was torn between exasperation and gratitude. It touched him that the cantankerous old coot thought enough of him to hold his job open, and it irritated the living hell out of him that he ridiculed his dream.

He held the older man’s gaze for several moments. What if Charlie was right? What if his talent didn’t go any deeper than knocking out sensationalized accounts of the news? It was a depressing thought—one he refused to accept.

J.T. wasn’t in any mood to argue, though, and he could see by Charlie’s bulldog expression that he wasn’t going to back down. Hell, why fight it? He could always resign later.

“Okay. You’ve got a deal,” J.T. finally said.

“There is just one condition.”

“Uh-oh, here it comes.”

“Aw, don’t get your shorts in a wad. I just want your promise that if you come across a good story you’ll call it in, that’s all.”

J.T. thought it over. Where he was heading, probably the most exciting thing that ever happened was an elk wandering into town now and then. “Sure. Why not?”

“Good. That’s settled. Now tell me, where’re you going?”

“Oh, no. Forget it. I know you, Charlie. If I tell you, you’ll be on the phone to me every day with an assignment, or wanting to know when I’m coming back.”

“So? What if I need you? What if an international crisis happens? What if World War III breaks out? How the hell am I supposed to get in touch with you?”

“You aren’t. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check in now and then, but that’s it. Take it or leave it. Either way, in two weeks, I’m outta here.”

Cleaning out his desk and parting from his colleagues and friends was difficult, but for J.T. the hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to Matt and Maude Ann and the kids.

Which was why he put off doing so until the last minute. When his belongings were in storage, all the last-minute details were handled and his laptop and the clothes he would need were loaded in the back of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, he drove north out of Houston to Lake Livingston.

J.T. knew that putting distance between himself and Matt at this point sure as hell wasn’t going to do much for their relationship. But then, he wondered if anything could.

Though they were brothers, a wall of reserve existed between him and Matt that neither of them seemed capable of breaching.

Perhaps it would always be there, J.T. mused. Maybe they had been separated too long to ever come together as brothers. They’d led different lives, had different upbringings, different outlooks. It saddened him to think so, but it was beginning to look as though it was too late for him and Matt to form any close fraternal ties. Certainly they had not gotten closer during the six weeks since they’d learned about their kinship.

It was a different story with his sister-in-law. He and Maude Ann had hit it off as friends from the moment they met, long before her marriage to Matt three weeks ago. He could talk to Maude Ann, laugh with her, tease her, tell her his hopes and dreams.

Of course, being a psychiatrist, she was trained to be a good listener and she had a sharp understanding of human nature, but there was more to it than that. He and Maudie were kindred souls. He was going to miss her like the devil. And he was going to miss the kids.

As he anticipated, Maude Ann was far more upset by his news than his brother. “You’re leaving? But why?” she asked in a stricken voice.

“I finally realized that I was feeling guilty about the compromises I’d made. So now I’m doing something about it.”

“Oh, J.T., don’t misunderstand me. I think it’s great that you’re finally going to do what you’ve always wanted. Really. And I’m positive you’ll be a success. You’re a wonderful writer. I just don’t understand why you have to leave.”

“There are too many distractions in Houston. It would be too easy to get sidetracked with other things. I need to find someplace quiet where no one knows me so I can concentrate on my writing.”

“You don’t have to leave the state, for heaven’s sake. You could come here.”

J.T. raised his eyebrows. “Here? Live at the Haven? With you and Matt and the kids?”

Henley Haven was a foster home for abused and neglected children that Maude Ann had started several years ago. The structure was a former fishing lodge on the northern shore of Lake Livingston that belonged to Lieutenant John Werner, Maude Ann’s godfather and Matt’s former boss at the HPD.

In the past year Matt had been shot twice in the line of duty, and the wounds had left him with a limp, ending his career as a police officer. Now he and Maude Ann ran the Haven together.

“Look, Maudie, I appre—”

The front door opened to the sound of pitiful wailing. An instant later ten-year-old Yolanda Garcia appeared in the doorway with a bawling Timothy on her hip. “He fell and hurt his elbow,” the girl announced shyly.

Matt rose and limped to where the children stood. “Hey, buddy, let’s have a look.”

Even from where he sat J.T. could see that the injury wasn’t serious. The skin was red but unbroken, with only a few white scrape marks marring the surface. From Timothy’s wails you would have thought he’d received a mortal wound.

Chin quivering pathetically, the four-year-old looked up at Matt with tear-drenched eyes and stuck out his elbow. “It huuurts real bad, Matt.”

“I’ll bet it does,” Matt replied gravely.

Instantly, responding to the gruff empathy, the little boy sniffed and quieted.

Matt examined the scrape with the same seriousness he would have given a bone-deep cut and moved the arm back and forth to test its mobility. “It doesn’t look too bad. Yolanda, why don’t you take him in the bathroom and clean his elbow.”

“Sì, Señor Dolan.”

“A little antibacterial spray and a Band-Aid and you’ll be fine, buddy.” Placing a kiss on the scrape, Matt ruffled the boy’s hair, winked at Yolanda and sent them on their way.

J.T. smiled and shook his head. It still amazed him that his stern brother had settled so easily into marriage and parenthood.

Matt had been a confirmed bachelor and a dedicated police officer, whose whole life and identity had been wrapped up in his job. Yet, not only had he accepted the loss of his career with surprising grace, at his insistence, he and Maude Ann had begun proceedings to adopt all five of the kids currently assigned to her care immediately after they were married.

The instant the children disappeared toward the back of the lodge, Maude Ann turned her attention back to their discussion. “Why not stay here? We’re out in the country, but it’s only a two-hour drive to Houston if you did need to go back. We have the woods and the lake and we’re miles from our nearest neighbor. And this lodge has plenty of bedrooms. It’s perfect.”

“No offense, Maudie, but with all these kids, this place is anything but peaceful.”

“There are only five children here at the moment,” she said with a huff. “Matt and I aren’t taking in any more until we learn if the adoptions are going through. Besides, I thought you liked the children?”

“I do. They’re great kids and I love them all, but you have to admit, they’re anything but quiet.”

As though to prove his point, at that moment the front door banged open again. This time seven-year-old Tyrone burst into the foyer with Jennifer and Debbie hot on his heels. The last one inside slammed the door shut on the run, and the trio pounded up the stairs with the girls shrieking dire threats at Tyrone if he didn’t give “it” back and the boy laughing his head off.

J.T. gave his sister-in-law a dry look. “I rest my case.”

“I know they can get a bit rambunctious, but if it’s quiet you need we can—”

“Sweetheart, leave the man alone,” Matt said, speaking up for the first time. “If J.T. wants to get away, that’s his business. This is his decision to make, not ours.”

A wry smile tugged at J.T.’s mouth. He should have known that Matt wouldn’t raise any objections. The prickly animosity between them had mellowed somewhat since they’d discovered their kinship, but they were hardly bosom buddies. J.T. suspected that Matt was probably relieved he was leaving.

“But we’re his family. He belongs here with us.”

“Maudie,” Matt said in a warning voice.

“Oh, all right.” Maude Ann sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m being selfish.” She took both of J.T.’s hands and squeezed them. “But I hate for you to go. I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too. All of you.” They gazed at each other in silence, each aware of what neither wanted to voice. If the adoption of the children failed to go through, all five of them would probably be moved to another foster home before he returned and they would never see them again.

“Hey, don’t worry,” J.T. said gently when Maude Ann’s eyes grew suspiciously moist. “I’ll keep in touch. I promise.”

“You’d better,” she warned. “Because if you don’t I’ll come get you and haul you back.”

“So, when are you leaving?” Matt asked.

“Actually, I’m on my way now. I just stopped by to let you know I’m going. And, uh…there is one other thing you should know. I’ve decided to take a stab at looking for our missing sibling.”

Matt frowned, and J.T. waited for him to object. From the beginning Matt had not been gung-ho about locating their other triplet. Though he was more flexible since Maude Ann had come into his life, he still resisted change and detested any sort of upheaval in his personal life. A legacy, J.T. suspected, from their birth mother deserting them when they were toddlers.

“If you want to search, that’s your decision. But I think you’re setting yourself an impossible task. With so few clues and sealed adoption records, where do you even start?”

“Actually…I already have.” J.T. reached inside his shirt and pulled out the jagged piece of a medallion that he wore on a chain around his neck. Matt wore a similar one that fit perfectly with J.T.’s, forming two thirds of a silver disk. The medallion pieces had been given to them by their birth mother. “A few weeks back I posted a notice on an Internet missing-persons bulletin board, asking if anyone knew, or knew of, someone who owned a medallion piece like the ones we have. I also included a drawing of the missing section.

“I’ve already received quite a few responses. Some of them were bogus and most of the rest turned out to be nothing, but one seems promising. Here, take a look at this.” J.T. pulled a square of paper from his wallet and handed it to Matt. “I downloaded this about three weeks ago.”

Matt unfolded the paper and began to read aloud.

“The man you are looking for is Zach Mahoney. Your best chance of locating him will be through his sister, Kate Mahoney, who operates a bed-and-breakfast in Gold Fever, Colorado. Zach is a drifter, but he shows up now and then at the B&B.

“I advise you not to reveal that you’re looking for him. The Mahoneys, particularly Zach, are suspects in a criminal case. Kate is protective of her brother, and if either of them suspects someone is looking for Zach, he will go to ground.”

Frowning, Matt looked up from the paper and shot J.T. a hard look. “This isn’t very encouraging.”

“I know.”

“It appears that at best the man’s a bum. At worst, a crook. Are you sure you want to locate him?”

J.T. sighed. “To tell you the truth, no. But I don’t have a choice. I don’t think either of us has. Until we find him, we’re always going to wonder. Face it, Matt, the three of us share a bond, like it or not.”

Matt’s mouth firmed into a grim line, and J.T. saw his jaw tighten. “I guess you’re right. I just hope we’re not buying ourselves a load of trouble.”

“You two do realize that this could just be someone with a grudge against this Zach Mahoney person, don’t you?” Maude Ann said. “Whoever posted this anonymous reply could just be trying to stir up trouble for him. It could even be that he’s not your brother at all.”

“Yeah, I know. Either way, though, I have to find out.”

“So, what are you going to do now?” Matt asked.

“Now? Now I’m going to do just what I told you. I’m going to go find a nice, peaceful place and write.” His gaze swept back and forth between Matt and Maude Ann. “From what I could learn about it, Gold Fever, Colorado, sounds as though it will suit just fine.”

Chapter Two

Kate Mahoney pushed her shopping cart through the aisles of Hendricks Grocery with single-minded purpose: to get her shopping done as quickly as possible and make her escape.

Luckily, today the only other customers in the store were Gert Krueger and Jonell Abbott; although, that was bad enough.

If Gert had her way, Kate and her brother would be rotting behind bars. Jonell wasn’t quite so obvious, or so vocal, but her animosity was just as strong. Both women shot her withering glares whenever she passed them in the aisles.

Otto Hendricks’s mouth thinned when Kate pushed her cart up to the checkout stand and started unloading her groceries. Neither he nor his wife, Shirley, spoke, nor did Kate. Keeping her expression blank, she transferred her purchases onto the counter while Otto rang them up on the ornate, old cash register. Like everything else in Gold Fever, the machine was a relic.

Shirley bagged Kate’s groceries, her face pinched up like a prune. When her husband finished ringing up the items he curtly announced the total, and without a word Kate counted out the required amount in cash and loaded the sacks into her cart.

Neither Otto nor Shirley offered to help, nor did they wish her goodbye when she turned to leave. As Kate opened the door and pushed her cart out onto the sidewalk, she heard an indignant huff and Gert’s querulous, “I swear, I don’t know how that woman has the nerve to show her face in this town.”

“I know,” Shirley agreed. “It makes my blood boil to have to wait on her. You ask me—”

The door swung shut, cutting off the venomous tirade. Kate paused to draw in a deep breath of cool mountain air, then zipped up her windbreaker and turned toward home.

She walked purposefully with her head high and her gaze focused straight ahead, pretending not to notice the stares that followed her or how people she had known most of her life stepped aside to avoid any sort of physical contact with her. A few doors down the street, Donny Bowman stepped from his family’s bakery and headed in her direction. He had given Kate her first kiss, had taken her to the senior prom and afterward had declared his undying love for her, but when he looked up and spotted her, his face hardened. Kate’s chin came up another notch, and she met his cold stare with unapologetic directness. It was Donny who finally broke eye contact and looked away.

The corners of Kate’s mouth curved ever so slightly. Good. Let him glare and grumble, she thought. He won’t see me cringe or hang my head and slink away like a whipped dog.

Thankfully, Gold Fever was a small place, only about eight blocks square. Main Avenue was a spur off Highway 550, about a half mile away, and the only paved street in town. The others were dirt and gravel.

In minutes Kate reached the north end of town where the paving ended. With a sigh of relief, she started up the sloping dirt road. The grocery cart bumped and rattled over rocks and potholes as she pulled it along behind her.

Kate hated going into town, and put off doing so until she had no choice. Even during the height of tourist season she kept to herself as much as possible, venturing down into town merely to buy supplies and pick up her mail at the post office.

The cart was heavy, and soon her arm began to ache. She could have made it easy on herself and driven the SUV into town, but she enjoyed walking and getting out in the fresh air. Winter was just around the corner, and once it arrived she wouldn’t be able to walk to town.

Climbing the gentle slope, she looked around at the soaring peaks and smiled. How she loved it here. As a six-year-old, the first time she and her family had driven over the last pass and started down the winding road into this high mountain valley, she had been enchanted. In twenty-three years that feeling had never left her.

A gust of wind sent a chill through Kate and tugged a blond curl loose from her French braid. She shivered and pushed the dancing tendril away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. During the past couple of weeks, storms had powdered the tops of the mountains with fresh snow. Even in summer, snow capped the jagged peaks, but now the white mantle was growing longer, sagging unevenly like a cheap petticoat, edging downward a little more with each weather front that came through. Soon the town would be buried under a blanket of snow and ice, and Gold Fever’s few souls would hunker down before their fires for the long winter, venturing out only when absolutely necessary.

Kate’s gaze followed the switchback path of the road upward to the house sitting majestically about five hundred feet up the base slope of Smithson Mountain, overlooking the town. She picked up her pace, impatient suddenly to get back inside the protection of its walls. The huge rose-granite house was now known as the Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast, but to Kate it would always be her place of refuge, her home.

The last guests had checked out yesterday, and though most of the tourists who rented rooms from her were nice people, Kate had been happy to see them go. She was looking forward to the respite from the seven-day-a-week work schedule of running a bed-and-breakfast, as well as to her annual period of solitude.

Besides, she needed time to get the place winterized before the snows came in earnest. She had already begun spreading a thick layer of compost and mulch around the bases of the rose bushes that surrounded the house. There were also storm windows to hang, outdoor faucets to insulate, porch furniture to store in the garage.

When she was done with those chores she had to lay in a larger supply of food and art supplies and stock up on books and needlework projects and jigsaw puzzles—things to keep her occupied during the next five months.

Kate rattled around all alone in the big house in the winter, but she didn’t mind. Though she had not been born an introvert, out of necessity she had developed into one over the past four years. Now she had become accustomed to the winter solitude and looked forward to sleeping late and having only herself to please. Most of all, she looked forward to having her home to herself once again.

Kate had barely reached the house and put away her groceries and was passing through the foyer when she heard a vehicle coming up the road. She stepped outside onto the porch and shaded her eyes with her hand, wondering who it could possibly be. Other than Zach, who was in Arizona, and an occasional delivery or repair person, the only people who came to her door were tourists, and the season was over.

Probably just someone who was lost, she thought as the green Jeep Cherokee climbed toward her. Often a motorist got confused and took the spur road instead of following the highway north. Most quickly realized their mistake and backtracked, but a few ended up on the dirt road from town that led to her doorstep.

Kate crossed the porch to wait at the top of the steps. The Jeep came to a halt at the end of the walkway and a tall, dark-haired man climbed out.

“May I help you?” she inquired politely.

“I sure hope so.” He grinned at her over the top of the vehicle. Taking his time, he paused by the Jeep, hands planted on his hips, and drank in the spectacular panorama of snow-capped mountains all around and the picturesque Victorian town nestled in the valley below. When he’d looked his fill, he skirted the vehicle and started up the brick walkway, shaking his head. “Man, that’s some view.”

“Yes, isn’t it.”

Watching the man approach, Kate experienced an odd flutter in the pit of her stomach. With his dark good looks and lean build, the man exuded a potent masculine aura that was palpable even from a distance.

That sexy, loose-limbed saunter alone was enough to raise the coldest woman’s blood pressure. Oh, yes, he was a good-looking devil, she thought as he came to a halt at the foot of the porch steps. His features were strong and beautifully formed, chiseled just enough to save him from being pretty. No doubt he left a trail of palpitating female hearts in his wake wherever he went.

Judging from the way her own was thumping, Kate realized ruefully that she was no more immune than the rest of her sisters. Either that, or she’d been alone far too long.

The man placed one foot on the bottom step, and the faded denim jeans stretched taut over well-defined muscles. Bracing his hand on his thigh, he flashed her a disarming smile. “This is the Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast, I hope?”

“Yes, it is. May I help you with something?”

“I need a place to stay.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid as of yesterday, the Alpine Rose is closed for the winter.”

“You’re kidding. I had no idea you weren’t open year-round.”

“There wouldn’t be much point. Tourists love this area during the other seasons, but since we don’t have a ski resort nearby, our harsh winters tend to keep them away.”

The man sighed and looked out over the town again. Then he turned back to her with a persuasive smile. It was pure practiced charm, Kate knew, but that didn’t stop her heart from giving a little kick when he turned those vivid blue eyes on her.

“Could I perhaps persuade you to make an exception for me?”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, wait. Before you say no, hear me out. I’m not looking for a room for just a night or two. I’d like to book a stay for at least six months.”

“Six months? Oh, I’m sorry, Mr.…”

“Conway. J. T. Conway.”

“Mr. Conway, I’m not running a boarding house. This is a first-class bed and breakfast. The people who stay here usually do so for only a few days.”

“I know, but what’s my alternative? The Miners’ Lodge? I stopped in there and had a look before coming here. No, thanks.”

Kate stared at him. He had her there. She wouldn’t wish that place on anyone. The Miners’ Lodge had been a brothel in the nineteenth century, and other than to change the sheets, she doubted the current owners had done anything to improve the cubbyhole rooms. They ran a pool hall and restaurant and bar in the downstairs. Occasionally they rented out one of the upstairs rooms—mostly to the young crowd who typically stayed in youth hostels. Those who sought elegance, comfort and good food came to the Alpine Rose.

“Mr. Conway, I’m doing you a favor by refusing. The elevation of the town is just over nine thousand feet. Our winters are brutal. We get snowed in for days at a time. Trust me, you would hate it.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully and glanced down at the town. “Does anyone live in Gold Fever during the winter months?”

“Yes. There are about three hundred year-round residents.

“Do you stay through the winter?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure I can manage.”

“Mr. Con—”

“You don’t understand, Miss, uh…?”

“Kate Mahoney. I own the Alpine Rose.”

“Well, Miss Mahoney, solitude is exactly what I’m looking for. It won’t bother me a bit to be snowed in. You see, I’m writing a novel set in this area during the gold rush, and I really need to stay here to conduct my research and get the feel of the place.”

“I see. Nevertheless—”

“If you’re worried that I’ll be a lot of trouble, don’t. Most of the time I’ll be in my room writing, or down in town doing research and interviewing the old-timers around here. This is a big house. You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

Oh, she’d know he was there, all right, Kate thought. No woman under the age of ninety could fail to be aware of the presence of a man like J.T. Conway under her roof. Her feminine radar would pick him up even if she put him on the third floor in the old servants’ quarters.

Instinct told her that the smart thing would be to refuse his request. The man unsettled her, although she wasn’t sure why. It was more than merely his looks; she’d had good-looking men stay in her home before. But there was something about J. T. Conway…

She had every right to refuse. She needed a rest from looking after guests, and she was looking forward to a period of solitude and self-indulgence. When she had the house to herself she could take long bubble baths and sleep late and run around in sweats and socks and never put on makeup. Shoot, she could run around bare-beamed and buck naked, if she wanted to.

Still, she could use the money. A house as old as this one was constantly in need of repair. And, as he said, it was a big place. How much trouble could one man be?

Sensing that she was weakening, he quickly took advantage. “Look, we can agree on a monthly rate and I’ll pay you the six months rent in advance. It’s yours regardless of whether or not I stay the full six months. How does that sound?”

Six months rent up-front? Kate made a quick calculation in her head, and temptation tugged at her. A few of the rooms could use fresh paint and wallpaper. By next spring the carriage house would need repainting and there were several other repairs she needed to tackle to keep the place in top condition.

She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly.

“And of course I’ll pay extra for the additional meals.”

He named a generous figure, and Kate flashed him an annoyed look. Darn it. He wasn’t playing fair.

“Oh, and if you have any concern about being alone in the house with me for months, you really don’t have to worry. Not that I don’t find you attractive, mind you,” he added with a flirtatious wink. “I do. But I assure you I’ve never forced my attentions on a woman.”

I’ll bet, Kate thought. Men like J. T. Conway didn’t have to. Just the opposite. He probably had to beat women off with a club.

Actually, she hadn’t given a thought to that aspect until he mentioned it. Kate was accustomed to having strangers in her home. However, never anyone for a long period of time.

Kate wasn’t concerned for her safety. She had no illusions about her looks. She knew that she had a delicate sort of beauty that some found appealing, but she was hardly the type to drive a man wild with lust. Of course, some of the men who had stayed at the B&B had made passes at her, but she put a stop to that soon enough. With the married ones, a threat to tell their wives usually did the trick.

What bothered Kate was the gossip J.T. was sure to hear in town. Most of her guests didn’t stay long enough to learn about the scandal or hear the accusations against her and her brother. But if Mr. Conway was going to be around for months, talking to the locals and digging through the town’s old newspaper files, he was certain to find out about the crime.

How would he react? she wondered. With scorn? Or avarice? It was usually one of the two.

J. T. Conway’s opinion of her didn’t matter one way or the other, but she didn’t care for the idea of being cooped up all winter with someone who thought she was a criminal.

“I can give you references if you’d like,” J.T. pressed when she continued to hesitate. “My pastor back in Houston, a retired police detective and former girlfriends. You can call them, ask them anything you want.”

Kate arched one eyebrow. “Former girlfriends? Are you sure you want to risk that?”

His devilish grin flashed again. “I’m on friendly terms with all my ex’s. If you want to call them I’ll be happy to turn over my little black book to you.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Kate gave him a level look. “I have a sturdy lock on my door, Mr. Conway. I also have a pistol, and I’m an excellent markswoman.”

The last statement was a blatant lie. Not only did she not own a hand gun, she’d never touched one in her life. The only weapon she’d ever fired was her father’s old shotgun.

That he remained on friendly terms with his ex-lovers said a lot about his character, but it didn’t hurt for him to believe she could and would defend herself if the need arose.

J.T. did not seem in the least intimidated. He tried to put on a serious face, but laughter twinkled in his eyes, and his mouth twitched suspiciously. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, Miss Mahoney, does this mean you’ll let me stay?”

Kate met his pleading gaze for several seconds. Finally she sighed. “Very well. You can stay.”

Yes! J.T. thought, fighting down the urge to let out a whoop. He was in! First step accomplished.

“Great. You won’t regret it.”

Her dry look told him she wasn’t convinced of that, but she merely turned back to the door. “If you’d like to get your things we’ll go in.”

“Sure thing.” He hurried out to his Jeep and returned moments later carrying a large bag over his shoulder and a case containing his laptop and followed her inside.

“Very nice,” he said, looking around at the impressive entry hall.

“Thank you. The house was built by Elijah Smithson between 1880 and 1883. He was the first prospector in the valley to find gold. As it turned out, his claim was not only the first, it was the richest strike ever made here. Throughout the town’s history, the Shamrock Mine was the largest and most profitable in the valley. Two-thirds of the local miners worked there.”

Amusement tugged at J.T.’s mouth. She sounded like a tour guide. No doubt the spiel was one she gave to all her paying guests. Kate Mahoney was the epitome of the cool, efficient innkeeper—polite and informative, but businesslike. He had a hunch it was a persona she assumed to keep a distance between herself and her guests.

Nice try, honey, he thought with a cynical twist to his mouth. But it’s not going to work with me. Before the winter is over you and I are going to become well acquainted.

“I’m surprised he stayed in such a remote place after striking it rich,” he said to Kate. “Especially if Gold Fever was like most rough-and-ready mining towns of that era.”

“Oh, Mr. Smithson built a mansion in Denver, too, like the other gold tycoons, but he liked to keep a close watch on the mine operation. Personally, I think he also enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond. This house served as a constant reminder to all the locals of his status.”

“Mmm, you’re probably right,” J.T. agreed, arching his neck back to look at the enormous, domed, etched-glass skylight that spilled prisms of light into the foyer. “Why else would he build a place like this and perch it up here where he could look down on everyone else?”

“Yes, I agree. Now if you’ll come with me, I’ll give you a quick tour of the downstairs so you’ll know your way around.”

She led the way down the wide central hallway toward the back of the house. An appreciative smile curved J.T.’s mouth as he watched her thick braid swing against her back and the enticing sway of her gently rounded hips.

As they passed them, Kate gestured toward the two sets of double doors on either side of the hall. “On the left is the guest parlor, on the right the family parlor. Next on the left is the dining room, and across the hall from it is the library. Feel free to use them anytime you like.

“You may even find some valuable research material for your novel in the library. My father was a mining engineer and the superintendent of the Shamrock Mine for years. He was also something of a history buff. All I ask is that you return any books that you use when you’re done.”

“Fair enough. And, thanks. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

A little past the center of the house the hallway came to a T at the base of the massive stairway. Kate gestured to the short hallway on the left. “This leads to the butler’s pantry, downstairs powder room and the servants’ back stairs, but I would prefer that you not use those as they’re narrow and steep. I rather not risk a guest taking a fall.”

“Old Elijah didn’t waste money on niceties for the hired help, huh?” J.T. said with a crooked smile.

“No. Although, I don’t suppose he was any worse than any other wealthy person of that era. In those days there were definite distinctions between the classes. Now, if you’ll follow me, Mr. Conway, we’ll go to my office and get you checked in.”

“The first door is the entrance to the kitchen,” she said in her brisk, tour guide voice as they made their way down the right hallway. “That door at the end of the hall opens to the porte cochere. When it’s snowing you may want to pull your vehicle under there and enter through that way. Here we are.” She opened the last door on the left and led the way inside a comfortable-size room. “This used to be the housekeeper’s room, but I use it as my office now. Please, have a seat, Mr. Conway.”

The formality of registering and paying six months rent in advance took only a few minutes. When they were done, Kate led the way back down the hall to the stairs.

“There is an elevator. It was put in years ago, and it’s pokey, but if you’d prefer to use it we can.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind the stairs.”

At the base, the stairway was at least ten feet wide, with massive, hand-carved newel posts and spindles. Six steps up, at a wide landing, the stairs split and turned at ninety-degree angles, one flight going right, the other left.

Kate took the flight of stairs to the right, continuing her spiel as they climbed, but J.T. listened with only half an ear. He was too busy studying the stained-glass mural that made up the outer wall of the next landing.

It depicted a woman in eighteenth-century dress strolling through a garden, carrying a basket full of freshly cut flowers. J.T. darted a quick look over his shoulder and spotted a companion stained-glass mural on the opposite landing of a gentleman astride a white horse. Light streamed in through both windows, bathing the entire stairwell in shafts of rainbow hues that created an almost surreal atmosphere.

To have the enormous pieces commissioned, then hauled up to this remote mountain town by horse and wagon must have cost old Elijah a mint, J.T. mused in awe, craning his neck for one last look as he followed Kate up the next section of stairs.

“Excluding the servants’ quarters on the third floor, the house has ten bedrooms. I rent eight of them to guests.”

Which leaves one available for your brother whenever he decides to drop in, J.T. thought.

“Originally there were fourteen bedrooms on this floor, but four had to be sacrificed when the house was remodeled around 1910 to add bathrooms.”

“Fourteen bedrooms, huh. That’s a lot, even for a millionaire.”

“Not really. The Smithsons had a large family. There were already three children when the house was built and eight more were born after they moved in.”

Kate stopped outside a door at the end of the hall. “Since you’re the only guest, you may have your choice of rooms, but I think this one will best suit your needs.” Opening the door, she led the way inside.

“As you can see, being a corner room, it is quite large, and there’s a desk in the alcove that you may use. There’s also a private bathroom right through that door. The fixtures are antique but you’ll find the plumbing is sound.”

“I’m sure it’ll do fine.”

Kate stayed just inside the door as J.T. strolled to the center of the room. He looked around, impressed with the room’s size and immaculate condition. Even though heavy emerald-green velvet draped the four tall windows on the two outer walls, plenty of light streamed in through the lace panels that covered the panes.

The cabbage-rose wallpaper and the rose-patterned rug covering most of the oak floor were not to J.T.’s taste, but they were in keeping with the Victorian structure. So was the massive antique furniture. It was all right, he supposed, but not something he’d choose for himself.

Then the bed caught his eye, and he instantly revised his opinion. The thing was magnificent. The mahogany headboard stood at least eight feet tall and the footboard three and a half or four. Both were intricately carved. The mattress looked bigger than the king-size bed he’d just put into storage and was almost as high as his waist. For someone Kate’s size the small set of wooden steps beside the bed would be a necessity.

“Wow. Now that’s what I call a bed.”

“It belonged to Mr. Smithson,” Kate explained. “He was a big man. I believe he had it custom-made. It does have a new mattress, though. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.”

“No wonder he had eleven children.” J.T. sent Kate a flirtatious glance and winked. “A bed like that would inspire any man.”

To his amusement, the talk of beds seemed to make her uncomfortable. Color bloomed in her cheeks, though she held her head high and pretended to be unaffected.

“The closet is small, I’m afraid. They were added at the same time as the bathrooms, but between it and the armoire, I think you’ll have adequate space for your clothes.”

“I’m sure they’ll do fine.” He watched her fidget and struggle to cover her discomfort. Well, well, well. So Ms. Kate Mahoney was uncomfortable with the subject of sex, was she? Now that was a puzzle worth looking into.

He judged her to be in her late twenties. Most women her age were experienced and worldly and would have barely noticed the mild innuendo.

“Good. Then I’ll leave you to get settled.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Conway—”

“Please, call me J.T. We’re going to be sharing this house for the next six months, so I think we can dispense with formality, don’t you?” he said, giving her a coaxing smile.

An appalled look flashed over her face before she could control it. Obviously, the lady would prefer to keep a safe distance between them. The question was, why?

J.T. watched her frantically grope for a reason to refuse the suggestion and saw the instant when she realized there was nothing she could say without sounding like a stiff-necked prig. “Very well. If you insist.”

“As I was about to say, meals are served in the dining room. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one and dinner at seven.”

“Okay. But if I don’t show up, go ahead without me. When I’m working and it’s going well, I don’t stop for anything.”

“But, you have to eat.…”

“Don’t worry about me. Just stick whatever you’ve prepared in the fridge and I’ll zap it in the microwave later.”

Kate looked horrified by the suggestion. He watched her struggle with the idea, but finally she nodded. “Very well,” she said, making no attempt to hide her disapproval. “If that’s what you wish.”

She turned again to leave, but he stopped her.

“Actually, I don’t like to be disturbed at anytime when I’m working. So if the sign is out,” he said, pointing to the small needlepoint Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the inside doorknob, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t knock on my door except in case of an emergency.”

“I clean the room every morning. How am I supposed to do that if I can’t get inside?”

“Don’t worry about it. I sure won’t. You can muck out when I come up for air.”

“Mr. Con—” One of J.T.’s eyebrows shot skyward, and she grimaced. “That is…J.T., the Alpine Rose has built a reputation on excellent service, good food and spotless accommodations. Guests don’t “zap” their own food nor are rooms allowed to get into a state where they require ‘mucking out.”’

“Don’t worry, your reputation is safe. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

She didn’t look pleased, but after a moment she sighed. “Very well, if you insist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

When she had gone, J.T. stared at the closed door, his expression thoughtful. Kate Mahoney was not at all what he had expected.

His mouth twisted ruefully the instant the thought ran through his mind. He wasn’t supposed to “expect” anything. He was a reporter. He was supposed to approach an investigative assignment unbiased, with no preconceived ideas or opinions. True, he wasn’t there to get a story, but he wanted to apply the same fairness.

The trouble was he was finding it wasn’t quite so easy to hold to that ethical standard when the matter was personal.

J.T. sighed and raked his hand through his hair. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep an open mind, the implication in that Internet message kept eating at him. Just the idea that a brother of his might be involved in something illegal colored his thinking—not only about Zach Mahoney, but Zach’s adopted sister, as well.

Because of that message, J.T. had been prepared to meet someone more hard edged and worldly, not a soft, fragile-looking beauty like Kate.

She wasn’t his type, of course. He preferred feisty, vibrant women with vivacious personalities—women like his new sister-in-law, Maude Ann. Looking into Kate Mahoney’s calm gray eyes was like gazing into the cool depths of a mountain lake. With her blond hair and pale coloring, she reminded him of the delicate angel his mother used to put on top of their Christmas tree every year—exquisite to look at, but untouchable.

Yet there was something about her that played havoc with his libido. The instant he’d gotten a good look at her, he’d felt as though he’d received a sharp blow to the gut.

Strangely, her quiet reserve intrigued him. She didn’t appear to be shy, exactly. She hadn’t seemed in the least timorous or skittish. A wry smile twitched his mouth. That is, not until he’d made that crack about the bed. She’d been calm and businesslike, her gaze direct and unflinching. No, he had a feeling her reserve had more to do with wariness than timidity.

The question was, what was the cause? Guilt? An innately suspicious nature? Or past mistreatment?

J.T. gazed at the bed once again. He pictured Kate lying there, those solemn gray eyes glowing with warmth, that tender mouth parted in a temptress’s smile, her long hair an unbound tangle around her face.

The tidy French braid that hung down her back was as thick as his wrist and the color of ripe wheat. The whole time he’d talked to her his fingers had itched to unwind that plait, run his fingers through the silky strands, see that glorious mane spread out on his pillow like liquid gold.

He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Conway,” he cautioned himself. “The lady may look like an angel, but for all you know she could be a crook, so don’t go getting any amorous ideas.”

J.T. wandered over to one of the windows and pulled back a lace panel. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, casting long purple shadows over the town below. Here and there lights were beginning to flicker on.

Gold Fever, with its false-front buildings and fancy Victorian architecture, looked quaint and picturesque, like a scene on a Christmas card—idyllic, peaceful, free from troubles and the normal human failings and vices.

But J.T. had learned that things were seldom as they seemed, that people—even the best of them—harbored dark secrets. He also knew that, human nature being what it was, there was always someone anxious to talk about them.

Chapter Three

The telephone started ringing as Kate reached the bottom of the stairs. Taking the shortcut through the butler’s pantry, she darted into the kitchen and snatched the receiver from the wall phone. “Alpine Rose Bed-and-Breakfast. How may I help you?”

“Well? How does it feel to be a lady of leisure?”

“Zach! It’s so good to hear from you. And I was feeling really great while it lasted, but as of about a half hour ago, I have a guest who is staying through the winter.” Briefly she filled him in on how J. T. Conway had talked her into letting him stay, but when she was done, Zach was not pleased.

“Dammit, Sis, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let a strange man stay there with you all winter long.”

“Zach, strange men stay here all the time,” she chided.

“It’s one thing to have single men staying there during tourist season when there are other guests around. It’s something else to be all alone with one for months. You could get snowed in with this guy. What if he turns out to be a rapists or pervert or a serial killer?”

“Zach, I’ll be fine. Mr. Conway is a nice man. I’m sure he’s harmless,” she said with long-suffering patience. She wasn’t about to admit to Zach that on some basic man-woman level J.T. made her antsy. She adored her brother, but he had a tendency to be overprotective where she was concerned.

While she didn’t believe for a moment that J.T. posed a threat to her safety, Kate knew perfectly well that men like J. T. Conway exuded a sexual magnetism that played havoc with a woman’s heart and common sense—even a practical woman like herself—but she resolutely pushed that unsettling thought aside. She could not afford to give in to Zach on this. The man would wrap her in cotton wool if she didn’t stand up to him.

“How old is this guy?”

“Well I wasn’t so rude as to ask him such a personal question, but he appears to be about your age.”

“My age! Trust me. He’s not harmless.”

Kate laughed. “And what, dear brother, does that say about you? Hmm?”

“That I’m a normal, red-blooded male. And unless this Conway guy is a total nerd or a freak, so is he. Which is why I want you to give him his money back and send him on his way.”

J. T. Conway? A nerd? Or a freak? Hardly. Laughing, Kate refused, and they argued for a few minutes more. She insisted that all she had to do was keep her distance and treat J.T. as she would any other guest, and she’d be fine. “Besides,” she added, “In a year or two the house will need a new roof. The Alpine Rose is doing all right, financially, but a major capital expenditure like that will stretch the budget thinner than I’d like. Now the extra money has been dropped into my lap like a gift. It would be stupid to turn it down.”

Zach cursed and raged, but in the end he had no choice but to accept her decision.

When they said goodbye, Kate headed out the back door, grabbing a battered pea jacket that belonged to Zach from the rack on the service porch. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, but twilight lingered a long time in the high country. It would be an hour or so before full darkness descended, and she had too much to do to waste time.

She marched up the incline to the old carriage house that was now a combination garage and toolshed. Ten minutes later, wearing a pair of work gloves and the oversize coat with the collar turned up against the biting wind, she loaded compost into a wheelbarrow and pushed the unwieldy thing around to the front of the house.

Kate had spread most of the load onto the beds when J.T. came out the door to retrieve more items from his vehicle.

He smiled when he spotted her and called, “That looks like hard work. Need some help?”

It had been so long since anyone other than Zach had offered to help Kate in any way that she was taken aback. For a second she could only stare at him. Then she gave herself a mental shake and scooped up another shovelful of compost from the wheelbarrow. “Thank you, no. I can manage.”

Nice as it would be to have help, she couldn’t possibly accept. He was a guest, after all, not a friend or a hired hand. One, furthermore, from whom she intended to keep her distance. She couldn’t very well do that and accept favors from the man.

Besides, as she’d told him, she could manage. She’d run this place with no help from anyone for four years, hadn’t she?

“You sure? I don’t mind. I’ve been driving for days. Physical activity is just what I need to work out the kinks.”

“Thank you, but no.”

J.T. shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kate watched him lope down the steps and stride out to his Jeep. When he lifted the rear cargo door and bent over to pull out two cases, her gaze was drawn to his backside. Helplessly she noted how the faded jeans molded that firm flesh, and experienced an odd pressure in her chest.

She forced her gaze upward, but that was no help. Beneath the dark pullover, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders bunched and rippled as he easily hefted the cases out and headed back up the walk.

“If you’d like, you can park your car under the porte cochere,” she called to him as he climbed the front steps. “It’s more convenient than the garage in bad weather. That’s a distance beyond the house and I keep it locked all the time, but if you prefer to garage your Jeep I’ll get you a key.”

“The porte cochere will do fine. Thanks.”

J.T. made several more trips to the car and back. Each time Kate tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. There was something about that devilish smile and chiseled good looks and that drew the eyes like steel shavings to a magnet. That killer body and easy, hip-rolling saunter didn’t hurt any, either, she admitted ruefully.

Feeling foolish, Kate attacked her work with renewed vigor when he drove the Jeep around to the side under the porte cochere and disappeared inside for the last time. “If you don’t get a grip, my girl, it’s going to be a long six months,” she muttered, stabbing the blade of the shovel into the pile of compost.

Full darkness had fallen, and she was working by the dim glow of the front porch light by the time she finished. Already the temperature had dropped to a bone-chilling level. Exertion had kept Kate warm while she worked, but when she paused to rest a moment and arch her back, the cold seeped in, and a hard shiver rippled through her. With an exhausted sigh, she trundled the empty wheelbarrow and shovel around the house and back up the incline to the garage. When they were stored, she padlocked the garage and hurried to the house.

An hour later, showered and dressed in a navy turtleneck sweater and gray wool slacks, Kate stepped out of her room and headed for the stairs.

Her room was on the same side of the house as J.T.’s, but at the opposite end of the long hall, overlooking the back terrace and outbuildings.

At the head of the stairs Kate paused and glanced toward J.T.’s room. Wall sconces cast dim pools of light at intervals along the corridor, but there were no signs of life from that end, no sounds, no light coming from under his door.

Had he fallen asleep? she wondered. Or had he gone out?

The last thought brought an uneasy tightness to her chest, but she ignored it and continued down the stairs.

Reaching the first floor, Kate noticed light spilling from the library and heard the soft rustle of paper. She found J.T. sitting at her father’s desk, poring over a book and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

The desk lamp cast his strong features in planes of light and shadows. The sleeves of his pullover were pushed up, exposing muscular forearms covered with a dusting of short, dark hair. Around his neck he wore a silver chain, but it disappeared beneath his sweater to nestle in the dark thatch that peeked out of the V neck of the garment. His shoulders were broad and his brown hair slightly mussed where he’d unconsciously winnowed his fingers through it as he read.

He was utterly masculine and appealing. More than any man had a right to be, Kate decided.

J.T. was so engrossed in the book he didn’t notice her standing in the doorway. She debated whether or not to say something or clear her throat to get his attention, but in the end she left him to his work and went to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

Half an hour later, steaming biscuits and the stew that had been simmering all day in the slow cooker sat on a warming tray on the buffet and a place had been set for J.T. at the dining table. Kate lingered in the dining room to make sure he had everything he needed before returning to the kitchen, but when he hadn’t shown up by ten after seven she went back to the library.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but dinner is ready,” she said quietly from the doorway.

He looked up and blinked at her, like someone coming out of a daze. “What?”

“Dinner. It’s on the buffet in the dining room. You can help yourself.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Dinner. Be right there,” he said in a distracted voice, but even before the words were out of his mouth his attention reverted to the book.

Kate waited, watching him, but he made no effort to move. She doubted he even realized that she was still there. Finally she shook her head and left.

Minutes later he looked up, startled, when she returned and placed a tray on the desk beside his elbow. “What’s this?”

“Your dinner. Normally I only serve meals in the dining room, but since you obviously can’t tear yourself away from whatever you’re reading, I’m making an exception this once.”

He grinned as she poured iced tea from a small pitcher and adjusted the dishes and silverware just so on the lacy placemat. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Well, not much, anyway.” Kate moved the tiny individual salt and pepper shakers closer to his bowl, and stepped back, then darted forward again to smooth out a fold in the napkin. “I couldn’t very well let you go hungry.”

He seemed to find her nervous perfectionism amusing. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyes twinkled at her. “I appreciate that.”

“Yes, well, you’d better eat before it gets cold.”

Obediently he took a bite of stew, and his eyes widened. “Oh, man, this is delicious. I think I’m in love.”

Before she realized his intent, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. His skin was warm and his five-o’clock shadow prickled against her palm. A wave of heat raced up her arm, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

“Now that I’ve tasted your cooking, you have to marry me, Katy,” he declared solemnly, rubbing his bristly cheek against her palm. “I’ll die of starvation if you don’t. You’ve ruined me for ordinary food.”

Flustered, but determined to maintain her dignity, Kate pulled her hand free and eyed him coolly. “I doubt that. It’s just a simple stew.”

“Not to a bachelor who’s used to eating TV dinners or restaurant food. The only thing that would make this meal better is a little company. Why don’t you pull up a chair and join me?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already eaten,” she lied, backing away. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your research. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clean the kitchen and call it a day. Please feel free to work in here as long as you like. All I ask is that you put your dishes in the sink and turn out the lights when you’re done.” Not quite able to meet those laughing eyes, she bade him good-night and turned to leave.

“Night, Katy.”

Kate ground her teeth. She had intended to make a quick exit, but at the door she turned and fixed him with a stern look. “My name is Kate. Not Katy. I hate to be called Katy.”

J.T. threw back his head and laughed, a rich, robust sound that sent a tingle down her spine. “I’ll remember that.”

The next morning J.T. was halfway down the stairs when he caught a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee. In desperate need of a jolt of caffeine, he picked up speed and followed the aroma trail like a bloodhound.

His nose led him to the dining room. A warming tray on the sideboard held several covered dishes, but it was the coffeepot that caught his eye the instant he stepped through the doorway.

“Bless you, Kate,” he murmured, making a beeline for the sideboard. On the first sip he groaned and closed his eyes. Whatever else she was, the woman made one helluva cup of coffee.

He was still savoring the brew when he turned around and focused on the table for the first time. It was an exquisite piece, made of solid cherry and long enough to seat twenty people. Currently, though, only one place was set for breakfast.

J.T. frowned. What the devil was this?

Following faint sounds, he pushed through the swinging door at the back of the dining room and found himself in the butler’s pantry. He walked through the narrow, cabinet-lined room to another swinging door at the other end. Using one finger, he pushed it open a crack.

Kate sat at the kitchen table, muttering something and writing on a tablet while she ate breakfast. Alone.

J.T.’s eyes narrowed. Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart. Not on your life. You’re not keeping me at arm’s length that easily.

“Call Lewis Goodman and insist that he deliver firewood,” Kate murmured to herself, adding the note to her list of chores for the day. “Make a pie. Polish banisters. Finish composting.” Trying to think of what else she needed to do, she paused to take a sip of coffee, then jumped and nearly choked when J.T. pushed through the pantry door with a cheery, “Morning, Kate.”

“Mr. Conway!” She shot to her feet, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. The last thing she’d expected was for him to come barging into her kitchen. “Uh…do you need something?”

“Yeah. Some company.”

Only then did she notice that he carried a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits in one hand and in the other a cup of coffee and utensils. Before she could react, he placed everything on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Joining you for breakfast. You don’t mind, do you?” he asked with an ingenious smile.

“Uh, actually guests eat in the dining room.”

“Ah, but I like this better,” he said, casting an admiring glance around. “Not that your dining room isn’t nice, mind you. It is. This is just more cozy. But we can eat in the dining room, if that’s what you prefer.”

“We? Oh, no. You don’t understand. I meant just you. The dining room is for guests.”

“Ah, c’mon, Kate, it’s just plain silly for me to have my meals alone at that banquet table like some aristocrat, while you eat alone in here.”

His chiding tone brought her chin up. “I’m sorry that you don’t agree with my policy, but—”

“Oh, I’ll admit it’s probably a good policy when it comes to overnighters. I can see where you might not want to get too chummy with people who are just passing through, but in this case it’s just not practical. Kate, we’re going to be sharing this house for the next six months. It’ll be a lot more comfortable for both of us if we don’t stand on ceremony.”

Maybe for him, but she wasn’t at all sure she could ever feel comfortable around him. Just having him in her kitchen had her nerves jumping.

J.T. flashed a grin. “Oh, sweetheart, you really are priceless. Surely you didn’t think that for six months we would just exchange polite hellos when we passed on the stairs now and then?”

That was exactly what she’d thought, and she could see by his amused expression that he had read as much in her eyes.

“Kate. Kate. And I suppose in the evenings you expect me to use the formal parlor while you sit across the hall in the family parlor.” He shook his head. “No way, sweetheart. Trust me. It just ain’t gonna happen.”

His eyes twinkled as he leaned closer and touched her cheek. Kate started, but he merely smiled. His forefinger trailed over her skin, leaving a prickly line of fire in its wake, but all she could do was stare at him.

His voice dropped to a coaxing murmur. “So why don’t you just forget about your rules and relax, hmm? Don’t think of me as a guest. Think of me as a roommate. A pal. We’ll keep each other company over the winter and get to know each other. I promise you won’t be sorry. I’m a really likable guy. Cross my heart,” he vowed with comical sincerity, drawing an X on his chest with his other hand.

Kate had no doubt that he was. That was a big part of the problem. She considered herself a sensible woman, but she also knew that she was lonely, and therefore vulnerable. J.T. was the kind of man who could blithely traipse through her life and steal her heart without even trying. Probably without being aware of doing so.

It was a demoralizing thought, and she nearly groaned. Nevertheless it was true.

Other than his flirtatious manner, which Kate suspected was merely part of his personality, he had not given any indication that he was interested in more than friendship. Yet just beneath the surface, a strong current of awareness sizzled between them. Kate felt it whenever they were together, and she knew that J.T. did, as well.

On the surface his offer of companionship seemed innocent enough, even a positive thing, but she wondered how much exposure to J.T.’s charm and blatant sexiness she could survive and still remain heart-whole.

One thing was certain, she wasn’t interested in finding out the hard way.

As much as she yearned to love and be loved, to have someone who would always be there for her, no matter what, she had been burned too badly once before. She wasn’t ready yet to risk another serious romance, or even a casual love affair. Even if she were, she’d be a fool to consider J.T. as a candidate. Come spring, he would go on his merry way, and she’d be left with a broken heart. Again.

As solitary and lonely as her life was, it was preferable to that sort of pain.

However, keeping J.T. at a distance did not seem to be an option. It appeared that her only other defense was to become a casual friend and hope she could keep things light between them.

J.T.’s gaze dropped to his caressing finger as it touched the corner of her mouth and lingered there.

Kate’s breath caught. The tiny reaction did not escape him. His smile deepened, and for an instant she thought she saw something flare in his eyes. However, when his gaze lifted to hers once again they twinkled with good humor. “So what do you say? Deal?”

Tipping her head back, Kate broke contact with that tormenting finger and gave him an arch look. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he replied with such cheerful cockiness that she had to fight back a smile of her own. “And now that we have that settled, whadda ya say we eat? I’m starving.”

Grinning, he held her chair for her. Left with little choice, Kate reluctantly resumed her seat.

She kept her gaze on her plate and tried not to fidget. She wasn’t used to having someone in her kitchen, or to sharing mealtime with anyone.

For several minutes neither spoke as they applied themselves to the meal. Or at least, J.T. did. Kate was too tense to eat another bite. She merely moved the remains of her breakfast around on the plate and wondered how she had lost control of the situation so quickly.

J.T. was one of those men who thoroughly enjoyed dining and savored every bite. For all his slender build, he consumed an amazing amount of food. Like most women who enjoyed cooking, Kate liked to see a man with a hearty appetite, and despite her skittering nerves, when he complimented her on the meal, she experienced a rush of pleasure.

“Thank you,” she replied stiffly. “My mother taught me. She was an excellent cook.”

Pausing to take a sip of coffee, J.T. looked around. “This really is a magnificent home.” He leaned back, sipping his coffee and took another, longer look, taking in the brick floors and massive beams that spanned the ceiling, the tall walnut cabinets and copper pots hanging above granite-topped counters and, finally, the cheery fire dancing in the kitchen fireplace. “How long have you owned it?”

“Actually, my brother and I own the house jointly. We inherited it four years ago when our mother passed away.”

“Really? Excuse me for saying so, but I didn’t realize mining engineers made that kind of money. A place like this had to have cost a fortune.”

“When my family came here twenty-three years ago, the house had been sitting vacant for over thirty years. They bought it for a song.”

“You’re kidding. A gorgeous place like this?”

“Yes, well, the real estate market in Gold Fever has never been great. None of the Smithson heirs wanted it, no local could afford the place, and until my parents came along, no outsiders were interested in putting money into a hundred-plus-year-old mansion in a tiny mountain town miles from nowhere.”

“After being vacant so long, it must have needed a lot of work.”

“Yes, but mostly cosmetic. Structurally the house was sound. It was built out of granite during a time when craftsmanship and quality were the norm.

“My parents did most of the work themselves. It took them almost thirteen years to complete the job.” She smiled fondly, remembering. “I’ve lived here since I was six years old, and the whole time I was growing up we stepped over paint cans and drop cloths and dodged saw horses and ladders. There was always some part of the house being restored. I have fond memories of Mom and Dad working together, sanding the banisters and the wainscoting in the library, stripping musty wallpaper and refinishing floors and woodwork and furniture.”

“They did a great job. But it’s kind of a big house for a family of four, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but from the start, the plan was to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast after Dad retired and Zach and I were grown and gone.”

Kate’s nostalgic mood faded. “The trouble was, he was killed in a mining accident before he had a chance to retire. He was just fifty-nine at the time.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”

“Yes. It was. Dad didn’t have much life insurance, and the mining company that owned the Shamrock at that time declared bankruptcy before a settlement could be made, so what had been a retirement dream became a necessity for Mom. A few months after Dad died, she turned the house into a B&B.”

“I see. Your guests must love this place. I’ll bet a lot of them come back year after year.”

“Yes, many do.”

J.T. looked around the room once more and mused, “A house this size must be a constant financial drain, though. Utilities alone must be staggering. It doesn’t seem like it would be cost effective. Especially since you’re not open year-round.”

Kate’s spine stiffened. She fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. “Is there some reason you’re interested in my finances, Mr. Conway?”

“Uh-oh, we’re back to Mr. Conway, are we? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy. Just a writer’s natural curiosity. It’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” She scrutinized him for several moments, but after a while she gradually relaxed. “I suppose that’s understandable. Actually, operating expenses are not as much as you might think, thanks to an ingenious builder and my Dad’s innovations. A hot spring supplies water and radiant heat throughout. Dad had the foresight to install solar panels all along the back side of the roof and there are three wind generators behind the barn. Between the two I have plenty of electricity, but there is also a backup generator for those few times when the stored energy runs low. The summers here are comfortably cool so there is no need for air-conditioning and little for heat, but the fireplaces in every room handle what there is. In the winter I am here alone, so I close off the empty bedrooms and heat just the parts of the house that I use.”

“Mmm. Interesting.” He was quiet for a moment, then said casually, “You mentioned a brother. Does he help you run the place?”

Kate tensed again and shot him a sharp look, but J.T.’s expression was innocent enough. Apparently once again his question had been prompted by nothing more than idle curiosity.

“No. Zach hasn’t lived in Gold Fever for years.” Not since their mother married the Reverend Bob Sweet, and changed all their lives, Kate thought sadly. “He takes care of repairs and whatever needs doing when he’s here, but as I said, he has his own life.”

Time to back off, J.T. told himself, reading the suspicion in her eyes. You’re going to have to take it slow with this one, Conway. The lady is as wary as a gazelle in lion territory.

J.T. finished off his eggs and drained his coffee cup, and cocked an eyebrow at Kate. “Speaking of chores, can I give you a hand with anything today before I get started on my book outline? I’ll be glad to help you finish the composting, or whatever else needs doing.”

“No, thank you. I have everything under control.”

“You sure? I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“I’m quite sure, thank you.”

Chapter Four

Just over a month later Kate felt foolish for having worried at all. She rarely saw J.T.

Apparently the muse had him firmly in its grip. Every day, all day and late into the night, he was either in the library with his nose buried in a book or holed up in his room, tapping furiously on his laptop keyboard. Thanksgiving came and went, but J.T. hadn’t seemed to notice.

He showed up for meals only occasionally, and though it pained her to do so, she put his food in the refrigerator as he’d requested. Sometimes he got around to eating it and sometimes he didn’t.

Kate tried to tell herself it was none of her concern. If the man wanted to starve himself, it didn’t matter to her.

But it did. Like it or not, she was a born nurturer. A mother hen, her father and Zach used to call her, just like her mother. Which was why they had both taken so well to running a B&B, Kate supposed.

Taking care of people, seeing to their needs and comforts was a pleasure to her, and it came as naturally as breathing. Try as she might, she simply could not go about her business without worrying that J.T. wasn’t eating right.

In mid-December, when he failed to show up for dinner the third evening in a row, she could take it no longer. It simply wasn’t healthy to skip meals, she told herself as she marched up the stairs. For all she knew, he could be passed out on the floor from hunger at that very moment.

Pausing outside his door, Kate listened, but there was no click of the laptop keyboard from the other side, only silence.

Could he be asleep at seven in the evening? Oh, Lord, what if he really had passed out? Or was ill?

She raised her hand to knock, then hesitated. Shifting from one foot to the other, she chewed her bottom lip. Maybe she should leave him alone. After all, he had been emphatic about not wanting to be disturbed. But then, the Do Not Disturb sign wasn’t hanging on the doorknob.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly on the door. When nothing happened she knocked again, louder this time. She waited for what seemed like minutes, but still the only response was silence.

Concern began to bubble up inside her, filling her chest. Kate looked around, as though help would appear out of nowhere. Should she go in? He could be ill. Or hurt.

“J.T.? J.T., are you in there?” She knocked again, then pressed her ear to the panel and listened.

Nothing.

Panicked now, she pounded the door with the side of her fists. Her hand was poised to deliver another round of thumps when J.T. snatched the door open and barked, “What?”

“I…I—”

He didn’t look anything like the cheerful man who had invaded her kitchen only six weeks ago. J.T.’s face was thunderous, and his eyes had a wild look, as though he’d just been jerked awake from a dream or a trance. Exhaustion had smudged dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. His rumpled clothes looked as though he’d slept in them, his hair hadn’t been touched by a comb in Lord knew when, and at least three days worth of beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked untamed and fierce.

And dangerous.

“I, uh…I came to tell you that dinner is ready.”

“Dinner?” He stared at her. A low sound started deep in his throat and rumbled up. When it reached a crescendo he clapped a hand against his forehead and dragged it slowly down over his face. Against his palm, his beard stubble made a scratchy sound like course sandpaper.

He opened his eyes again, and they fixed on her like twin blue laser beams. “You interrupted me to tell me that dinner is ready? Dammit, woman, I’m working in here!” he roared. “I specifically told you not to disturb me when I was working except for an emergency. And by that I mean there’d better be fire or a helluva lot of blood involved. Got it?”

Kate’s first instinct was to take a step back. Instead she raised her chin and pointed to the intricate copper doorknob. “You said not to disturb you when the sign was out. It’s not. I thought perhaps you’d fallen asleep.”

He bent toward her until they were almost nose to nose and snarled through clenched teeth, “If I had been and you woke me I wouldn’t be any happier than I am now, I promise you.”

Any trepidation she felt evaporated in the face of his obnoxious attitude. Kate’s spine stiffened and her voice turned as frosty as Wisconsin in winter. “I was simply concerned. Breakfast was hours ago, and you didn’t show up for lunch. I thought you would be hungry by now.”

“If I was I’d have come down to dinner, now, wouldn’t I? What I am is busy. Just stick the food in the fridge like I asked. I’ll eat it later if I get hungry. Now good night.”

He stepped back and slammed the door before she could reply. Astonished, Kate stared at the wooden panel just inches from her face. Before she could moved or even react, the door jerked opened again partway.

A beady eye glared at her through the crack. J.T.’s hand shot out, hooked the Do Not Disturb sign over the outside doorknob, withdrew, and the door snapped shut again.

The sound was followed by the sharp click of the lock.

Kate stared at the swinging sign with disbelief, her temper coming to a boil. Never in her life had anyone slammed a door in her face!

She was so angry she was tempted to haul off and give the door a hard kick. If she hadn’t valued the old paneled walnut—and her toes—she would have.

Teeth clenched, her eyes narrowed into slits, Kate stood there for several seconds, glaring at the intricate grain of the wood and debating with herself about banging on it again and giving him a dressing down that would blister his ears.

Finally, though, she huffed, spun on her heels and stomped back down the stairs. See if she would ever try to be nice to him again. From now on the obnoxious oaf could starve for all she cared.

And to think that she had been worried about falling for him. Ha! Fat chance.

Kate didn’t see J.T. again that evening, nor all the next day, but she would not allow herself to worry about him. He could hole up in his room and rot for all she cared. If she’d known he was a Jekyll and Hyde she would never have agreed to let him stay in the first place.

The second morning after their run-in she entered the kitchen to find dirty dishes in the sink. Kate gave the mess a sour look and loaded it all into the dishwasher, determined not to feel relieved that he’d finally eaten something.

After a solitary breakfast, Kate spent the morning finishing the outside winterizing. Though the sun was shining, the wind had a bitter bite, a reminder that the first storm of the season was bearing down on the mountains. As soon as she went back inside she telephoned Lewis Goodman for the third time in as many days, and got into a heated argument with him over the firewood he had been promising to deliver for over a month.

Lewis, like everyone else in Gold Fever, hated doing business with Kate, but not enough to turn down her money. Particularly since she ordered more firewood than anyone else in town. However, he always made the transaction as difficult for her as he could.

“You’ll get your firewood when I’m ready to deliver it,” he barked.

“Lewis, the weather service is predicting snow by the end of the week. I need that firewood. I’m warning you, if you don’t deliver it soon, I’m going to call a woodcutter in Durango or Ouray.”

He gave a confident snort, and she could almost see his smirk. “You won’t do that. It’ll cost you three times as much if they have to haul the wood all the way up here.”

“It’ll be worth it not to have to put up with your rudeness and game playing!” she snapped, and hung up the telephone before he could argue more.

Between her maddening boarder and Lewis, Kate’s mood was less than serene. Needing an outlet for the fury churning inside her, she attacked her inside chores with a vengeance.

First she gathered all the laundry and lugged it down to the basement—all, that is, except what was in J.T.’s room. Which was just one more thing that was getting under her skin. She would probably have to muck out his room with a shovel if he didn’t surface soon.

When the washing machines were chugging away, she returned to the kitchen, where she cleaned out the refrigerator and scrubbed the oven, stove top and vent hood, but even when the jobs were done she was still simmering.

Hoping to work off the rest of her anger, she spent the entire afternoon cleaning out the kitchen cabinets and putting in new shelf paper. In between chores she made several trips to the basement to transfer washing to the dryers and fold and put away the clean laundry.

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