“Doc? Has Someone Staked A Claim On You?”

Elizabeth blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“There was,” she said quietly, then sighed and turned back to meet his gaze. “But not any longer.”

Relief washed through Woodrow in waves. Pushing off the porch, he stood and drew her up to stand opposite him. “Good. Because I sure wouldn’t want someone to come gunning for me.”

“Why would anyone come—”

Before she could finish the question, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her hips to him. As her gaze met his, he saw the passion that smoked her eyes, as well as the wonder. “Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Last night I slept with you. Held you. I can’t do that tonight. Not without making love with you.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing Silhouette Desire—where passion is guaranteed in every read. Things sure are heating up with our continuing series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES. Eileen Wilks’s With Private Eyes is a powerful romance that helps set the stage for the daring conclusion next month. And if it’s more continuing stories that you want—we have them. TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY launches this month with Sara Orwig’s Entangled with a Texan.

The wonderful Peggy Moreland is on hand to dish up her share of Texas humor and heat with Baby, You’re Mine, the next installment of her TANNERS OF TEXAS series. Be sure to catch Peggy’s Silhouette Single Title, Tanner’s Millions, on sale January 2004. Award-winning author Jennifer Greene marks her much-anticipated return to Silhouette Desire with Wild in the Field, the first book in her series THE SCENT OF LAVENDER.

Also for your enjoyment this month, we offer Katherine Garbera’s second book in the KING OF HEARTS series. Cinderella’s Christmas Affair is a fabulous “it could happen to you” plot guaranteed to leave her fans extremely satisfied. And rounding out our selection of delectable stories is Awakening Beauty by Amy J. Fetzer, a steamy, sensational tale.

More passion to you!

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Baby, You’re Mine
Peggy Moreland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and a two-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award, Peggy has frequently appeared on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks’s bestseller lists. When not writing, you can usually find Peggy outside, tending the cattle, goats and other critters on the ranch she shares with her husband. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 1099, Florence, TX 76527-1099, or e-mail her at peggy@peggymoreland.com.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

One

Cantankerous. That’s what polite folks called Woodrow Tanner. Less courteous ones used a riper, more colorful word, one not often used in the presence of women or within hearing distance of the preacher. But Woodrow didn’t give a tinker’s damn what people called him and less what they thought of him as a person. He did as he damn well pleased and to hell with anyone who disapproved.

He owned seven hundred and fifty acres of prime ranch land southwest of Tanner’s Crossing and lived in a log house he’d built dead-center in the property. He’d placed it there for the sole purpose of putting as much distance as possible from himself and his neighbors. Other than a blue-heeler dog that insisted on sleeping at the foot of his bed, he lived alone and planned to keep it that way. His biggest beefs in life—and the ones sure to put him in a bad mood—were large crowds, big cities and traffic jams that consisted of anything more than a couple of farm trucks trapped behind a slow-moving tractor. Since he was currently crawling at a snail’s pace down Dallas, Texas’s Central Expressway, his normal cantankerous mood was registering on the dangerous side of the scale.

If his brother Ace had been within grabbing distance, he would’ve gladly blacked one of his eyes, maybe even bloodied his nose, for sending him on this wild goose chase. Not that Woodrow had willingly accepted the assignment. He’d cussed and kicked aplenty, demanding that one of the other Tanner brothers make the trip instead. But Ace had sworn that Woodrow was the only one available, claiming that Ry couldn’t spare the time from his surgical practice, and Rory was out of town, buying the next season’s goods for his chain of country western stores. Ace hadn’t offered an excuse for Whit and Woodrow hadn’t bothered to ask for one. Whit’s stepbrother status exempted him from most family obligations, an immunity that Woodrow resented more than a little.

So, in the end, it was Woodrow who was elected to travel to Dallas to take care of a little family business.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Ahead, he saw his exit and bullied his dually truck into the far right lane. Once free of the expressway and the cars clogging it, he relaxed a little and checked his directions again. Two more rights and a left and he was pulling into a parking space in front of a modern, five-story building. He shuddered at all the metal and glass towering before him. Personally he preferred natural materials. Stone. Wood. Brick was all right if used to construct a commercial building, such as a post office or a bank. But anything beyond those three materials, he considered a defamation to the landscape, an eyesore, something better suited for someplace like, say…Mars.

With his mood growing darker by the minute, he climbed from his truck and headed for the building’s entrance. Once inside, he checked the directory, then took the elevator to the fifth floor. He found the door marked Elizabeth Montgomery, Pediatrician, and pushed it open. Without a glance to either side, he strode straight for the reception window and rapped his knuckles against the glass.

A woman glanced up from her work, then higher, until her gaze met his. Her eyes widened and her jaw sagged. Woodrow was accustomed to the reaction. The Tanner men were known for their size and their looks and generally created a stir with women, intended or not.

Slowly the woman stood and rolled back the window. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I need to see Dr. Montgomery.”

She leaned to peer around him, as if she expected to find someone hiding behind him. Someone decidedly smaller. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. This is personal.”

Her brows drew together. “Is the doctor expecting you?”

“No.”

“If you’ll give me your name, I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“Woodrow Tanner.”

She took a step back, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on his. “Wait just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Woodrow watched her whirl and all but run down the hall. At the end, she rapped sharply on a door, then opened it and slipped inside. Scowling, he braced his wide hands on the countertop and drummed his fingers while he waited.

Moments later, the woman reappeared. She paused to fluff her hair and tug down the hem of her uniform’s top, before starting back down the hallway toward him. He couldn’t help but notice the swing she’d added to her hips’ movement on the return trip.

When she reached the reception desk, she leaned close to the window. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice having turned sultry on the return trip, “but Dr. Montgomery’s schedule is full today.” She lifted a hand to toy with the top button of her uniform’s top and batted her eyes at him. “But if you’d like, I can make an appointment for you to see her.”

Unless he was mistaken—and he could be, since he was a little out of practice—the woman was flirting with him. Another day, another place and he might’ve flirted right back. But, as it was, nothing, not even a hand-engraved invitation for a quick roll in the hay, could persuade him to spend another minute longer than necessary in Dallas, Texas.

“What time do y’all lock up for the day?” he asked.

Her smile brightened a notch or two. “Four o’clock.”

It was obvious she thought he was asking the question to find out what time she’d be free. He didn’t bother to set her straight. He figured any misunderstanding was hers to deal with, not his.

He glanced at his watch and noted that it was half past three. “I’ll wait.”

She fluttered a hand toward the waiting room. “Just have a seat over there. Can I get you something to drink?”

Already turning away, Woodrow shook his head, sure that the offer didn’t include a shot of whiskey.

And whiskey was what he needed right now.

Wedged in a chair better suited for one of the seven dwarfs, Woodrow considered passing the time by thumbing through one of the magazines scattered across the coffee table. But a closer inspection revealed titles like Good Housekeeping, Working Mother and Ladies Home Journal, and nothing, not even the threat of a hot branding iron on the hip, could persuade him to touch a one of them. Resigned to boredom, he tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Two breaths later, he was asleep.

“You’ll need to call the lab and check on the results for the Carter baby. They promised to have it by Monday at four.”

Woodrow snapped up his head, blinked. A woman was standing in the doorway that separated the waiting area from the examining rooms. She had her hand braced against the door to hold it open and was talking to the receptionist, giving what sounded like last-minute instructions.

Must be the doc, he decided, noting the white lab coat, the stethoscope clasped around her throat like a necklace. Fully awake now, he narrowed his eyes and studied her profile.

She didn’t look like a doctor, he decided. She looked more like somebody’s spinster aunt. The horn-rimmed glasses were his first clue. The bun she’d swept her blond hair up in was the second. But then she turned her back fully to him and exposed the nape of a long graceful neck, and he was suddenly struck by the strongest urge to have his mouth there. Little wisps of hair curled against porcelain-smooth skin shades lighter than his own. Halfway between the collar of the lab coat she wore and the base of her hair-line lay a tiny patch of pinker flesh.

A birthmark? he wondered. Nerves? A heat rash?

Whatever it was, it was on that spot that he wanted to center his mouth.

“Dr. Silsby will be taking my calls,” he heard the doc say, and made himself focus on the conversation again. “I’ve left the number where I can be reached on my desk, in the event of an emergency. And, of course, I’ll have my pager with me.”

Woodrow straightened, his gut clenching. The doc was leaving town? He glanced at the receptionist, and she shot him a surreptitious wink. Knowing he’d best slip out before the receptionist boogered up his one chance of catching the doctor, he eased to his feet and slipped out the door. At the bank of elevators, he paused, hoping to corner the doc there on her way down.

Seconds later he heard the office door open and stole a glance that way. The doc was walking toward him, her head bent as she dug through a purse that hung from a slim shoulder.

He punched the Down button and the door opened. He slapped a hand against it and stepped to the side. “Going down?” he asked.

She glanced up, startled, as if unaware of his presence until that moment. “Why…yes. Thank you.”

She pulled a key ring from her purse, then let the bag fall to swing at her side as she slipped past him. Woodrow released the door and stepped in after her. “First floor?”

“Yes, please,” she replied, then shifted her gaze to watch the panel of lights that would mark their descent.

He punched the button, then moved to stand beside her. She took a discreet step to the side, keeping a safe distance from him. Cautious, he decided. Probably wise, since she lived in a big city like Dallas. As the car slowly descended, her scent drifted his way. That clean, sterile scent associated with doctors’ offices and, beneath it, just a hint of something floral, more feminine.

When they reached the first floor, he placed a hand against the door and stepped back, permitting her to exit first.

Averting her gaze, she murmured, “Thank you,” and swept past him.

He caught up with her in two strides, then slowed and matched his step to hers. “Are you Dr. Elizabeth Montgomery?”

She tightened her fingers on her purse strap, but she didn’t look his way or slow. “Yes.”

They reached the front entrance and Woodrow held the door open for her. Again, she murmured her thanks and swept past him, without making eye contact.

Frustrated, he strode after her. “If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m running rather late, as it is.”

She reached a car, a Mercedes, and fumbled with the automated lock on her key ring. He noticed that her fingers were shaking.

“I’m not a mugger,” he said, hoping to put her fears at rest. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

She managed to unlock the door and slip inside. “As I said, I’m running late. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Woodrow caught the door before she could shut it in his face. “About your sister,” he added pointedly.

She looked at him then, her blue eyes sharpening behind the horn-rimmed glasses. “You know my sister?”

He stepped around the door and braced a hand along its top. “No. Not personally.”

She gulped and turned her face away to stare through the windshield, her skin paler now, the knuckles on the hand she gripped the steering wheel with a pearly white. “I haven’t seen her in years. She—” She clamped her lips together and angled her head, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did she send you? Is she in trouble again?”

Woodrow blew out a long breath, unsure how best to proceed. “No. Well,” he amended, frowning, “I wouldn’t call it trouble exactly.”

“If it’s money she wants,” she told him coolly, “you can tell her she can come and ask for it herself.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. “She doesn’t need your money.”

“Well, what does she want?” she snapped impatiently. “That’s usually why she contacts me.”

“Well…she…she…” He scowled, trying to think of a gentler way to deliver the news. Unable to think of anything, other than the bald truth, he muttered glumly, “Ma’am, your sister is dead.”

The blood drained from her face. “Dead? My sister is dead?”

His expression grim, he gave his chin a jerk. “Yeah. A little over a month ago.”

She pressed her fingers against her lips. “Dead,” she said again.

Woodrow saw that her chin was trembling, watched the slow swell of tears in her eyes. “Yeah. You see, Star, she—”

She whipped her head around. “Star? My sister’s name isn’t Star. It’s Renee. Renee Montgomery.” Weak with relief, she dropped her forehead against the steering wheel. “Oh, thank God. For a minute there, I thought Renee was—” She stopped midsentence, then jerked up her head and pressed her lips tightly together. “I’m sorry,” she said as she pushed the key into the ignition. “Obviously, you’ve made a mistake. Now, I really must be going.”

When she reached for the door again, Woodrow blocked her way. “Wait.” He dug the picture Ace had given him from his pocket and held it out. “Is this your sister?”

She pushed his hand away without so much as a glance. “I’m sorry. Really I am. But obviously you’ve made a mistake. My sister’s name is Renee, not Star.”

He thrust the picture in front of her face. “Just take a look.”

She gave him an impatient look, then snatched the picture from his hand and held it at arm’s length in order to better see it. Woodrow watched her facial muscles go slack, saw the tremble that began in her fingers.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She turned to look at him, her eyes round with disbelief. “Where did you get this?”

“Maggie Dean. Maggie Tanner now, since she and my brother Ace got married. She worked with Star.”

“Not Star,” she told him and lifted the picture to look at it again. She placed a hand at the base of her throat and rubbed. “Renee. Renee Montgomery.”

Woodrow hunkered down beside the car, putting himself on her level. “Look,” he said quietly. “I know this has probably come as a shock, and I’m sorry that I had to dump this on you so unexpectedly, but there’s more.”

“More?” she repeated, then laughed, the sound hollow and empty to his ears. “What more could you possibly have to tell me, other than my sister is dead?”

Woodrow shifted on the balls of his feet, knowing he had to handle this carefully. Not for himself so much as for Ace and Maggie. “Well,” he began. “You see, Star, I mean Renee,” he corrected. “Well, she had a baby.”

She stared. “A baby?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A girl.”

“But…where is she?”

“With Ace and Maggie. Before Renee died, she made Maggie promise that she’d give the baby to the baby’s father.”

“Ace is the father of my sister’s child?”

Woodrow blew out a long breath. This was getting tougher, instead of easier. “No. Not Ace. Ace’s father. Our father,” he clarified, scowling. “Buck Tanner. He fathered the kid.”

She pressed two fingers to her temple, as if pushing back a headache. “But why does Ace have the baby and not your father?”

“Because my father’s dead. Heart attack. Just a couple of days after Renee died.”

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “Any of it.”

“It’s the truth,” Woodrow assured her. “Every last word. I swear.”

She sat there as still as death, not saying a word. Knowing it was now or never, he scooted closer. “We’re still wrangling with all the legal stuff. Ace hired a private detective to track down Renee’s family, which is how we found out about you. Ace and Maggie, they want to adopt the baby. That’s why I’m here. To get your approval.”

She dropped her chin, shaking her head. “No.” She gulped. “I can’t talk about this right now. It’s too much to absorb. Too fast. I need time to think.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. Renee.”

Though time was the last thing Woodrow wanted to give her, he pushed to his feet. “I’ll be staying in town overnight.” He fished a gas receipt from his pocket and scrawled a number on the back. “Here’s my cell phone number,” he said, and tossed the paper onto her lap. “Give me a call, when you’re ready to talk.”

Still numb from learning of her sister’s death, that evening Elizabeth stood before her breakfast room window, her arms hugged around her waist. Beyond the glass a hummingbird flitted from bloom to bloom in the garden, seeking nectar, while two squirrels played chase along the top rail of her wrought-iron fence. Behind her, Ted Scott, her fiancé, sat at her kitchen table. Though she couldn’t see his face, she sensed his disapproval. It pressed down on her shoulders like a heavy cloak, adding to the sorrow already weighing her down.

“I know you’re upset,” he said, in a obvious struggle for patience. “I can understand that. But it would be ridiculous for us to cancel our trip now. Not after all the plans we’ve made. Besides, it isn’t as if you have a funeral to arrange or anything. That’s all been done.”

Tears swelled in Elizabeth’s eyes at the mention of the funeral. She’d lost her sister and hadn’t even been allowed at the funeral to mourn her passing. Didn’t even know where Renee had been buried or who had made the arrangements.

Oh, God, she wanted to cry so badly. Wanted to empty her heart and soul of all the grief and regrets that choked her. She squeezed her eyes shut and silently willed Ted to come to her. To wrap his arms around her and just hold her. Comfort her. Just once she wanted him to respond to her emotional needs, instead of stifling them.

When he remained at the table, she pushed back the disappointment and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I need to stay here. Decide what to do.”

“About the baby?”

She nodded, still unable to believe that Renee, little more than a baby herself, had been a mother.

And Elizabeth was an aunt.

“Surely you aren’t considering adopting this child?” he said in dismay. “Why, it could be deformed, retarded! You told me yourself that Renee had taken drugs.”

His callous words scraped across her heart, opening wounds scarred by the past. Slowly she turned to face him, her face white, her eyes fierce. “Do you think that matters to me, Ted? I have a niece. A niece. That baby is all the family I have left in the world. I won’t just sign away whatever rights I may have to her and pretend she never existed.”

Immediately contrite, he rose and crossed to slip his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he murmured against her hair. “I wasn’t thinking. Of course, you feel a responsibility for the baby. That’s only natural. But you mustn’t do anything rash. It wouldn’t be wise. You’re in shock, I’m sure. A week away will help. It’ll give you the time to adjust to your loss, to put things in proper perspective.”

She buried her face in the curve of his neck, clinging to him, desperate for his comfort, his understanding. But as tight as she clung, she felt nothing from him. No warmth. No understanding. Certainly no comfort. Just the stiffness of his starched collar chafing against her skin, the rigidness of his body where it touched hers.

Disheartened, she shook her head. “I can’t go with you, Ted. Not now.”

He dropped his arms from around her so quickly, she stumbled, off balance.

“Fine.” He plucked his suit jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. “But if you think I’m going to stay here and hold your hand while you cry over a sister whom you haven’t seen or spoken to in years, then you’re mistaken. I’m going to Europe, with or without you.”

“Then you’ll want to take this with you.” Tears burning her eyes, Elizabeth twisted her engagement ring from her finger and held it out to him.

He looked at the ring then back at her. His eyes turned cold, unforgiving. Snatching the ring from her hand, he rammed it into his pocket and spun for the door.

Elizabeth released the breath she’d been holding when the door slammed behind him. Crossing to it, she spun the lock, then turned her back to the door and buried her face in her hands.

“Yeah,” Woodrow said wearily. “I’m still in Dallas.” Holding the cell phone to his ear, he moved to the window in his hotel room to look down at the traffic below. Almost seven o’clock and the streets were still jammed with cars. Wondering why any one would choose to live such a rat-race existence, he warned his brother, “But not for much longer.”

“Did you talk to her?”

Woodrow frowned and turned from the window. “Yeah. I talked to her. Didn’t get very far, though.”

“Is she going to fight us for custody of the baby?”

“Don’t know. She said it was too much to deal with all at once. She needed time to think.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ace replied, his voice grim. “I’m sure it was a shock to learn her sister had died and left a newborn infant behind.”

Woodrow remembered the shocked look on the doctor’s face. But where was the grief? The hysterical female he’d expected to have to console? “Yeah,” he agreed vaguely. “It was a shock all right.”

“So when do you plan to talk with her again?”

“The ball’s in her court now. I left her my cell number.”

“You’re just going to sit around and wait for her to call you?”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” Woodrow snapped impatiently. “Put a gun to her head and demand that she sign away her rights to the kid so you and Maggie can play mommy and daddy?” He immediately regretted the cruel remark, knowing how much his brother and sister-in-law loved that kid. He dragged a hand over his head. “I didn’t mean that,” he said wearily. “I’m just in a bad mood. You know how much I hate big cities.”

“Yeah, I know, which is why I appreciate even more you doing this for us.”

Woodrow grunted. “Yeah. Like I had a choice.”

“Bring her here.”

Woodrow pressed the phone closer to his ear, sure that he’d misunderstood. “What?”

“Bring Star’s sister to the ranch. I’m sure she isn’t going to feel comfortable releasing custody of her niece to complete strangers. Bring her here and let her get to know us. Let her see what ordinary people we are.”

“Ordinary?” Woodrow repeated, then snorted a laugh. “Brother, there’s nothing ordinary about the Tanner family. We live from one scandal to the next, without time to catch our breaths before we’re hit with another one.”

Elizabeth nervously fingered the piece of paper she’d slipped into her robe pocket. Scrawled on the back was Woodrow Tanner’s cell phone number. He’d said for her to call him when she was ready to talk, though she was sure he’d meant when she had decided what she wanted to do about the custody issue. Unfortunately, in the hours since she’d learned of her sister’s death, she hadn’t reached a decision.

But she did have questions. Hundreds of them. How had Renee died? Was she alone when she passed away? How old was her baby? Did the baby look like Renee? Why hadn’t Woodrow’s father married Renee? Where had Renee lived? Where had she worked? Where was she buried? Had Renee never mentioned having a family? Was that why the Tanners had hired a private detective to track Elizabeth down?

She pulled the paper from her pocket and stared at the number. He’d have the answers, she told herself, and picked up the phone. She quickly punched in the number, then waited, telling herself that once she had answers, she’d have a clearer idea of what she should do about Renee’s baby.

“Yo.”

She jumped at the unexpected, gruff greeting. “Mr. Tanner?” she said uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

“Um…this is Dr. Elizabeth Montgomery.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got one of those fancy phones with caller ID. Even tells me the time. It’s 1:33 a.m., in case you’re wondering.”

She winced, not having realized the hour. “I’m sorry. Really. I had no idea it was so late. I’ll call back in the morning.”

“No need. I wasn’t asleep.”

“Oh.” She pressed a hand against the top of her head and began to pace. “Well, I’ve been thinking, Mr. Tanner—”

“Woodrow.”

She stopped and frowned. “What?”

“Woodrow. That’s my name.”

“Oh.” She sighed and dropped her hand. “Well, I’ve been thinking…Woodrow,” she said cautiously, testing the sound of his name, “about what you said this afternoon. Concerning the custody,” she clarified, and began to pace again. “I was hoping you might answer some questions for me.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pot of coffee made, would you?”

She stopped, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “What?”

“Coffee. You know. That black stuff.”

“Well…no. Why?”

“Put some on. I think better after I’ve had a few cups.”

“You’re coming to my house?”

“I’m already here.”

She whirled to stare at the front door. “You’re here?” she repeated in dismay.

“Yeah. And when you open the door, would you mind giving the old bat across the street a wave? She’s been watching me like a hawk. Probably thinks I’m a burglar.”

Elizabeth hurried to the door and unlocked it. By the time she opened it, Woodrow was halfway up the walk, his cell phone still pressed to his ear. She stared, struck again by his size. She remembered thinking that afternoon how large a man he was, but he seemed even taller now, broader. And there was a John Wayne swagger in his walk that she hadn’t noticed that afternoon, which made him appear even bigger, tougher.

“Wave,” he said into the receiver.

She glanced beyond him and saw her neighbor, Mrs. Gladstone, peeking through a slit in the drapes of her front window. Forcing a smile, she lifted a hand in a wave.

“Is she still looking?” he asked.

Elizabeth watched Mrs. Gladstone snatch the drapes together and disappear. She tipped the receiver back to her mouth. “No. She’s gone now.”

“Good.”

Reaching the porch, he slid his cell phone into the holster clipped to his belt, then pulled hers from her ear and punched the disconnect button. He passed it back to her. “I guess we don’t need these anymore.”

Her face heating in embarrassment, Elizabeth slipped the phone into the pocket of her robe. “No, I guess not.”

He lifted a brow. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Flustered, she backed into the house. “Oh. Yes. Please.” She waited for him to step inside, then closed and locked the door behind him.

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

She turned, following his gaze, caught off guard by the comment. “Thank you. I like it.”

He cupped a hand on her elbow. “Now, about that coffee…”

She stumbled along at his side, wondering belatedly if she’d made a mistake in inviting him in. After all, she knew nothing about this man. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

“Mr. Tanner—”

They reached the kitchen and he released her arm. “Woodrow.”

She squared her shoulders. “Woodrow,” she amended. “May I see your driver’s license, please?”

He gave her a curious look, but reached behind him and pulled his wallet from his rear pocket. “I suppose so, though if you’re worried about your safety, it’s a little late for that.”

She quickly noted his name: Woodrow Jackson Tanner. His address: RR 4, Tanner Crossing, TX. She looked at the accompanying picture, then glanced at him in surprise, comparing the features. “This picture doesn’t look like you at all.”

Scowling, he snatched the wallet from her hand. “It’s a couple of years old. I’ve changed.”

She cocked her head, amused by his embarrassment. “Actually, I was thinking the picture was quite flattering. You look…friendlier.”

He shot her a dark scowl, then jerked a chair from the table and sat down. “Are you going to make coffee, or what?”

“Of course.” She headed for the coffeemaker, but stole a glance at him over her shoulder, fearing she’d insulted him with her comment. “I’m sorry if what I said about your photo offended you.”

“You had questions,” he said tersely.

Reminded of them, she pulled a canister from the cupboard and measured grounds. “Yes. Quite a few, in fact.”

“So let’s hear ’em.”

She switched on the coffeemaker, then crossed to sit opposite him at the table. “Where did Renee live?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I haven’t had any contact with my sister in over five years.”

Though she sensed that he wanted to quiz her about that, he said instead, “Killeen.”

“Killeen,” she repeated, amazed to discover that Renee had lived a mere three-hour drive from Dallas. “You said that you didn’t know her.”

“No. Never even heard of her until Maggie showed up with the kid.”

“Which is your father’s?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his expression turning sour.

“And he and Renee never married?”

He snorted. “That wasn’t his style.”

“You sound as if your father was involved in…paternity situations before.”

He arched a brow. “More than I was obviously aware of.”

She frowned thoughtfully, wondering what Renee would have seen in a man old enough to be her father, then rose to pour them both a cup of coffee. When she returned to the table, she pushed a cup toward him, then closed her hands around hers, needing the warmth.

“How did she die?”

He took a sip. “Something to do with the birth. I don’t know the details. Maggie could probably tell you, though.”

“Maggie,” she repeated. “The friend. You said she’s your brother’s wife?”

“Yeah. Though that’s recent. A couple of days ago, in fact. Ace hired her to take care of the baby, then they up and married.”

“They fell in love?” she asked in surprise.

He grimaced at the question. “I guess. If there is such a thing. They seem suited. They’re both nuts about the kid. Hell,” he said, tossing up a hand. “Come and see for yourself.”

Her eyes rounded. “What?”

“Come to Tanner’s Crossing with me. See the kid. Meet Ace and Maggie and my other brothers.”

The thought of going to Tanner’s Crossing and coming face to face with her sister’s past terrified her. What kind of person had Renee become? Would the baby look like Renee? Would Elizabeth be able to let her niece go once she saw her, held her in her arms?

She swallowed hard. “I’ll need to pack a bag.”

Two

Woodrow had thought Elizabeth would sleep during the drive to Tanner’s Crossing. At least that was the impression she’d given him, when she’d tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as he’d pulled away from her house. But she hadn’t slept. He knew, because her facial muscles had remained tense throughout the drive and she’d kept her hands knotted together on her lap so tightly her knuckles gleamed a pearly white in the darkness. He’d considered asking her to take over the wheel, so he could sleep. After twenty-four hours without any, he could use a little shut-eye. But after sizing her up, he’d opted to remain in the driver’s seat. The woman was skinnier than a rail and looked as weak as a newborn calf, which made him question her ability to handle a truck the size of his.

When he stopped in front of his log house, she finally gave up the possum act and sat up.

“Are we here?” she asked.

Her voice sounded a bit rusty after three hours without use.

“Yeah,” he replied, then clarified, “at my place.”

She whipped her head around, her eyes wide in alarm. “But I thought we were going to your brother’s home.”

He gestured at the windshield and the darkness beyond. “It’s not daylight yet. Everyone will still be in bed. I figured we’d catch a couple hours sleep, then head over to the Bar T.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed open his door and hopped to the ground. He stretched his arms above his head to smooth out the kinks the drive had left in his back, then dropped his arms with a weary sigh and rounded the hood.

As he opened her door, he saw that her eyes were riveted on the dark house behind him. “Problem?” he asked.

Her gaze snapped to his. She gulped, then forced a polite smile. “I appreciate your consideration. Really I do. But I’m not the least bit tired. Couldn’t we just go to your brother’s?”

“And chance waking Ace up before he’s gotten a full night’s rest?” Shaking his head, he offered her a hand. “Trust me. That’s not something you want to do.”

She gave the dark house another uneasy look, before accepting his hand. “Why not?” she asked as she climbed down.

The moment her feet touched the ground, he released her and reached into the back to lift out her suitcase. “Because he’s meaner than a grizzly if he’s awakened before he’s ready to rise.” He tipped his head toward the house, indicating for her to precede him up the rock walk that led to the front porch. “One time when we were out camping during a roundup, Rory and me woke him up from a dead sleep and ’fore we knew what was happening, he had us between the sights of his shotgun.”

She jerked to a stop on the porch, her eyes wide in dismay. “He was going to shoot you?”

He gave her a nudge with the suitcase, urging her on to the door. “Didn’t hang around long enough to find out. Me and Rory hightailed it out of there so fast, Ace was spittin’ dust for a week.”

He pushed the door open, then waited for her to enter before him. “Light switch is on the left,” he instructed.

As she fumbled a hand on the rough-hewn wall in search of the switch, Elizabeth wondered what had possessed her to agree to making this trip. At the very least, she should have insisted upon driving her own car. If she had, she could be on her way to a hotel right now, rather than searching for a light switch in a strange man’s house and worrying about her safety.

Berating herself for the uncustomary impulsiveness, she found the switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the space, exposing a large room. A stone fireplace stood opposite her, wood stacked ready in a copper tub on its hearth. Before it, a round, braided rag rug was spread, covering a large portion of the heart-of-pine flooring. A small kitchen opened to the left of the fireplace, and a closed door stood at its right. To her surprise, she found his home warm and inviting, which helped ease her fears a bit.

“You can bunk down in here,” he said as he crossed to open the closed door. He flipped on the overhead light, then tossed her suitcase onto the massive bed that dominated the small room.

Elizabeth stopped in the doorway and stared, knowing by the personal items scattered about that this was his room. “Where will you sleep?” she asked uneasily.

“On the sofa.” He leaned to turn on a lamp beside the bed. “If you’re worried about hygiene, the sheets are clean. Changed ’em myself before I left for Dallas yesterday morning.”

The intimacy suggested in sleeping in a strange man’s bed had her taking a nervous step back. “There’s no need for you to give up your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“And have my stepmother rolling in her grave?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. ‘Guests take priority over comfort.’ That’s what Momma Lee always said.”

He whipped back the crazy quilt that covered the bed, then turned for the door. “The bath’s through there,” he said, flapping a hand over his shoulder to indicate a partially open door behind him. “Fresh towels and wash cloths are in the linen chest beside the shower stall. If you wake up first, the coffee makings are in the kitchen cupboard above the percolator. ’Night,” he said and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the door for a good thirty seconds, before finding her voice. “G-good night.”

Woodrow lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes and a hand splayed over his belly, the tips of three fingers pushed beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Though he usually slept in the raw, since he had a guest in the house, he’d thought it best to leave on his shorts. He wasn’t modest, but he figured if the doc woke up first and came in to make coffee and caught him sacked out on the sofa in his birthday suit, she’d probably drop dead from a heart attack.

He heard a scratch on the door and swore under his breath, having forgotten about his dog. With a weary sigh, he rolled to his feet, opened the door a crack, just wide enough for Blue to slip through, then shut it and stretched back out on the sofa. A wet nose bumped his arm, followed by a pitiful whimper.

“Sorry, mutt,” he grumbled. “There’s not room for both of us up here.” He lifted a hand and pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “You get the rug.”

Blue slunk over to the fireplace and flopped down on the rug. The dog let out a low woof to let Woodrow know she didn’t like the arrangement, then dropped her head between her paws. Within minutes, both Woodrow and Blue were snoring.

In the next room, Elizabeth lay beneath the covers, wide-eyed, forcing herself to take long, even breaths. It wasn’t fear of the man in the other room that kept her awake.

It was regret.

Renee.

Though tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat, she couldn’t cry. But, oh God, how she wanted to. She wanted to throw open the floodgates and let loose all the emotions she’d suppressed for so many years. Cry until there were no more tears left to be shed, empty herself of every last drop of grief, unwind every thread of restraint, every layer of composure she’d bound herself with for years in order to survive.

Renee.

Even now she could see her younger sister. The white-blond ringlets Elizabeth had lovingly combed and adorned with ribbons each day before sending her younger sister off to school. The sky blue eyes with the mystical power to light up a room or melt the hardest of hearts. The classically beautiful features that Elizabeth had envied so much.

Oh, Renee, she thought sadly. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? Why did you keep running away? What were you running away from?

But the dark room offered up no answers, no insight into the questions that had haunted Elizabeth for years.

Rolling to her side, she gathered the covers to her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to sleep. Using a technique her therapist had suggested to help with the insomnia she suffered, she imagined herself in a peaceful, stress-free environment. With slow, even strokes, she painted in her mind a field of wildflowers and a stream shaded by trees, their low-hanging branches dipping into the deep, clear water, like long graceful fingers. She placed herself there, stretched out alongside the stream on a soft bed of crushed grass. Scents wafted beneath her nose. The musky smell of rotted leaves and the sharper, sweeter scent of the crushed flowers she lay upon. The sound of the water bubbling over the rocks and the birds chirping in the trees nearby soothed her frayed nerves, while the breeze riffling through her hair and the relaxing warmth of the sun on her face melted the tension from her body. She stretched lazily, content—

Stiffening, she flipped open her eyes, jerked from the relaxing scene by a sound. The door opening? she wondered, straining to hear. She listened a moment, wondering if perhaps it was Woodrow. She lifted her head to look toward the door, but saw nothing in the darkness. Telling herself she was imagining things, with a frustrated sigh she dropped her head back to the pillow and closed her eyes. She forced her mind back to the peaceful scene, imagining again the field of wildflowers, the stream tumbling over moss-covered rocks. Gradually the tension eased from her body.

She slept.

A blood-curdling scream rent the air. Woodrow sat bolt upright at the chilling sound, his heart lodged in his throat. Disoriented for a moment, he blinked once. Blinked again. Then he remembered the doc and vaulted from the sofa.

He threw open the bedroom door and hit the overhead light switch. Squinting his eyes against the sudden glare, he focused his gaze on the bed. The doc sat huddled against the headboard, fully dressed, her knees hugged to her chest, her hands clamped over her face.

Blue lay in her customary spot at the foot of his bed.

“Dang you, Blue,” he complained. He caught the dog by the scruff of the neck and hauled the animal to the floor. “Out,” he ordered, pointing to the door.

Blue slunk from the room, her tail tucked between her legs.

He turned to the doc. “It was just Blue,” he explained, then added, “my dog.”

Her shoulders drooped in relief and she lowered her hands. “I thought—”

She stopped midsentence, her eyes rounding. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flaming a bright red.

Woodrow glanced down and swore, having forgotten he was wearing nothing but his drawers. But he wasn’t about to apologize. Not when it was her scream that had jerked him from a sound sleep and had him barreling into the bedroom.

“You’re lucky I’ve got on shorts,” he grumbled as he turned for the den. “Usually I sleep in the raw.”

Elizabeth didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep. The dog had scared the life out of her when it had jumped onto the bed, but opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed, wearing nothing but…

Gulping, she leapt from the bed and all but ran for the bathroom. After locking the door behind her, she bent over the sink and splashed cold water over her flushed face. She groped blindly for a towel and buried her face in its softness.

But she couldn’t block the image of the near-naked Woodrow that seemed engraved behind her lids.

Oh, God, was all she could think, gulping again. He was so…so male. The broad shoulders. The wide, muscled chest shadowed by dark hair. Arms rippling with muscle. Wide, strong hands. Long, powerful legs stretching from the hem of the powder-blue boxers.

Usually I sleep in the raw.

She groaned, remembering what he’d said, and pressed the towel tighter against her face, trying not to think about what lay beneath those powder-blue boxers. She was a grown woman, she reminded herself sternly. A doctor, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t as if she wasn’t familiar with the male anatomy. She’d dealt with dozens of male patients during her medical training and residency. And she and Ted had been intimate for over two years.

She dragged the towel from her face and fisted her hands in it on the edge of the sink, staring at her flushed face. But the sight of Ted’s naked body had never left her feeling as weak-kneed and needy as seeing Woodrow in that same state.

Drawing in a deep breath, she unfurled her fingers from the towel. “It was the shock,” she told her reflection. Opening her eyes to find Woodrow standing beside the bed in his underwear had been a shock, nothing more.

Though her knees were still a bit unsteady, she turned away from the sink and went back into the bedroom to collect her suitcase. Since she was awake, she decided she might as well freshen up and prepare for her meeting with Woodrow’s family and her niece.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to get any more sleep.

Not when she knew that a half-naked Woodrow lay sleeping in the next room.

Woodrow paused at the front door, his hand on the knob. “They’re good people,” he told the doc, hoping to plead Ace and Maggie’s case one last time before introducing his brother and sister-in-law to Elizabeth. “They love that kid like she was their own.”

Tightening her fingers on her shoulder bag, she gave him a brisk nod. “I’m sure they are,” she replied. “I’m grateful for the care they’ve given my niece.”

Which didn’t offer Woodrow a clue as to whether she intended to sign over to Ace and Maggie whatever claim she might have on the kid.

With a sigh, he opened the door and pushed it wide, gesturing for the doc to precede him into the house. “We’re here,” he called loudly as he followed her inside.

Ace appeared in the doorway to the study, looking as if he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a month. His eyes were bloodshot and his jaw shadowed by at least two days’ worth of stubble.

He started toward them, a hand extended to Elizabeth. “Ace Tanner,” he said by way of greeting, then glanced behind him. “And this,” he said, reaching to loop an arm around his wife’s waist and draw her forward, “is my wife, Maggie.”

The doc shook first Ace’s hand, then Maggie’s, her expression unchanging, her face a cool mask. “Elizabeth Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Maggie nodded a tight-lipped greeting, but said nothing. Woodrow wondered what was wrong with her. Usually his sister-in-law was friendlier than a pup and talkative as a magpie. But this morning she seemed withdrawn, even resentful.

Ace opened an arm in invitation. “Why don’t we move into the den, where we can talk more comfortably.”

Elizabeth went first. Maggie followed a slow second. Woodrow fell into line behind his sister-in-law and gave Ace a questioning look as he passed by his brother. Ace lifted a shoulder and mouthed “later,” before following Woodrow into the den.

“Maggie baked a batch of cinnamon rolls this morning,” Ace offered, “and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

Woodrow dropped down onto the sofa next to the doc and rubbed a hand over his stomach. “You won’t hear me turning down any of Maggie’s cooking.”

Ace turned to Elizabeth. “How about you?”

Placing her purse primly on her lap, she folded her hands over it. “No, thank you,” she said politely.

“You sure?” Ace asked. “Maggie makes a mean cinnamon roll.”

“I’m quite sure they’re delicious, but I don’t care for anything, thank you.”

Ace lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you say.” He started for the door, but Maggie beat him there by a foot.

“I’ll make Woodrow a plate,” she told Ace and darted from the room before he could stop her.

Stifling a sigh, Ace retraced his steps and sank down on an overstuffed chair opposite the sofa. He forced a smile. “How was the trip from Dallas?”

Woodrow glanced at the doc to see if she was going to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “It was fine. We hit Tanner’s Crossing before dawn, so we stopped by the house to catch a few Zs before heading over here.”

Ace nodded, then seemed at a loss as to what to say to fill the awkward silence that followed.

The doc solved the problem for him.

“I’d like to see my niece, if that’s all right with you.”

“She’s still asleep. I thought we’d visit for awhile until she wakes up.”

Woodrow could tell by the way the doc pursed her lips, she didn’t want to wait, but she nodded her agreement.

Maggie returned with a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of Woodrow.

“You like your coffee black, right, Woodrow?”

He eyed the plate of cinnamon rolls, his mouth watering in anticipation. “Yeah. And about a dozen of those rolls, if you don’t mind.”

Maggie filled a cup with coffee, then transferred two rolls to a plate and passed it to him.

Woodrow balanced the plate on his thigh and, ignoring the fork she’d provided, picked up a roll and took a healthy-size bite. Groaning, he closed his eyes. “Damn, Maggie. If you weren’t already married, I swear I’d drop down on a knee and propose.”

“You propose?” she repeated, then snorted a laugh as she sank down on the chair next to Ace. “I thought you were a confirmed bachelor?”

He gulped a swallow of coffee to wash down the roll, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “I am. But a man would be a fool to let a woman who can cook as good as you get away.”

Ace laid a possessive hand on Maggie’s leg. “Sorry, bro. She’s taken.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat, drawing their attention to her.

“Woodrow was unable to tell me how Renee died.” She looked to Maggie, directing the question to her. “He said that you’d know.”

“Preeclampsia.”

“Toxemia,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully, then frowned. “I would think her obstetrician would’ve caught the signs early enough to take the necessary precautions.”

Maggie shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “He might’ve if Star had seen him regularly. From what her doctor told me, after verifying her pregnancy, Star never returned to his office for her prenatal checkups.”

An infant’s cry had all four adults jerking to attention.

Maggie leapt to her feet. “That’s Laura. I’ll get her.”

The doc rose and placed a hand on Maggie’s arm, stopping her.

“May I?” she asked, then added, “Please?”

Maggie opened her mouth, as if to deny Elizabeth’s request. Then flopped back down on her chair and turned her head away. “The nursery’s the third door on the left.”

Elizabeth followed the sound of the baby’s cries down the hall, silently counting the doors she passed. At the third, she paused to take a deep breath, then twisted open the door and stepped inside.

Sunlight greeted her, spilling from tall windows on either side of a crib placed against the opposite wall. A mobile of colorful farm animals bobbed at the crib’s head, set into motion by the infant’s fussing. Bumper pads covered in pink-and-white gingham lined the crib’s sides, blocking Elizabeth’s view of the baby. Though she knew her niece lay only a few feet away, she hung back, frightened to take that first step nearer.

Would the baby look like Renee? she worried. Would she have Renee’s blond curly hair? Her mesmerizing blue eyes? Her dainty features? Would she, Elizabeth, be able to bear it, if the infant did look like Renee?

As the infant’s cries grew stronger, she took a cautious step nearer. Another, and a tiny fist appeared above the bumper pads, batting angrily at the air. Another step and she had a clear view of the baby. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. My niece, she thought, gulping. She took the last step and closed her hands over the top rail of the crib, looked down.

An angel, was all she could think. Though the infant’s face was flushed an angry red and tears streaked her cheeks, Elizabeth was sure she was looking into the face of an angel.

The infant’s cries rose higher.

Gulping, Elizabeth forced her fingers from the death grip she had on the rail and reached for the baby. She lifted her carefully, turning for the rocker placed before the window as she drew the infant to her breasts. So tiny, she thought as she sank down, her gaze fixed on the infant’s features. So perfect. She stroked a finger beneath the baby’s eye, and the infant stopped crying and blinked up at her. Startling blue eyes glimmered with crystal tears.

Oh, God, she thought, as emotion rose to close her throat. Renee. She looks just like Renee had as a baby. The same eyes. The same curly, white-blond hair. Blinded by her own tears, she caught the baby’s hand and brought it her cheek, held it there. A tear slipped over her bottom lid and fell to splatter on the infant’s gown, leaving a wet spot to spread on the delicate pink fabric.

Oh, Renee, she cried silently, as the crack in the dam opened, releasing a flood of emotion. Why did you have to die?

Ace sat on the edge of his chair, his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands dug into his forehead. Maggie paced in front of the fireplace, one arm hugged at her waist, nervously worrying a thumbnail between her teeth.

Reared back on the sofa, Woodrow watched them. He’d never seen two more uptight people in his life. But he supposed he understood their concern. Even shared a bit of it. After all, the doc had been in the nursery for over ten minutes with the kid.

“Do you want me to go and check on her?” he asked.

Maggie stopped her pacing. “Oh, Woodrow,” she said, her face crumpling in a mixture of relief and desperation. “Would you?”

Ace glanced up. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s entitled to a little time alone with the kid.”

“But she’s been back there forever!” Maggie cried. “Laura’s bound to be hungry. I’ll get a bottle,” she said and headed for the door.

Ace bolted from his chair and caught her by the arm. “No, Maggie. Give the woman some time.”

She struggled to break free. “But, Ace—”

He caught her by both arms and gave her a firm shake. “Maggie. It’s only fair.”

She dropped her forehead to his chest. “Oh, Ace,” she cried, clinging to him. “Please don’t let her take Laura away. Please. Don’t let her take her.”

“Ah, Maggie.” Cupping a hand at the nape of her neck, he rested his chin on the top of her head, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep Laura with us. I promise, we will.”

Unable to sit by and watch his brother and sister-in-law suffer a minute longer, Woodrow pushed to his feet. “I’ll check on the doc. See if she wants to give the kid a bottle.”

Ace looked up. “Thanks, Woodrow,” he said gratefully. Murmuring softly to Maggie, he drew her back to the chair and pulled her down onto his lap.

Blowing out a long breath, Woodrow headed down the hall for the nursery. He stopped outside the closed door, unsure if he should knock or just walk in. Undecided, he leaned his ear close to the door and listened. Not hearing a sound, he pressed his ear against the wood but still didn’t hear anything. Frowning, he straightened and twisted open the door.

The doc sat in the rocking chair in front of the window, the baby clutched to her breasts. She had her cheek pressed to the infant’s and her eyes squeezed shut.

He took a cautious step inside. “Doc?” he said quietly.

When she didn’t respond, he crossed to the rocker and dropped down on a knee in front of her. “Doc?” he said again. “You okay?”

She opened her eyes and the grief, the sadness he saw behind the lenses of her glasses, nearly broke his heart.

“R-Renee,” she said and clutched the baby tighter against her chest. “She l-looks just like Re-Renee.”

Woodrow was at a loss as to what to say, what to do. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I—I—” A sob rose, choking her. She dropped her head back and gulped, blinking furiously. “I c-couldn’t stop h-her. Sh-she kept running a-away.”

He laid a hand on her knee, sure that she was talking about her sister. “I doubt it was your fault.”

She dropped her chin to look at the baby and a tear slid down her face. “It-it was my fault. I was s-supposed to take c-are of her. W-watch after her.”

The tears fell faster now, a steady stream of misery that Woodrow was helpless to stem. Sobs shook her shoulders, seemed to wrack her entire body. He gave her a knee a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, trying his best to calm her down. “Crying so hard like that…you’ll make yourself sick.”

She hugged the baby tighter, rocking slowly back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Woodrow?”

He glanced behind him and saw Ace standing in the doorway. Maggie stood behind him, straining to see over his shoulder. Both of their faces were creased in concern.

Scowling, he stood. “Here,” he said quietly to the doc and reached for the baby. “Let me take her.” He quickly carried the infant to Ace and handed her over. “The doc’s upset,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’ll take her home with me and see if I calm her down.”

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