“Some days I think the best part of my life is behind me. Times spent with my folks on the farm. Those were good memories. I haven’t been that happy again,” Brody said. “But I hope that I will. One day.”

“Me, too,” Michelle murmured softly.

Amazing that this perfect stranger understood. That they had this in common. The knot of emotion swelled until her throat ached and her eyes burned. It was grieving, she knew, for the better times in her life. Pastor Bill had told her that the best was still ahead of her. To have faith.

Is that the way Brody felt? Did he look around at other people who were starting their lives together and see their happiness? Did he long to be part of that warm, loving world of family and commitment the way she did? Did he feel so lonely some nights it hurt to turn the lights out and hear the echoes in the room?

Maybe Pastor Bill was right. Maybe life was like a hymn with many verses, but the song’s melody remained a familiar pattern. One that God had written for each person singularly. And maybe she was starting the second verse of hers….

JILLIAN HART

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

Heart and Soul
Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And the most important piece of clothing

you must wear is love. Love is what

binds us together in perfect harmony.

—Colossians 3:14

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Senior Special Agent In Charge Gabe Brody shucked off his motorcycle helmet, still straddling the idling Ducati M900. He waited on the graveled turnout along the country road while the cell phone connected. The hot Montana sun felt good, and so did the chance to rest. His first time on a motorcycle in years and his thighs and back muscles hurt immensely.

He prided himself on being the best agent in his division, but the truth was that the hours spent in the gym couldn’t prepare a man for the rigors of a mission.

Even if that mission involved riding a powerful motorcycle in the middle of a summer afternoon with heaven spread out all around him. He breathed in the fresh air that was sweetened with the scent of seeding grass and wildflowers from the surrounding fields.

Not much different from the kind of place where he’d been as a boy. The countryside was peaceful and he didn’t mind looking at it while he waited to be connected with his commander. Finally, he heard his direct supervisor bark out his usual gruff salutation.

“Agent Brody here, sir. I’m on assignment in Montana and good to go.”

“Watch your back, agent.” Captain Daggers was an old-time agent who believed in a job done right. And who’d seen too much in his years at the Bureau. “The Intel we’ve got says this McKaslin fellow is a wild card. We can’t predict what he’s gonna do. You keep your head low. I don’t want to lose my best agent.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’m cautious.” He patted his revolver tucked in its holster against his left side and ended the call.

He was ready to make his move. His first objective was to make contact with McKaslin. Brody figured that with heaven on his side, he’d soon have enough evidence for a team to move in on an arrest warrant.

Please, Father, let this mission be a safe one, fast and clean. It was his last assignment for the Bureau. He wanted a textbook case, a solid evidentiary trail and an arrest without incident, as he was known for. He’d built the last ten years of his reputation on working hard and smart, and he wanted to leave the same way. Without a single blot on his record.

What could go wrong in paradise? Brody breathed in the fresh country air, once again taking in the scenery that spread out before him in rich fertile rolling hills. The beauty of it was deceptive. As if injustice never happened here. As if criminal activity could not exist where the wide ribbon of river sparkled a brilliant and perfect blue.

Mountains jabbed upward, rimming the broad valley spread out before him. Larks sang, a few cottonwoods rustled lazily in the breeze and the hum of tractors in a distant field sparked a memory of his childhood.

He’d been a farm boy in the quiet hills of West Virginia. A lonely childhood and a hardworking one, and sometimes he missed it and his parents who had passed on when he’d turned twelve. When his happy country life had come to an abrupt end.

Enough of that. Brody shut off the sadness inside with a shake of his head. He yanked on his helmet and drew down his shades. What sense was there in looking back?

Life was in the here and now, he’d learned that the hard way. Now was the only thing that mattered. He’d leave the worry over tomorrow to God, and make the most of what he had today.

And today he needed to get rolling. His stomach rumbled something fierce—he’d skipped lunch again. A sign of too much on his mind.

He’d find a room, grab a bite, right after he made a pass through the McKaslin property. Get a feel for the lay of the land and what he’d be up against.

The swish of an approaching vehicle on the two-lane road was a surprise. He’d been sitting on the pullout of a dirt driveway for eight minutes—he checked his watch—and no one had passed by. Until now. Was it too much to hope that it was Mick McKaslin speeding along in his truck?

Brody took one look at the ten-year-old Ford Ranger that had seen better days judging by the crinkled front bumper, the rust spot in the center of the hood and the cracked windshield. Nope, he didn’t recognize the vehicle from the workup in his file. It wasn’t Mick’s truck.

He waited until the vehicle whipped by before he revved the Ducati’s sweet engine, released the clutch and cut out of the gravel with enough spin to spit rocks in his wake.

He hadn’t been on a bike since the counterfeiting bike gang down in Palm Springs five long years ago, and he felt rusty. He needed to practice, put the bike through its paces. Dust off his motorcycle skills so that when he drove up and asked old man McKaslin for a chance at a job, his cover would be flawless.

No one would see one of the top agents in his field, but a drifter on a bike who, like so many others across America, was looking for temporary work.

With the wind on his face and the sun on his back, Brody lost himself in the power and speed of the machine.

He intended to make this last case his best job. No matter what he faced.

Was it wrong to love shoes so much? Behind the wheel of her little blue pickup, Michelle McKaslin considered the three shopping bags crammed beside her on the bench seat. It was officially summer, so she needed the right shoes. The styles this summer were so cute—strappy flats and sassy mules and the softest suedes a girl just couldn’t say no to.

Even if her credit card was significantly maxed.

Well, nothing good came without sacrifice. It was a tough job, but someone had to sacrifice themselves for fashion, right?

Her cell chirped out the melodious strains of Pachebel’s Canon in D. That was the song she’d picked out for her trip down the aisle—not that she was getting married any time soon, but a girl had to hope. Besides, how could she sit through two of her older sisters’ weddings and not imagine one of her own?

She dug in her purse with one hand, keeping a good hold of the wheel because she’d already run into a fence post while she’d been searching for her phone and had the dent to prove it. She’d learned her lesson. She kept her eyes on the road and on her mirror. There was a motorcycle buzzing up behind her. A bright red one. She didn’t recognize the motorcycle or the broad-shouldered man whose face was masked by a matching red helmet. He wasn’t anyone she knew, and she knew everybody. That’s what you got for growing up in a small farming town. It was just the way it worked.

So, who was this guy? Probably someone passing through. She saw it all the time—drifters, travelers, tourists, mostly tourists. This guy looked young and fit.

Hmm, it never hurt a girl to look. She found her phone, hit the button and held it to her ear. “Hey, Jenna, talk to me.”

“I’m dying and my shift isn’t close to being over.” Jenna, her best friend since the first grade, sounded absolutely bored.

Of course she was. What other way was there to be? They were living in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of rural Montana where growing grass was news. Where exciting headlines like the current price of hay, wheat, soybeans and potatoes dominated the radio stations’ airwaves and headlined the local paper.

Her life was so uneventful it was a miracle she didn’t die of boredom. Her life was good and she was grateful, but a girl could use some excitement now and then.

“Check this.” Michelle leaned forward just enough to keep the biker in her side-view mirror.

Of course, he was passing her because she always drove the speed limit; one, she couldn’t afford a ticket and two, she felt guilty breaking the law. “There’s this really cute guy. At least, I think he’s cute. Kinda hard to tell with the helmet. He’s passing on the straight stretch like right down from my driveway and—”

“He’s not a gross scary guy, is he?” Jenna was never too sure about men she didn’t know.

With good reason, true. “But this is a daydream, Jen. We’ve got to make it good. He’s got these broad shoulders, strong arms, like he’s in command of his bike.”

“In command of the road.” Jenna sighed, picking up on the game they’d played since they were freshmen in high school. “He’s a bounty hunter, wrongly accused. A good man, but hunted.”

“That’s an old TV show,” Michelle reminded her, taking her attention completely off the road as the man and his bike swept past her window. She caught a good profile, a strong jaw and the sense of steady masculinity. “How about a spy on the run, disenchanted?”

“Or how about a star hockey player. A man of faith, a man of integrity, taking a trip across the country looking for that piece missing from his life.”

“The love of his life,” Michelle finished and they sighed together. It was a nice thought—

“Oh! No!” She saw the tan streak emerge from the tall grass along the side of the road. A deer and a fawn dashed onto the road and turned to stare at the oncoming bike and Michelle’s truck.

The phone crashed to the seat as Michelle hit the brakes and turned into the skid with both hands trying to figure out who was going to move first—the biker or the deer—and which way everyone was going to go.

A little help, please, Father, she prayed as time slowed down like a movie running too slow. Her vision narrowed. Only the road in front of her mattered. The biker had turned too fast, hit his brakes too hard and was going down. One strong leg shot out trying to break his fall, but all he was doing was wiping out right in front of her.

She aimed for the deep irrigation ditch, crossing the double yellow, bracing herself for the impact she knew was coming. She put both feet on the brake and prayed. The deer and fawn skipped safely off the road and disappeared into the field of growing alfalfa.

The man and bike fell in a graceful and final arc to the pavement and skidded. She heard the crash of metal and the revving engine rise and then cut off. Her feet on the brake didn’t seem to do any good. She was skidding toward the deep ditch and a solid wood telephone pole on the other side of it.

Then, as if angels had reached down to stop her, the truck’s brakes caught and the vehicle jerked to a stop.

Silence.

Thank you, Lord. Michelle tumbled back against her seat, grateful that her seat harness had secured her tight. The truck’s engine coughed and died. In the space between one breath and another she saw the man on the ground. He was as motionless as a rag doll sprawled on the two-lane county road.

She grabbed her phone only to hear Jenna sobbing. “Michelle? Can you hear me? Are you okay? I’m calling the police—”

“I need an ambulance,” she said in a rush. “Not for me. The motorcycle guy. Tell them to hurry.”

She ripped off her seat belt, leaped from the truck and flew across the road. Dropped to her knees at the fallen man’s side.

He was so still. All six feet of him. His black leather bomber jacket was ripped at the shoulder where blood streamed through a tear in the seam of his black T-shirt. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

Good. That meant he was alive. Thank God. She leaned over him, careful not to move him. “Mister? Can you hear me?”

“Seraphim for the win” came a muffled response from behind the shaded visor.

Seraphim? He was talking about angels? He must be at death’s door. Oh, please don’t die on me, mister.

“Mister, hold on. Help is coming.” She lifted his visor with her fingertips. His eyes were closed, but those dark lashes were perfect half moons on the sun-browned perfection of his face. A proud nose, high cheekbones. No obvious signs of injury. “Mister, do you know your name?”

His eyelashes flickered, giving her a glimpse of dark brown eyes before those thick black lashes swept downward.

Where was the fire department? Michelle glanced up and down the road. Empty. There was no one! Even the deer had fled the scene and there was only her to help him—like she knew what to do!

He clearly needed help. A big drop of blood oozed from beneath the left side of his helmet, over his left brow. She yanked down the sleeve of her faded designer denim jacket that she’d gotten on sale for an unbelievable one hundred and twenty dollars, and wiped away the trickling blood. Was it a head injury? What if he was suffering from head trauma? She was a faithful TV watcher of medical dramas, but what did she know about intracranial hemorrhaging?

He moaned, still unconscious, and moved into her touch as if he needed her comfort. Tenderness rolled through her. She watched a shock of his dark hair dance in the wind, brushing her knuckles. Her heart tugged at the brief connection. He dragged in a shaky sigh and his dark lashes fluttered again.

Please, Father, help him. He looked so vibrant and strong, so fit and healthy, like a mighty dream of a man who’d fallen to the ground before her.

Except his skin was warm and he moaned again. He was no dream but a flesh-and-blood man.

She slid two fingers down the warm leather of his jacket’s collar to feel the steady pound of his pulse. He was breathing. His heartbeat was strong.

“Hold on, mister.”

His eyelashes fluttered again.

“Help is coming. I promise.”

Who was speaking? Brody wondered as he struggled against the dark. He flashed back to scuba school, when he’d been underwater without air, training for every disaster, fighting off fake enemies and holding his breath. The moment he’d been free, his lungs had been close to bursting as he surged up, up, up toward the glowing light. Once again fighting with all his might, he broke through the light and opened his eyes.

“Why, welcome back.”

Her voice was light music, and his vision was nothing but brightness and a round blur of a shadow directly overhead. The bright light speared pain through his skull. Dimly he registered the pain but his body felt so far away.

Who was talking to him? It was that silhouette before his eyes. Wait, it was no silhouette but an angel kneeling over him, golden-haired and radiating light. A light so pure and perfect, he’d never seen the like.

Where was he? A fraction of a memory flashed into his mind. The rumbling vibration of the bike’s engine, the kiss of the summer wind on his face, the rush of the asphalt beneath him as he shifted and the deer and fawn leaping onto the road in front of him.

He was dead. That’s what happened. The crash had killed him and he was looking at heaven. At an angel who watched over him with all of the good Lord’s grace.

Boy, his captain was sure going to be disappointed, and Brody was sad about that, but he’d never seen such beauty. It filled his soul, made insignificant the pain beginning to arch through his body—

Wait. He was in pain? That didn’t seem right. And he was lying on something hard—the road. And where was St. Peter? No pearly gates, no judgment day.

Pain slammed against him like a sledgehammer drilling into his chest. He wheezed in a breath, alive, on earth and gazing up into the face of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Lie still.” Her voice was like the sweetest of hymns. Her touch was like a healing balm as she eased him back onto the ground.

He hadn’t realized he’d even lifted his head, but he was breathless as he rested against the road. His senses cleared, and he could feel the breeze shivering over him, the heat radiating off the pavement. See the blue of the flawless sky and the peaches-and-cream complexion of the concerned woman gazing intently down at him.

“The paramedics are coming.” Relief shone in her deep blue eyes. “You just lie still and have faith. You’re going to be fine.”

She said those words with such force that he believed her. Even with the pain rocketing through his head and jabbing through his ribs and zipping all the way down his right leg. He knew he was going to be fine.

The siren shrilled louder, closer, magnifying the pain in his throbbing head. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to the inviting darkness of unconsciousness. He could hold on. He would.

She laid her hand against his unshaven jaw, and it was as if light filled him from head to toe.

Who was she? Why did she affect him this way? Maybe it was shock setting in or how hard his head had hit the pavement, but when he looked at her, his soul stirred.

Boots pounded to a stop. Men dropped equipment and a uniformed man—a local fireman—dropped to his knees.

“Had a spill, did you?” Kindness and wisdom were written into the lines on the man’s face. “No, don’t try to sit up. Not yet. What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Brody,” he said before the fog cleared from his brain and he realized he was in big trouble.

He’d blown his cover. He hadn’t been on the job more than five minutes, and what did he do?

Blow it all to bits. He’d given his real name instead of the cover name he’d been given. And this was his final mission. When he wanted to go out with a bang, not hanging his head.

It’s not over yet, he realized, biting his tongue before he could say his first name. He had to think quick.

“Brody,” he repeated. “Brody Gabriel.”

It wasn’t the name that matched his false ID and social security card, his insurance information and the registration papers to the bike, but he’d worry about that later.

This mission could still be salvaged.

“Don’t worry about your bike,” the fireman reassured him, the name Jason was embroidered in red thread on his shirt, “It’s still in one piece. Sure is a beauty. How’d you wipe out on a straight stretch?”

“A deer.”

“Rough, man.” The fireman shook his head and patched in his equipment.

Brody tried looking around again. Where had his rescuer gone? All he knew was that he couldn’t see her. He tried to sit up and nausea rolled through him. He sank weakly to the pavement and let the medics check his pulse and blood pressure.

While they did, he took a quick inventory of his pain. His ribs were killing him. But his right ankle hurt worse.

Lord, Brody prayed, please don’t let my leg be broken. That would be an end to everything. He’d worked hard to prepare for this mission. No one was as primed and prepared as he was. He refused to hand over his hard work to a junior agent. This was supposed to be the mission he’d be remembered for.

“I’m good,” he told Jason. “I just need to sit up, get my bearings. I hit pretty hard going down.”

“You’ve got a mild concussion to prove it, is my bet.” The fireman flicked a flashlight and shone it into Brody’s eyes. “Let us take care of you. Sometimes you can’t tell how bad you’re hurt right off. It’s good to go to the hospital, let ’em take their pictures and run their tests. Make sure you’re A-OK. Now move your fingers for me. Can you feel that?”

“Yep.” Brody’s relief was tempered by the cervical collar they snapped around his neck. His toes moved, too. Another good sign.

That’s when she moved into his line of sight. His golden haired rescuer leaned against the front quarter panel of the sheriff’s cruiser and crossed her long legs at the ankles.

My, but she was fine. Tall, slim and pure goodness. Her long blond hair shimmered in the sun and danced in the breeze. Her blue eyes were now hidden behind sunglasses, but her rosebud mouth was drawn into a severe frown as she gestured toward the road, as if describing what had happened.

She wore a faded denim jacket over a light pink shirt and stylish jeans. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal the glint of a gold watch on one wrist and a glitter of a gold bracelet on the other. Her voice rose and fell and he was too far away to pick up on her words, but the sound soothed him. Made longing flicker to life in the middle of his chest.

He’d never felt such a zing of awareness over a woman before. He was on duty. He was the youngest senior agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He knew better than to take a personal interest in anyone when he was dedicated to a case, to upholding the laws of this great land.

What he ought to do was put her out of his mind, ignore the sting of longing in his chest and concentrate on his job.

Then she turned in profile to gesture toward the side of the road, and that’s when he recognized her. The perfect slope of a nose, the delicate cut of cheekbone and chin. She was one of the McKaslin girls. Michelle.

The youngest daughter of the family he’d come to investigate.

Chapter Two

In the harsh fluorescent lights of Bozeman General’s waiting room, Michelle stared down at her new toe-thong, wedge sandals that went so perfectly with her favorite bootleg jeans.

It was a perfect sandal. And on sale, too. She’d been wanting a pair of wedge sandals for over two months now, salivating each and every time she saw a model wearing them on the pages of her beloved magazines. So, when she’d saw them in the window display at the mall on her way to the Christian bookstore, she’d bought them on impulse.

An hour ago, she’d felt rad. Better than she’d been in a long time. Tapping across the parking lot to her truck with her shopping bags had given her great satisfaction. As if all her problems in life were solved with six pairs of new shoes.

Until she’d seen the medics working on the motorcycle guy, their faces grim. Their equipment had reflected the sun’s harsh rays in ruthless stabs of light that had hurt her eyes and cut straight to her soul.

She could still see that man wipe out right in front of her. The drag of his body on the pavement, the ricochet of his head hitting the blacktop, the deathly stillness after his big body had skidded to a stop.

She shivered, horrified all over again. It was by God’s grace he’d opened his eyes, she decided. A miracle that he’d survived. She’d never realized before how fragile a human life could be. Flesh and bone meeting concrete and steel…well, she hated to think of all that could have happened.

Or all the catastrophic ways the man the firemen called Brody could still be hurt.

“Go on home,” Sheriff Cameron Durango had told her at the scene.

Go home? She hadn’t caused the accident, but she felt responsible. She couldn’t explain why. She just was. From the moment she saw his big male form sprawled out on the road, the rise and fall of his chest, the ripple of the wind stirring the flaps of his jacket, she’d been involved.

When she’d lifted his visor and saw the hard cut of his high cheekbones, the straight blade of his nose and the tight line of his strong mouth, he looked strong and vulnerable at the same moment.

She’d seen him crash. She’d seen him bleed. She couldn’t just walk away as if it hadn’t happened. As if she didn’t care. As if she didn’t have a heart. She couldn’t have left a wounded bird in the road, let alone a wounded man. Even if she’d been waiting for hours and hours.

Where was he? What was taking so long? Okay, the waiting room was crammed with people coughing and sneezing and one man was holding a cloth to his cut hand—the nurse came out and took him away quickly. They were busy, she got that, but what about Brody? Was he so hurt that he was in surgery or something scary like that? Maybe she ought to go up to the desk and ask.

She grabbed her purse and tucked her cell safely inside. With great relish, she abandoned the hard black plastic chair that was making her back ache. She wove around sick people and some cowboy’s big-booted feet that were sticking way out into the aisle.

The line behind the check-in window was long. She fell into place. But when she looked up, she nearly fell off her wedge-sandals at the sight of Brody limping down the wide hallway toward her.

Alive. Walking on his own steam. He looked bruised but strong, and her spirit lifted at the sight. Relief left her trembling and weak, and wasn’t that really weird because he was like a total stranger?

He was holding his helmet in his left hand and a slip of paper in the right. The white slash of a bandage over his left brow was a shocking contrast to his brown hair and sun-golden skin.

His eyes were dark, shadowed with pain and his mouth a tight unhappy line as he strolled up to her. “I remember you.”

He could have said that with more enthusiasm. Like with a low dip to his voice, the way a movie star did when he was zeroing in on his ladylove for the first time. He’d say, with perfect warmth in the words, “I remember you,” and the heroine would flutter and fall instantly in love.

Yeah, that would be better than the way Brody said it, as if she were a bad luck charm he wanted to avoid. “They’re letting you walk out of here, so that must mean you’re all right.”

“My ankle’s wrapped. I’ve got a few stitches and I’m as good as new.”

“I’m glad. I mean, like, you really crashed hard. I couldn’t go home until I knew for sure that you were all right.”

So, that’s what she was doing here.

Brody stuffed the pain prescription in his pocket and mulled that little piece of information over. According to his research, Michelle McKaslin was the spoiled favorite of the family, the youngest of six girls. The oldest had been killed in a plane crash years ago. She was working two jobs, one at the local hair salon and the other at her sister’s coffee shop, and still living at home. The Intel he had on her was that she loved to shop, talk on the phone with her friends and ride her horse.

“You came here to see a doc, too,” he said, not believing her. Nobody sat in a waiting room for hours without a good reason. Unless she suspected who he was. What had he muttered before he’d come to? Had he given himself away? “I saw your truck skid to a stop. Hit your head on the windshield, didn’t you?”

Her big blue eyes grew wider. “Oh, no, I was wearing my seat belt. It just looked so scary with the way they put the neck collar on you and took you off in the ambulance. I can’t help feeling responsible, you know, since I was there. I’m really glad you’re not seriously hurt. I started praying the minute I saw the deer leap onto the road.”

There wasn’t a flicker of dishonesty in her face. Only honest concern shone in her eyes, and her body language reinforced it. None of the paperwork he had on her had indicated she’d be sincere. That surprised him. He didn’t run into nice people in his line of work.

Unless the niceness was only a mask, hiding something much worse inside.

“Let me get this straight. You drove all the way back to the city to sit in a waiting room for two hours just so you knew I was all right?”

“Yep. This is Montana. We don’t abandon injured strangers on the road.”

She seemed proud of that, and he had no choice but to take what she said as the truth. He relaxed, but only a fraction.

“Wait one minute!” the clerk behind the desk shouted at him, forcing him to abandon Michelle and approach the window where intimidating paperwork was pushed at him. “Your insurance isn’t valid.”

“Not valid?” It figured. None of his ID matched his new name. His cover was supposed to be Brad Donaldson, and that’s what his Virginia driver’s license said, his new insurance card, everything.

“We can make arrangements if you can’t pay the entire bill right now.” The woman with the big, black rim glasses and the KGB frown could have had a job at the Bureau intimidating difficult people.

Brody glanced at the total. Blinked. His heart rate skyrocketed. “Are you sure you billed me right? I didn’t have a liver transplant.”

The woman behind the window turned as cold as a glacier. “Our prices are so high because of people who do not pay their hospital bills.”

Great. Why did that make him feel like dirt? He paid his bills. Not that he had eight hundred dollars in his wallet to spare.

The woman, whose badge identified her as Mo, lifted one questioning brow. She glanced at his biker’s scarred bomber jacket, the right shoulder seam torn, and the unshaven jaw as if drawing her own conclusions.

Michelle stepped discreetly away from the scene to give Brody his privacy. She probably should go home now that she knew he was all right and could go on his way. She’d tell him where his bike was, and hand over his bike’s saddle pack. Yep, that would be the sensible thing to do.

“Are you able to pay the bill in full?” Mo demanded.

“Yes, but I need an ATM machine.”

“Do we look like a bank?”

The big man sighed in exasperation as he rubbed his brow. His head had to be hurting him.

Just walk away, Michelle. That’s what her mom would say. Sure, he looks nice and he’s handsome, but he’s still a stranger.

A stranger stranded in a city without his own transportation, she remembered. The sheriff had called the local towing company to have the bike hauled away.

What should she do? Maybe the angels could give her a sign, let her know if this man was as safe as she thought he was. He didn’t fit the stereotype of a biker, if there was one. He was youngish, probably in his late twenties. He wore a plain black T-shirt and a pair of Levi’s jeans. But it was his boots that made her wonder.

They were special order, handmade and cost more than she made in three months. Not just anyone could afford those boots to ride a motorcycle. Just who was this handsome stranger? Maybe he was a software designer on a vacation. Or a vice president of a financial company getting away from the city on an always-longed-for road trip.

There she was, off on her romantic daydreams again. The question was, did she help him or not?

As Brody leaned forward to thumb through the contents of his wallet, a gold chain eased out from beneath the collar of his T-shirt. A masculine gold cross, small but distinctive, dangled at the curve of the chain.

He was a man of faith. It was all the sign she needed. Michelle stepped forward, intending to help.

“Are you going to pay or not?” Mo demanded.

“I’ll give you what’s in my wallet, how’s that?” One-hundred-dollar bill after another landed on the counter.

He had that much cash? Michelle’s jaw dropped. Didn’t he have credit cards? It was a travesty. “I’ll take you to the bank, if you need a ride.”

Brody shoved the pile of bills at the somewhat mollified Mo and pivoted on the heels of his boots. His dark eyes surveyed her from head to her painted toenails. “You’d help me out, just like that?”

“Sure. I don’t think you’re dangerous and you are in need. I don’t think you should walk very far being hurt like that.” She reached into her purse and started rummaging around. Where had her phone gone to? She pushed aside her sunglasses and kept digging. “Oh, here it is. Is there someone you should call? To let them know you’re okay?”

He stared at the cell phone she offered him. “No, thanks. I’ve got my own phone. Besides, there’s no one waiting for me.”

“Someone has to be concerned about you. A mother? A wife?” Since he wasn’t wearing a gold band, it didn’t hurt to ask. “A girlfriend?”

He blushed a little and stared at the ground. “No, there’s no girlfriend.”

“There used to be one?” Okay, call her curious. But she had to know. Maybe he’d had his heart broken. No, wait, maybe he’d been jilted at the altar, and he’d taken off on his bike not knowing where he was headed only that he had to get away and try to lose the pain.

The shadows in his eyes told her that she was close. The poor man. Anyone could see how kind he was. How noble. It was in the way he stood—straight and strong and in control of himself. A real man.

She sighed as she stuffed her phone back into her purse. “Which bank do you need to go to?”

“I don’t care. Nearest cash machine is good enough.” Brody crumpled his receipt and jammed it in his coat pocket.

“No problem. Do you want to get your prescription filled, too?”

“No. Where’s my bike? My pack?”

“The town mechanic towed your bike to his shop in town, but I thought to grab your bag. I told the sheriff I’d look after you. Since I feel responsible.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but I was there. I saw you fall. I’ve got to know that you’re all right.” She had the energy and grace of a young filly, all long-legged elegance as she led the way toward the electronic doors. “You’ve got to be hungry, too. And you’ll need a place to stay. Unless you have reservations nearby?”

Things couldn’t be working out better if he’d planned it this way. What seemed like a disaster was a godsend. How many times had that happened in his missions over the years? Brody knew, beyond a doubt, that’s what happened when a person followed his calling. The Lord found a way to make everything work out for the good.

Brody decided to ax his plans and improvise. Go with the flow. “No, I don’t have a place to stay.”

“Then we’ll find you something.”

Excellent. He couldn’t ask for more. He didn’t mention the local classifieds he’d pored through on the Internet at his office in Virginia. Or the fact that he’d already chosen a place to stay in town not far from the McKaslin ranch. A dirt-cheap hotel with convenient kitchenettes that rented by the week. What a biker like him would be expected to afford.

What would Michelle McKaslin suggest? This opportunity was too good to turn down and adrenaline pumped through his blood. He forgot that he was hurt. That pain was shrieking through his ankle and up his leg. With Michelle McKaslin willing to help him, it could only help his mission.

He fell in stride beside her, only to have her dart away from him in a leggy, easy sprint. Where was she going?

“Oh, I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. She trotted down the brightly lit sidewalk in front of the emergency area.

Away from him. What was going on?

He watched Michelle dash up to a gray-haired, frail woman. The two spoke for a moment. The elderly woman dressed neatly in a gray pantsuit and a fine black overcoat looked greatly relieved.

Someone she knew? Brody wondered. From his records he’d already ascertained that Michelle had a grandmother. But the woman Michelle was speaking to didn’t look anything like Helen, whose picture he’d seen in the local paper as a member of the Ladies’ Aid.

To his surprise, Michelle escorted the older woman toward him and pointed to the wide doors to the desk where Mo was now collecting information from another patient. “Right there, she can help you,” Michelle said.

“Oh, you are a good girl. Thank you so much.” Looking seriously grateful, the older woman made her way to Mo’s counter.

“She was lost. It is confusing around here,” Michelle said easily as she hopped off the sidewalk onto the pavement. “They need more signs.”

Brody was speechless. Michelle really was a sweetheart. She’d stopped to help an elderly woman find her way with the same good spirit as she was helping him tonight. Unbelievable. Yet, true. He didn’t see that often in his line of work.

He recognized the somewhat rusty and slightly dented 1992 Ford Ranger as the same one he’d been passing this afternoon. Dust clung to the blue side panels and someone had written “wash me” on the passenger door.

“That was probably one of my sisters,” Michelle commented as she unlocked the door for him. “When I find out which one, she will regret it.”

Michelle looked about as dangerous as a baby bunny. Still, he recognized and appreciated her sense of humor. “A cruel retribution?”

“At the Monopoly board, of course. We play board games every Sunday night. Fridays, when we can manage it.”

“How many sisters do you have?” Although he already knew the answer.

“I have four older sisters.” She didn’t mention the oldest sister, although she sounded sad as she walked around the back of the truck to the driver’s side. “They are great women, my sisters. I love them dearly. They are so perfect and beautiful and smart. And then there’s me.”

He settled in on the bench seat. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What isn’t?” She rolled her eyes, apparently good-natured about her shortcomings and dropped into place behind the steering wheel. “First of all, I didn’t go to college. Disappointed my parents, but I’ve never liked school. I got good grades, I worked hard, but I didn’t like it. I like working with hair.”

Michelle yanked the door shut with an earsplitting bang. “I like my job at the Snip & Style. I’m fairly new at it, and it takes years to build a clientele, but I’m doing pretty well.”

“You’re a beautician?”

“Yep.” The engine turned over with a tired groan. “What do you do?”

“I used to ride rodeo,” he lied, and his conscience winced.

It was his job, and being dishonest had never bothered him like this before. He’d justified it all knowing it was for the greater good. He was trying to bring justice, right wrongs, catch bad guys.

As he gazed into Michelle’s big blue eyes, where a good brightness shone, he felt dirty and ashamed.

“Rodeo? Oh, cool. I used to barrel race. I was junior state champion two years in a row. I’m not as good as my sister, though. Her old room at home has one whole wall full of her ribbons.”

“You have a horse?”

“Yep. Keno. I ride him every day. I’ve been riding since I was two years old.”

“I was eighteen months.” Brody couldn’t believe it. Not everyone he met had been riding nearly as long as they could talk. “My dad was a cattleman. He’d take me out in the fields with him as early as I could remember. I’d spend all day in the saddle on my pony, Max. I rode better than I could walk.”

“Me, too. All my sisters had horses, and so I had to ride, too. My mom has pictures of me sitting on my sister’s horse, Star, when I was still a baby. I got my own pony for my fifth birthday.”

“I traded in my pony for an American quarter horse. My dad and I would pack up after a day in the fields and head up into the mountains. We’d follow trails up into the wilderness, find a good spot and camp for the night. Just like the mountain men used to do. Those were good times.”

“I know what you mean. Before my oldest sister died, my family used to take trips up into the mountains. We’d ride up into the foothills and we’d spend a few days up there. Catching trout and having the best time. Real family times. We don’t do that anymore.”

Sadness filled her, and Michelle stopped her heart because it hurt too much to think about how the seasons of a person’s life changed. It wasn’t fair. She missed the closeness of her family. It seemed like everything she’d ever known was different. Her sisters had moved out on their own. Karen and Kirby had gotten married. Michelle couldn’t believe it. She was an aunt now.

“That’s what I like about taking off on my motorcycle.”

“Camping?”

“Yep. That’s what I’ve been doing, but not tonight.” Brody’s rumbling baritone dipped self-consciously. As if he were embarrassed he’d wiped out.

No wonder. It took a tough man, one of determination and steel and skill, to survive on the rodeo circuit. One who wouldn’t like to be seen crashing his motorcycle, even if it was practically unavoidable. “You’re probably a little sore from hitting the pavement so hard.”

“That’s an understatement.” His grin was lopsided, and the reflection of the dash lights made him impossibly handsome. “It sounds as if you miss going camping.”

“Not so much. I’m sorta fond of hot water and plumbing.” It was hard to talk past the painful emotion knotted in the center of her chest. “I guess what I miss is the way things used to be. How close we all used to be. The fun we used to have. I know everyone grows up and everything changes, but it just seems sad.”

“Some days I think the best part of my life is behind me. Times spent with my folks on the farm. Those were good memories. I haven’t been that happy again.”

“I hope that I will. One day.”

“Me, too.”

Amazing that this perfect stranger understood. That they had this in common. The knot of emotion swelled until her throat ached and her eyes burned. It was grieving, she knew, for the better times in her life. Pastor Bill had told her that the best was still ahead of her. To have faith.

Is that the way Brody felt? Did he look around at other people who were starting marriages and families or raising their children and see their happiness? Did he long to be part of that warm loving world of family and commitment the way she did? Did he feel so lonely some nights it hurt to turn the lights out and hear the echoes in the room?

Maybe Pastor Bill was right. Maybe life was like a hymn with many verses, but the song’s melody remained a familiar pattern. One that God had written for each person singularly. And maybe she was starting the second verse of hers.

She had faith. She had no patience, but she had faith. And knowing that a perfect stranger, and one as handsome as the man beside her, was walking a similar path helped.

She pulled up to the well-lit ATM at the local bank and put the truck in Park. As Brody ambled up to the machine, rain began to fall. Small, warm drops polka-dotted her windshield and felt like tears.

Chapter Three

The plump woman behind the motel’s front desk cracked her gum and tilted her head to the side, forcing her bleached beehive at an angle that reminded Michelle of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Honey, we’re booked up solid. It’s tourist season. There are no vacancies from here to Yellowstone, but I’ll call around for you, if you’d like. See if there was a last-minute cancellation somewhere.”

“I’d sure appreciate that, ma’am.” Brody sounded patient and polite.

Michelle noticed he was looking pasty in the bad overhead lighting. He was in pain, she realized with a cinch in the middle of her chest. Much more than he was letting on. She remembered the prescription he didn’t want to fill.

So, he was a tough guy, was he? She wasn’t surprised.

But she was shocked at the dark patches in the woman’s hair. Someone had done a bad job—a seriously sloppy coloring job. Shameful, that’s what it was.

That was something she could fix. Michelle dug around in her purse and found a business card. This side of Bozeman wasn’t far at all from the pleasant little town she lived and worked in, and so, why not?

God had given her a talent for hairstyling, and maybe she ought to do good where she could. She dug around for a pen, found one beneath her compact and wrote on the back of her card, “Free cut and coloring. Just give me a call.”

“Maybe you’d better sit down before you fall down.” Michelle eyed Brody warily. He stood militarily straight, but dark bruises underscored his eyes. The muscles along his jaw were rigid, as if it took all his will to remain standing.

“I’m fine.” His terse reply was answer enough.

Yep, definitely a tough guy. Too macho for his own good. Michelle rolled her eyes and capped her pen. He wasn’t her responsibility, not entirely, but what was she going to do? Just leave him? He obviously needed help and he didn’t even know it.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk returned. “I’ve called all the chains and independents around. The closest vacancy I could find was a room in Butte.”

An hour away. Brody groaned. That wasn’t going to work. Maybe he’d call his emergency contact at the local office. See if he couldn’t crash on a fellow agent’s couch for the night. Brody thanked the woman for her trouble.

“If you’re interested,” Michelle said as she handed something to the woman. “On the house. For your trouble tonight.”

“Why, that’s awful nice of you.” She beamed at Michelle. “I’ll sure do that. I’ve been needing to make an appointment, and gosh, just couldn’t fit it into my budget.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you.” Michelle joined him at the door.

Had she just given away a free haircut? Brody pondered that.

“What are we going to do with you, mister?” Rain dripped off the overhead entrance and whispered in the evening around them as she flipped through her key ring.

“Abandon me in the street?” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Let me get my pack out of your truck before you go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” With a flick of her hair, she marched toward her truck, fearless in the rain. “What are you standing there for? Hurry up. You’re coming with me.”

“As in, going home with you?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

No way. That was too good to be true.

“What are you going to do? Sleep in the rain? My parents have this big house. They won’t mind a guest for the night.”

An invitation to spend the night in the McKaslins’ home. He was speechless at this rare opportunity. “They’d take a stranger into their house, just like that?”

“You can have the bed over the garage. Don’t worry. It’s nice. You can get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning one of us will drive you to town so you can check out the damage to your bike.” With a shrug, Michelle unlocked her truck and climbed behind the wheel.

He swiped rain out of his eyes and took refuge inside the cab. Unbelievable.

As the rain began falling in earnest, tapping like a hundred impatient drummers on the roof, he had this strange, sinking feeling. Just like the time when he’d been diving and his gear hung up on a snag, pulling him down against his will. “You shouldn’t be offering perfect strangers rides in your truck. Or to stay overnight in your parents’ house.”

“I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re a man of faith.” She touched her own dainty cross.

“I don’t suppose you realize some people pretend to be what they’re not. To take advantage of others.” When he did so, he did it for justice. To protect the innocent citizens of this country.

He knew for a fact there were bad people in this world. And those bad people kept him and his colleagues well employed. Didn’t she have a clue? “I could be dangerous.”

“But you’re not. I have a sense about these things.” Michelle’s smile was pure sunlight—gentle and bright and true—as she turned her attention to her driving.

Unaware that she was about to bring a wolf in sheep’s clothes into her family’s home. A protective wolf, but one just the same.

The hard edge of his trusty revolver cut into his side, mocking him, concealed in the slim leather holder beneath his leather jacket.

“Besides, what else are you going to do? Walk all the way to Butte? You’re injured and I told you, I feel responsible.”

The way Michelle saw it, God might have placed her on that road at that exact moment just so that Brody wouldn’t be alone when he crashed to avoid the deer and her fawn.

Maybe she was meant to help him. As a Christian, it was her duty. How could she not help? It would be wrong.

She didn’t know if her mom would see it that way, but she was absolutely sure that her dad would, because he was cool. By now, her parents ought to be used to her habit of bringing home strays, right?

Even if she’d never brought home a stray this big before.

Or one so handsome he made her teeth ache.

The house was dark, except for the lone lamp in the entryway. It wasn’t Mom’s Bible-study night. Or Dad’s grange hall meeting night. Where were they? And didn’t they know she worried?

Maybe they’d gone out to dinner. Could it be? Afraid to hope, afraid to say it out loud, Michelle grabbed fresh linens from the hall closet. If her parents had gone out together, it would be the first time in six years. Ooh, the curiosity was killing her as she stole a pillow off Kendra’s bed along with the plain blue comforter.

Brody. He’d turned down her invitation to come into the house and was checking out the apartment over the garage.

He sure was a courteous guy. Concerned about her safety. Maybe it came from the kind of life he’d lived. Always on the road with the rodeo. He’d probably seen a lot that she couldn’t even dream of.

She liked that about him. That he was worldly. Experienced. But when he smiled, his eyes sparkled with a quiet kindness. She liked that. Which was too bad. Brody didn’t have plans to stay. He was just passing through.

At least it didn’t hurt a girl to dream.

She caught sight of him through the second-story windows. He stood gazing around the small apartment, wandering around to look at this or that. A zip of warmth flooded her heart, and she couldn’t stop the sigh that bubbled up until she felt as if she were floating with it.

What a man. He stood like a soldier, alert, strong and disciplined, and so inherently good, it made her eyes glisten. She knew beyond a doubt that helping him was the right thing to do.

She closed the front door, skipped down the steps and dashed through the remaining splashes of the rainstorm. In no time at all she was bouncing up the steps and into the attic apartment where Brody turned to her.

And made her pulse stop.

“This is a nice place you’ve got here.” Brody gestured around at the shadowed front room that led into the small kitchen.

But Michelle didn’t bother to look around the place and admire it with him. How could she notice anything when he was so near? He’d taken his leather jacket off and folded it on the tabletop, leaving him in the black T-shirt where torn fabric gaped over another thick bandage.

Was her heart ever going to start beating again, she wondered as air rushed into her lungs and she could breathe. Maybe she’d waited too long to eat dinner—they’d grabbed takeout on the way out of Bozeman—and that’s why she felt funny.

“Does someone live here?” Brody strolled to the wide front windows and closed the blinds. “Or do you just keep this place for random strangers in need of a good night’s sleep and patching up?”

“The foreman used to live here until my dad had a cottage built down by the creek. Then my sister Karen lived here for a long time, but then she got married, and my uncle lost both his job and his wife and needed some place to stay but he said it was too small….” Oh my, was she rambling? Yes, she definitely was. Stop it, Michelle.

“As it turns out, we don’t have a foreman anymore, so my uncle took over the cottage last month. So, no one’s staying here right now.” Was she still holding the sheets and stuff?

Yes. What was with her anyway, staring at handsome Brody as if she’d lost her cerebral cortex? She dropped the pillow, sheets and comforter on the corner of the couch.

She still felt nervous. Why suddenly now? Because she was alone with him, and that didn’t make any sense at all. They’d been all alone in the truck. This felt different. When was the last time she’d been alone with a guy like Brody? Had she ever?

“I appreciate the hospitality.” He favored his injured right ankle as he ambled over to grab the set of floral-printed linens. “I can’t say that I’ve slept on pink and blue flowers before.”

“Flowered sheets are more restful.”

“Is that a scientifically proven fact?”

“Absolutely.”

They should have been teasing, but it was something else. Something that flickered in an odd way in her chest. A warmth of emotion that she didn’t know how to describe because she’d never felt it before.

She turned away. Feeling like this couldn’t be a good thing. Vulnerable, that’s what she was, and she didn’t like it. She retreated to the open entry where a dark slash of the deepening night welcomed her. “The bedroom’s through those doors. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Michelle. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” He looked sincere. Strong. Like everything a good man ought to be.

Michelle fled onto the tiny porch, pulling the door closed behind her. She felt her face flaming and her pulse jackhammering. She was feeling a strange tug of emotion, longing and admiration all rolled into one.

Great. Had he noticed?

Probably. How could he not? At least he was leaving come morning. She could pretend she didn’t think he was the coolest man ever for a few more hours.

It wasn’t like she had a chance with him. He was too worldly, and he had a life. It wasn’t as if he was going to drop everything and move to a tiny town in Montana that was a pinpoint on a detailed state map.

Be real, Michelle.

Common sense didn’t stop the stab of longing that pierced through her chest. It didn’t stop the pain of it.

She wiped her feet on the welcome mat on the front porch. She locked the door behind her. As she did every night, she hung her denim jacket on one of the hangers inside the entry closet. There was a note tacked to the message board in the kitchen by the phone. Her mom was the queen of organization.

“Michelle, went to supper and a show with your gramma. Make sure you start the dishwasher when you get in. Don’t stay up too late.”

There went the hope that her parents were out together. After all this time, she knew better than to hope. But it was one of those wishes that never died, that flickered to life new and fragile every day.

The message light on the answering machine was blinking and she hit the playback button. The old machine ground and hissed and clicked. There was a message from older sister Karen, calling to remind Michelle about her shift tomorrow at the coffee shop. A message from some old guy looking for Dad.

Michelle groaned at the third message. It was from Bart Holmes. The farmer who lived down the road. The same Bart who’d been mooning after her sister Kirby, until Kirby had married.

As if! In disgust, Michelle erased Bart’s nasal voice. She was so not interested in going out to dinner. She’d do her best to avoid him in church. She was not interested in joining his Bible study, either, thank you very much! Couldn’t he get a clue?

Just her luck. The guys she didn’t want to notice her, pursued her. And the one that she did want to notice her was so far out of her league, she might as well be trying to jump to the moon.

Give it up, Michelle. She squeezed dishwashing soap into the compartment and turned on the contraption. She left the kitchen to the hissing sound of water filling the dishwasher, and hopped up the stairs.

Every step she took was like a glimpse at her past. School pictures framed and carefully hung on the wall showed the six McKaslin girls, all blond and blue-eyed, alike as peas in a pod, smiling nearly identical smiles.

As she climbed toward the second story, the pictures grew older, marching through the years. To high school portraits in the hallway and Karen’s and Kirby’s wedding pictures. Everyone looked so happy and joyful, all the sisters crowded together in colorful bridesmaid dresses in both sets of wedding photos, but one sister was missing. Allison.

Nothing would ever be the same, she knew, as she stood before the final picture in the photo saga of the McKaslin family. Karen’s newborn daughter, Allie was named in honor of the sister who had died so young.

What other pictures would follow, Michelle wondered? There would be more babies, more weddings. She had no doubt her two currently unmarried sisters would find love.

Would there be love for her? Or would she always be like this, running behind, left in the dust. She’d watched as her sisters were old enough to do what she couldn’t: ride horses, ride bikes, go to school, become cheerleaders, go to the prom, go steady, marry a great guy.

She’d always felt as if she’d never caught up as her sisters grew up and left home. And in the grief of losing Allison, she’d felt like she’d lost her family, as well. The house that was once full now echoed around her as she made her way down the hall.

She supposed that’s why she wanted to fall in love. To try and finally have what had been so wonderful and then slipped away. The warm tight cohesive love of a family and the happiness that came from it.

“Patience,” Gramma was always telling her. “The good Lord gives us what we need at just the right time.”

Well, how long would she have to wait? Her steps echoed through the lonely house that once had been filled with laughter and love.

She knew better than to hope that a stranger, a man passing through town on his way to a more exciting life, would be the one who could save her from this aloneness.

She was old enough to have stopped believing in fairy tales. But she wanted a happily-ever-after of her very own. She wanted a white knight on a fast horse with a heart strong and true.

That it was impossible. There weren’t men like that in the world. Well, maybe the world, but absolutely certainly not in tiny, humble Manhattan, Montana.

She could see Brody’s window from her bedroom. Just the corner of it, where a small light shone through the dark and the winds and rain. Her heart caught and remained a stark ache in the middle of her chest.

Brody would be moving on come morning. She knew it. That’s why she was sad as she brushed her teeth, washed her face and changed into her pj’s. The sadness deepened as she said her prayers and turned out the light.

It wasn’t about Brody. That wasn’t it. It was the promise of what he could be. Of what she wanted a man to be. Protective and disciplined and honest and strong. The kind of man who would never lie, never fail, never betray her and love her forever.

Were there men out there like that?

Only in fairy tales.

She drew her comforter up over her head and closed her eyes.

“I’m in.” Brody kept the lights off as he sat on the little balcony deck, tucked beneath the awning just off the small apartment bedroom. “I took a spill on the bike, but—”

“Are you okay?” His partner sounded concerned.

“When haven’t I been? I’ve crashed and burned before.” He’d learned how to avoid serious injury during his training. He related the sequences of occurrences that had him bunked up in the McKaslins’ spare apartment. “Banged up, but I’ll survive. I don’t have my pack with me, or I could start surveillance tonight.”

“You’re on the property? Man! Talk about Providence.”

“No kidding.” Hunter Takoda was a good partner, the best of the best, and they’d worked together for the past five years.

“Your footwork paid off. I’m going to head out tonight, once the lights are out and everyone’s bedded down for the night—”

He heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and high beams upon the driveway cast spears of light around to the back of the garage, where he was.

Because of years of being partnered together, Brody didn’t need to tell Hunter that he had to check something out. Hunter waited patiently on the other end of the secure call while Brody limped through the dark apartment as fast as he could go, stubbed the toe of his injured foot on the leg of the coffee table, bit back the gasp of pain and crouched in front of the windows.

He heard the garage doors crank open as a big gray car—the one registered to Mrs. Alice McKaslin—drove into the garage beneath him and out of sight. He heard the engine die, and the garage doors eased downward.

A tidy, well-kept woman in her fifties, wearing a dress and heels, tapped down the walk to the front porch, opened the door and disappeared inside. Lights flashed on in the kitchen windows, but the blinds were drawn.

“I’m going out tonight. I’ll rough out the property. There’s got to be a few more service roads around here than I could find on the map. McKaslin’s moving the money somehow.”

“Think it’s a family operation, like the last case we busted over in Idaho?”

Brody thought of Michelle’s easy goodness. It was hard to see her engaging in criminal activity. “I may just have to spend some time ferreting that out for sure.” Wasn’t that too bad?

“Oh, I know. All those pretty blond women.” Hunter laughed. “Yeah, I did the original surveillance. I know what you’re thinking. When was the last time we got to work with really pretty women?”

“Really pretty and really decent women don’t have a tendency to garner the FBI’s interest.” Brody hoped Hunter wouldn’t figure out the truth—that he had a personal interest in Michelle.

Interest. That’s as far as it could go. He could secretly like her, what did that hurt? As long as he kept his objectivity. He was a professional. He was the best in the agency at what he did.

He’d finish this job the right way.

Chapter Four

As Michelle saw it, there were only two problems with having a horse. One was that she had to get up every morning at five to feed and water Keno and change his bedding. And the second problem was that the stable was in the opposite direction of the garage.

“Stop that, Keno.” She flicked her ponytail out of his mouth and gave him a sharp glare; the one that said, cross me and you’ll regret it.

Except that everyone, even her horse, already knew the real her. Ever playful, Keno shook his big head from side to side. The instant she bent back to work, he tugged on her ponytail again.

“All right, all right. I know.” Michelle rescued her hair and leaned the pitchfork against the side wall of the stall. “I’ve got things to do, I don’t have time to let you order me around this morning.”

Keno, her best friend ever, knew when he had the advantage and moved in to cinch the deal. He leaned the length of his nose against her sternum and stomach, as if to say he loved her. And what was a girl going to do about that?

Michelle melted like hot gooey chocolate left in the sun and gave her horse a hug back. “Okay, okay, you win.”

The big dark bay shook his black mane and nickered in excitement. This is what she got for ignoring him yesterday. “It wasn’t as if you were neglected, you big baby. You had the other horses to keep you company.”

The poor, neglected gelding stood still while she snapped the blue lead rope onto his matching nylon halter and led him through the wide stall door into the pasture.

What a great morning for a ride. The morning was fresh and the breeze sweet and warm as the new sun welcoming her. As boring as it was living in smallville, this was worth it. Freedom sparkled all around her, and she laughed at the nuzzle of Keno’s whisper-soft lips against her face.

She buried her left hand in his sturdy mane and braced the other on his back. She hopped on, pulled herself astride. Keno shifted with her weight, holding back all his power and energy until she sent him into an easy lope that made his mane dance and the meadow speed by.

She hadn’t ridden him yesterday, and he stretched his legs now as she leaned forward, gripped him hard with her thighs, and urged him into a faster run. But to where?

She could nose him into the rays of the rising sun and take him on the river trail, as she often did, or she could circle him around along the fence line. Yep, that’s what she’d do. Because from the rise near the house, she’d get a good look at the garage. She’d be able to see if Brody was up yet.

And if he was, she’d invite him in to meet her parents. And since she had several clients this morning, she’d take him with her on her way to town and connect him up with his bike. That way she’d at least be able to say goodbye to him before he rode off forever.

Speaking of goodbyes, there was her dad’s truck. The old tan-and-white pickup lumbered down the driveway and kicked up a soft plume of dust into the clean morning air.

Dad was going to town? He was usually in the fields this time of morning, checking the crops and irrigation equipment. There were always a thousand things to keep him busy.

But to head to town? Nothing was open, not even the coffee shop.

Brody. The realization pierced through her chest, leaving a physical pain. Surely Mom and Dad found the note she’d left, detailing the events that led to the stranger staying the night in the garage apartment, and Dad was taking charge, like always. He was taking Brody into town.

What? Without getting to say goodbye to him? As if!

Michelle signaled Keno to stop. At the crest of the knoll closest to the house, she could see the garage and the windows above it. The blinds were open, so that meant that Brody was obviously up. Thanks to the low angle of the sun, she could see right into the apartment. No one was there.

Sadness ripped through her, sharp as a razor blade. And how could that be? She’d only know Brody for what, like thirteen hours, and most of those she’d been asleep. So why did she feel so sad? As if she’d lost something of immense value? It made no sense.

He was gone. She laid the heel of her palm over her heart, wishing the sadness would stop. Watch over him, Father. Keep him safe on his journey. Help him find whatever he’s searching for.

Michelle swore she could hear the faintest answer, but the wind gusted and the seed-heavy grass rattled before she could grasp the words.

It was as if the sun had gone down on her, and how much sense did that make? But that’s what it felt like as she walked Keno back, cooling him off before she brushed him down in the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

Maybe it was the promise of a man like Brody. The hope of what she wanted in her life. A big strong man who was a little tough, looked a little dangerous, who was unique. A rugged individual. A good man of faith with a gentle heart.

There had to be men like that somewhere in the world. All she wanted was the right man. The best man. Someone she could love with all her heart.

Yeah, like they just fell out of the sky like rain.

She checked the water in the trough, poured grain, forked fresh alfalfa into the feeder and gave Keno one last hug before she locked the stall gate after her. She hadn’t felt this lonely in a long time, so why now?

Her steps echoed in the stable, melancholy sounding. She remembered when the stalls were full, and her sisters were always around, coming and going, cleaning stalls or grooming their horses. Now there was only the brush of dawn at the open doors as she stepped out into the morning alone.

Meeting Brody had done this. It made her wish—for one impossible second—that her life could change. That she could find love and a family of her own. That she would be able to be loved and to love, to give her soul mate all the love she’d been saving up in her heart just for him.

Whoever he was.

Well, not Brody. That was for sure.

At least it was Friday. She’d better remember to give her sisters a call—well everyone but Kristin because she lived in Seattle—and set up a game tonight. It was her turn to host. What was she gonna do for food?

They could barbecue, but then she was a disaster when it came to Dad’s propane grill. She’d set the cobs of corn on fire last time. She wasn’t the best cook, so she didn’t want to torture her sisters with some lame casserole. Wait, maybe she’d pick up a take-and-bake pizza from town. Perfect.

Feeling a little better, she kicked off her boots at the back steps and skidded to a stop in the threshold.

There, seated at the round oak table in the kitchen’s sunny eating nook was a dark-haired man. She recognized the tousled shanks of hair and the long powerful curve of his shoulder and back.

Brody. He was here? He hadn’t left?

Her knees felt unsteady, so she leaned against the door frame realizing too late that she’d swept her sleep-rumpled hair into a ponytail, and she hadn’t showered. Without makeup, and wearing a pair of old cut-offs, she had to look totally gross. She had to smell like her horse.

She was afraid Brody was going to leap out of his chair in horror and run on his injured ankle for the hills.

She couldn’t blame him if he did.

“Here, Michelle, honey.” Her mom noticed her first as she turned from the stove. “You’re just in time. Do you have a full morning at the Snip & Style?”

“Yeah.” Somehow she managed to talk like a normal person—with consonants and vowels and words and everything. “I’m, uh, didn’t know Brody was here.”

It was the nicest surprise ever.

He twisted in the chair, hooking his arm around the ladder back, looking like a dream come true as he smiled. Slow. Steady. “Your mom offered me breakfast and I’m not about to turn down a home-cooked meal. Mrs. McKaslin, I can’t remember when I’ve had such a privilege.”

“Goodness, you’re awfully well mannered for a biker.” Michelle’s mom tried to look stern, but pink blushed her face as she set two more plates on the table. She was pleased with the compliment. “Call me Alice. Michelle, I put your plate in the oven to keep warm. Mick’s is in there, too.”

“He’s not with Dad?”

“He’s not up yet. He’s not answering his phone, anyway.”

Michelle knew better than to say anything more. She grabbed a hot pad from the hook on the wall and found her plate in the oven. Uncle Mick was a sore point in the family. Her stomach tightened with worry over it as she headed to the table.

“Who’s Mick?” Brody asked, absently, as if to make conversation in the suddenly tense silence.

“My uncle.” Michelle dropped into the chair closest to him. “He’s going through a divorce and lost his job, so Dad hired him on to help out this summer.”

“Hmmph!” was the only comment Alice McKaslin made as she switched the burners and set the frying pan heavy with hot grease on a trivet to cool.

Brody quirked his left brow.

Michelle knew his question. She didn’t even need to ask. How weird was that? “Uncle Mick is Dad’s favorite brother. I was named after him. I was supposed to be a boy, so they named me Michelle instead of Michael. Anyway, Uncle Mick’s not the most responsible of men. He’s a rad uncle, but he’s—”

“—never grown up, and that’s not attractive in a forty-nine-year-old man.” Her mother’s stern look said everything. “Now, it’s time for grace.”

Michelle clasped her hands and bowed her head during the prayer. As she whispered an amen, she looked at Brody and wondered. Was it chance that he’d landed here? Or was he part of a bigger plan?

He looked noble with his high proud cheekbones and the slant of his straight nose. He sat straight in the chair, head bowed forward as he added a silent prayer to the end of her mother’s grace.

Okay, she had to like him even more for that—if it was possible to like him any more than she already did. He was so sincere and faithful as he muttered an amen and reached for his fork. He looked a little sheepish as he caught her watching him.

“I always say a prayer for my mom and dad. They’re in heaven.” He shrugged as if a little embarrassed.

Could he be more perfect?

“Brody,” Alice said as she poured a glass of milk, “where are you from? That’s some accent you’ve got.”

“Me? I thought I’d gotten rid of that. I’ve lived in the West so long, it’s practically gone.” He shook his head when Alice offered him the creamer. He lifted the steaming cup of coffee by his plate and sipped. Savored. Swallowed. “Sure is good, ma’am. I’m from West Virginia.”

“Goodness. That sure is a long ways from here. Did you live there long?”

“Born and raised.” Brody dug into the delicious-looking hash browns—so buttery and golden crisp and made from real shredded potatoes. He took it as another sign he was on the right path. “I’m a country boy at heart, even though I moved to the city when I was twelve.”

“Was that in West Virginia, too?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He felt the steel around his heart harden. There were a lot of things he didn’t like to think too much about. Spending his teen years in a boys’ home for lack of foster care was one of them. He cleared his throat, tried to keep his mind focused. To not let the sadness of his past effect the quality of his present life.

“Mom, you’re being nosy again.” Michelle’s eyes sparkled with those little glints of blue sapphire that could captivate the most professional, dedicated agent. “You don’t have to give us your life history. Where are you headed next when you get your bike?”

“I don’t rightly know.” That was the truth. He was ready to go on about how he’d be heading up to Glacier, that was the background story he’d hatched up, but the truth sidetracked him.

He had vague ideas about what he wanted to do when he left, but he didn’t have a set plan. It bothered him. The past ten years at the Bureau had been demanding work—long hard hours, constant travel, tough assignments and dangerous missions.

It wore on a man. Chiseled at his soul.

He believed in the power of prayer. He figured he’d leave it in God’s hands. That the good Lord would point him in the right direction.

“Surely you have family back in West Virginia. You’re eventually headed back there?” Alice McKaslin prompted.

“I don’t have any family.”

“What? No family?” Tenderhearted Michelle sat wide-eyed, watching him carefully.

His heart stopped beating. Why was he reacting to her this way? Just because she looked like everything right in the world, with her hair tied back in that bouncy ponytail and her honest face more beautiful without a hint of makeup, it didn’t mean that he should notice her.

He was on a mission. He needed to stay focused.

Right. His mission. Where was he? What did he need to do? Oh, that’s right. You’d think he was a green agent getting his feet wet on his first assignment with the way he was acting. Good thing the surveillance equipment wasn’t installed yet or Hunter would be getting a good laugh about now.

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