Texas Pride
Barbara McCauley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all my readers. Thank you for bringing the Stone family into your hearts and homes.

And to Christine Niessner, a special and talented editor who believes in me and my ghosts.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

One

“H e’s coming, Lucas! He just passed the farthest windmill, and he’s headed right this way. It’s him. I know it is!”

Lucas moved silently behind Margaret, intending to follow the direction of her gaze, but found himself watching her, instead. It was rare to see her so excited, and her pleasure brought him an unexpected warmth. Her pale blond hair shone silver and her slender transparent form had a luminescent aura. It had been a long time since he’d seen her glow this brightly. A very long time.

“It might not be him, Meggie,” Lucas said gently, not wanting her to get her hopes too high. There had been too much unhappiness for her, and he couldn’t bear to see her suffer even one more disappointment.

She turned to him, her green eyes wide, her lips curved into a smile. “No, Lucas. He’s the one. I feel it.”

Lucas knew better than to refute one of Meggie’s “feelings.” She’d been right too many times to ignore. Still, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of this man coming to Makeshift. He had become quite fond of Jessica Stone over the years, and he felt extremely protective of her.

“What a strange automobile he’s driving,” Meggie said, staring out the window again. “We’ve seen some unusual mechanical wagons over the years, but nothing quite like that. Do you think he lost some parts?”

The air vibrated with the sound of the vehicle, but Lucas still couldn’t bring himself to look away from Meggie. She wore his favorite dress, the blue one that was as prim and proper as the schoolteacher herself. She’d had it on the first day they’d met. When she’d burst into his saloon, he’d thought she was going to scold him for teaching blackjack to her older students. Instead, she’d thanked him for instructing and encouraging her most difficult pupils in the use of mathematics.

An intense longing filled him, and though he knew it was impossible, the desire to touch her rose in him. He carefully traced the outline of her shoulders with his fingertips, remembering how soft and warm her skin had once felt.

Sensing rather than feeling his touch, Meggie turned and smiled sadly at Lucas. “We’ll be together again,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how, my love, but I know we will.”

She lifted a hand and spread her fingers. Lucas brought his palm to hers, dwarfing her small hand with his large one, carefully lining up his fingers with hers. The glow between them brightened and they both smiled.

* * *

Jessica Stone heard the deep rumble of a distant motorcycle and glanced up from the carton of books she’d been unpacking. With a frown, she wiped her hands on her jeans, then rose and went to the window of the second-story hotel room she’d moved into three days before. Hannibal, the German shepherd she’d rescued from the shelter in Cactus Flat, jumped up from his favorite spotwherever Jes-sica was—and followed closely at her heels.

Eyes narrowed, Jessica stared at the approaching cloud of dust. The unusually hot weather West Texas was currently having so late in November created waves of shimmering heat off the barren plain. A dark figure emerged from those waves, and the sunlight glinted silver off the motorcycle’s handlebars.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Jessica said to Hannibal. “How ‘bout you?”

Hannibal tilted his large black head at his mistress, then barked once.

“I didn’t think so.” Jessica watched the bike slow as it neared the edge of Makeshift.

Normally Jessica liked being alone in the abandoned town she’d inherited when her father had died, but as she watched the lone rider park his motorcycle in front of the saloon across the street, she suddenly wished that Jake and Jared had stopped in today for one of their all-too-frequent, and all-too-obvious, visits.

Her brothers’ overprotective behavior was a constant source of irritation. She knew, of course, that they only hovered over her because they loved her, but at twenty-seven, she thought herself capable of making her own decisions. Even if one of those decisions was to move out to Makeshift by herself.

Still, as she watched the biker pull off his helmet and give his long dark hair a shake, she wouldn’t have minded a little company.

The man swung one long leg over his bike and stood with his back to her, both hands resting on his lean hips, and glanced around. He wore faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt, which stretched tightly over his wide back and muscular shoulders and arms. He was tall, at least as tall as Jake and Jared, who were both six foot four.

He turned and looked up directly at her.

Jessica sucked in a sharp breath and jumped away from the window. Hannibal barked at her sudden movement.

“Shush!” She put a finger to her lips. The dog wagged his tail and pressed his nose against her knee.

She waited a few moments, letting her heart calm before she peeked out the window again.

He was gone.

She moved closer to the window and glanced from one end of the town to the other, but she saw nothing. A dust devil picked up a tumbleweed in front of the general store and kicked it down the wooden sidewalk.

“Where did he go?” she muttered, frowning at the empty streets. The town wasn’t that big, and except for the saloon and the hotel, most of the buildings were still boarded up.

A low growl rumbled from Hannibal. The dog jumped away from Jessica and turned, his ears laid back and his teeth bared.

Jessica froze, and she knew without a doubt that the stranger was standing in the doorway behind her.

She turned slowly and stared into eyes the darkest brown she’d ever seen. For a moment, she could have sworn he appeared as surprised as she was, but the look was quickly gone, and a disinterested nonchalance was all that remained. He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded. His gaze shifted from her to Hannibal.

“Nice dog.”

The stranger’s voice was deep and rough, and Hannibal responded to the sound with a short bark. Jessica laid a hand on the dog’s head, whether to calm the animal or herself she wasn’t sure.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, wishing that the man wasn’t blocking the only easy exit from the room. His tall frame practically filled the doorway. Close up, she could see the muscles she’d only guessed at from across the street. There was a rugged strength that emanated from him, a masculinity that frightened her, yet at the same time also pricked at the most basic, primitive female instinct. He was pure sensuality, and her breath caught as she stared at him.

He pushed away from the doorjamb, and the movement caused Hannibal to growl again. “You Jessica Stone?”

It should have comforted her that he knew her name. It didn’t. “Yes.”

“I heard you’re looking for a foreman.”

Jessica frowned. She’d filled out the paperwork, but the advertisement wasn’t scheduled to be in the paper until the next day. “And how did you hear that?”

“In town. Couple of guys at the diner were talking.”

That was certainly possible. If there was one thing people did in a small town, it was talk. There’d been quite a buzz in Cactus Flat that Jessica Stone had received a grant to convert Makeshift into a center for troubled youth. Most of the townspeople supported her, but there were a few who were adamantly opposed to the idea. Her stepmother, Myrna, was at the head of that list. Not because she was so against helping teenagers, but because the annoying woman wanted the land for herself.

“I haven’t interviewed anyone yet,” she said. “The ad comes out tomorrow.”

“Cancel it and hire me.”

He said the words with such confidence Jessica almost agreed. That would go over well with Jared and Jake. They’d certainly understand she hired this biker guy because he told her to. “I hardly think I should hire the first man who shows up.”

“No,” he agreed. “You should hire the best man.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “And that’s you?”

He grinned. Jessica felt her insides twist and turn at the flash of straight white teeth. “You have a name?” she asked.

“Dylan Grant.”

“And your qualifications, Mr. Grant?”

“Sixteen years in the business. You name it, I’ve done it.”

She certainly believed that. Something told Jessica there was much more to that statement than the obvious. There was a hard edge in his eyes and in the way he held himself that spoke volumes about his life experience, though she guessed him to be only in his early thirties. And he certainly appeared capable. It was clear he was a man who made his living with physical work. His T-shirt defined the iron muscles in his upper arms and shoulders, his skin was tan and his big hands looked rough and callused.

Jessica suddenly realized she was staring. She pulled her gaze back to his and saw the amusement in his dark eyes. She cursed the blush slowly working its way over her cheeks.

“What brings you out this way?” she asked, forcing a businesslike tone into her voice. “Cactus Flat is hardly a tourist hot spot.”

Dylan winced. “I’ve been called a lot of things,” he drawled, “but never a tourist. That’s cutting pretty deep.”

Dammit. There was that smile again. Jessica bit the inside of her lip and ignored the flutter in her stomach. “This project is very important to me, Mr. Grant. It’s a relatively small job, a reconstruction of a few of the buildings here. It’s not long-term, but I need a responsible, dependable man to run a crew. Drifters and restless bikers are hardly what I consider reliable.”

“No matter what I am, Miss Stone,” he said flatly, “I keep my word. If nothing else, you can count on that.”

She hadn’t meant to offend him, but when it came to rebuilding Makeshift, Jessica could take no chances.

“I’m acting as my own general contractor,” she said. “Do you have any problem working for a woman?”

“Can’t say. I’ve never worked for a woman before.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “At least you’re honest, Mr. Grant. That’s nearly as important as experience.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. Her heart skipped when he moved into the room toward her. Hannibal gave another short growl when the stranger knelt and held out his hand.

“If there’s one thing I have, Miss Stone,” Dylan said, reaching his fingers toward Hannibal, “it’s experience.”

Dylan gave an inward sigh of relief that his hand was still intact as he pet the dog. There was no doubt that if he’d attempted a move toward Jessica the animal would have gone for his throat. Good dog, he thought, and scratched behind the animal’s ear.

Hannibal wagged his tail.

The animal’s mistress was a little more apprehensive, Dylan noted, allowing himself a slow upward perusal of Jessica’s long denim-clad legs and curved hips. She’d rolled the sleeves of her white cotton blouse to her elbows, revealing slender smooth-skinned arms, and it was impossible not to notice the press of her rounded breasts against the thin cloth.

He forced his gaze upward still, and she tucked a long strand of dark shiny hair behind her ear, watching him warily with eyes that were a deep rich blue. He’d seen that color before, once, in another place and another time. But there was something about these particular eyes that made his gut tighten and his pulse quicken.

He didn’t like the feeling one bit.

He wrenched his gaze away and stood. “What exactly is it you’re doing out here, Miss Stone? It’s a little off the beaten track for a shopping mall.”

She bristled at his statement. “Shopping has never been a hobby of mine. I’m converting Makeshift into a camp for teenagers.”

“Makeshift?”

She nodded. “My great-great-grandfather, Josiah Stone, founded this town in 1873 after he bought Stone Creek and started ranching. Cattlemen needed a place for supplies and rest when they were driving their herds to New Mexico. The first structure built was the saloon.” She looked out the window and gestured across the street.

“Important things first,” Dylan said with a grin.

“Exactly.” She smiled back. “The town boomed for twenty-five years, until railroads took over. Mining kept it going a few more years, but that dwindled, too. A few diehards stayed on and took care of the place, but they’ve been gone since the forties. When my father, J. T. Stone, died earlier this year, we found out he’d divided Stone Creek into four parcels, one for each of my brothers and half sister, and one—Makeshift—for me.”

Dylan looked around the small hotel room. A patchwork quilt covered a large brass bed, and two antique oak nightstands held matching stained-glass oil lamps. Several framed paintings covered the freshly painted walls, and a large cherry armoire stood open, revealing several gowns of an era long past.

Dylan shook his head in amazement. The room had obviously been restored to its original condition with care. The only thing out of place here was the telephone sitting on the floor beside three cardboard boxes of books and a radio on a nightstand. Otherwise, he might have thought he’d stepped over some invisible time line and been transported into the previous century.

He gestured at the bed. “Are you living out here by yourself?”

She glanced away, but not before he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m not alone. I have Hannibal, and one of my two brothers is usually close by. They aren’t crazy about my living out here, so they stop by often.”

He stood close enough to catch the light scent of jasmine that drifted from her skin. He resisted the urge to lean even closer and pull the fragrance more deeply into his lungs. “I don’t see anyone here now.”

She brought her gaze back to his with an intensity that surprised him. “What you see—or don’t see—can be very deceiving, Mr. Grant.”

As she continued to stare at him, Dylan felt as if a weight were pressing on his chest. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy and he found it difficult to breathe. Hannibal stood suddenly, his ears pricked, and started to bark.

The sensation eased, then disappeared. The Texas heat was definitely getting to him, Dylan thought as he drew in a deep breath and stepped to the armoire. “Interesting wardrobe.”

Jessica moved beside him. “They were my great-great-grandmother’s. My mother kept them and everything else here in storage. I still have more furniture, plus several large trunks in my brother’s attic that I haven’t had time to bring here and go through.”

A smile curved Jessica’s lips as she reached out and touched one black silk evening gown. Dylan felt a jolt of electricity move up and down his arm as she stroked the lace sleeve of the dress with her long slender fingers.

Jessica Stone was certainly a surprise. And he didn’t like surprises. He realized that if he was going to be working with this woman, he was going to have to keep his distance.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath his boots as he stepped away from her and glanced around the room. “Is this the only room you’ve restored?”

She shook her head. “The bedroom next door, also, and the connecting bathroom has modern conveniences, plus there’s electricity in the kitchen for the refrigerator. But the only thing I get credit for is the paint. My brothers fought my moving out here every step of the way, but once they knew I couldn’t be swayed, they reluctantly gave in and took over. At least I have indoor plumbing and electricity now.”

Dylan moved to the window and stared down at the empty street. The buildings themselves, though worn and faded with the years, appeared structurally sound. “Exactly what kind of camp are you intending to build here?”

“Maybe youth center is a better description,” Jessica said as she closed the armoire doors. “A place for kids to get away from the problems of modern-day life.”

Frowning, he turned to look at her. “You mean you want to turn this place into a playground for juvenile delinquents?”

Jessica realized that not everyone could understand what she was trying to do here, but she still couldn’t help the irritation that shot through her at this man’s ignorance. She could explain to him how Makeshift had turned her own life around, but she doubted he would understand. It was also none of his business.

“Teenagers need all the help they can get these days. I want to give them a place they can come to if things get rough. Let them know that someone cares. If you have a problem with that concept, I suggest you apply for another job.”

He shrugged. “You can build a bridge here if it makes you happy. One job is like any other to me. It would just seem more practical to sell this land and build something closer to town.”

“This is Stone Creek, Mr. Grant. I wouldn’t consider selling even one acre of what my father has left me, practical or not. Once the review board approves my construction progress in early January, I’ll have my license, and Makeshift will be a legitimate state-approved youth center.”

“And if they don’t approve the progress?” he asked.

“They have to approve it,” she said firmly. Her chest tightened at the very thought that they might not. As if sensing her tension, Hannibal slipped his head under Jessica’s hand.

Dylan folded his arms and leaned against the windowsill. “So when do we start?”

We? Jessica bit back the first answer that came to mind and went with the second, more polite one. “I’m interviewing for the position tomorrow in town. One o’clock at the Bronco Diner in Cactus Flat.” She moved to a nightstand and opened the top drawer. “Fill out this application and we’ll talk then.”

His gaze held hers, and even though he took the form from her, he never once glanced at it. “Shall I get there early to avoid the rush?”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said dryly, annoyed that he was making fun of her. “Just take a number and be seated.”

He held out his hand. “Until tomorrow, then, Miss Stone.”

Jessica hesitated, then placed her fingers in his palm. The texture of his skin was rough, and she felt a shiver run up her arm. His scent was masculine, the warmth of his touch disarming.

Quickly she pulled her hand away. “Tomorrow, Mr. Grant.”

He pushed away from the windowsill, then bent and rubbed Hannibal’s head. The animal seemed to smile at him. “See ya later, pal.”

Jessica struggled to compose herself as Dylan crossed the room. When he turned abruptly at the doorway, her breath caught.

“I think your brothers are right, Jessica,” he said. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

He turned and left then, whistling a Bob Seger tune. She moved to the window and watched as he walked to his motorcycle and pulled on his helmet. When he glanced up at her, she didn’t even pretend not to be looking. He grinned, then got on his bike and left.

Jessica exhaled sharply. Her knees felt shaky as she sat on the edge of her bed. Hannibal laid his head on her lap.

“Some watchdog you are,” she murmured, absently stroking the animal’s soft fur. “If you could talk, you probably would’ve invited him to dinner.”

Hannibal looked up at her and wagged his tail.

“I’m not hiring him,” she said firmly, taking the dog’s head in her hands and staring into his eyes. “I don’t need any distractions right now, and that man is trouble with a capital T.”

Hannibal whined, then barked softly.

“No.” She shook her head. “I need to concentrate on Makeshift right now. Everyone in my youth group is counting on me. There are too many kids out there who desperately need a place like this. I haven’t time for romantic notions, especially concerning arrogant men who obviously don’t understand the importance of what I’m doing here. Mr. Dylan Grant is going to have to find another job somewhere else.”

Jessica stood, nearly tripping over Hannibal as he circled her knees. She scooted him away, wondering what in the world had gotten into the dog. He’d never acted like this before.

She moved to the window, looking down at the street, and felt the steady beating of her heart. Come to think of it, she’d never acted this way before, either.

All the more reason not to hire the man, she told herself, then turned her attention back to the box of books she’d been unpacking. She lifted one heavy volume on the Old West and smiled. As of one o’clock tomorrow, Mr. Dylan Grant would be like the book in her hand—history.

* * *

“Oh, Lucas, isn’t Mr. Grant wonderful?” Meggie asked as she watched the motorcycle disappear. “He’s absolutely perfect for Jessica.”

Lucas stood in front of the hotel beside Meggie, his arms firmly folded. “I knew a man named Grant once. From Cheyenne. Town hung him for horse stealing.”

“The president of the United States also happens to be named Grant. Or at least he was president.” Meggie put her hands on her hips and faced Lucas. “Anyway, you’re just being overprotective.”

Lucas frowned. “I am not.”

“Oh, really? Then what was that little business in the hotel room when Mr. Grant got a little too close to Jessica? I suppose it was a coincidence he suddenly couldn’t breathe? If Hannibal hadn’t stopped you, you might have hurt the poor man.”

“I didn’t like what he was thinking.”

Meggie lifted one brow. “And since when can you read minds? That ability is for Hannibal only. And if Hannibal likes Dylan Grant, which he does, then that’s good enough for me.”

With a flip of her head, Meggie turned and moved across the street to the saloon. Lucas watched her go, admiring the slender figure that had once been warm and firm under his touch. He smiled, remembering the soft moans she’d made when he’d kissed her the first time, and the shy touch of her hands on his body one afternoon in a small secluded cave not far from town.

His smile faded, and he stared out at the Texas plain. Something was happening. Lucas had felt it the instant Dylan walked into Jessica’s room. It was something powerful, something important. He was filled with an overwhelming feeling of anticipation, a mixture of excitement and dread.

Lucas cursed his inability to understand what was taking place. Despite what people thought, ghosts had limitations and restrictions. He knew that something was going to happen, but he had no idea what it was. He also had no idea if it would be good, or if it would be bad.

He only knew that the minute Dylan Grant had come into town, none of them—Jessica, Dylan, Meggie and himself—would ever be the same.

Two

Dylan sat in the corner booth of the Bronco Diner, his legs stretched out comfortably under the table, and sipped a cup of hot coffee a pretty little brunette waitress kept filled. He’d polished off a hamburger and french fries a few minutes ago, then settled back with his coffee to enjoy the entertainment, which was watching Jessica in another booth across the aisle interview an interesting assortment of potential foremen.

She’d dressed very businesslike today, Dylan noted. Her navy blue suit was tailored, the skirt resting conservatively at her knees. She’d buttoned her white blouse to the neck and tightly pulled her dark hair to the back of her head, held there by a gold barrette. It was an obvious but futile attempt to downplay her femininity and discourage male interest.

Didn’t she realize that by dressing so severely she actually encouraged a man’s fantasy? Dylan had seen the way the men had looked at her: like they wanted to strip that suit off, pull her hair loose, then drag her slim body underneath their own. The woman was too naive for her own good, Dylan thought, his irritation building as each man took the seat across from Jessica.

Her sixth and current applicant, a long-nosed, thin-haired redhead, had never actually worked in construction, he explained, but had helped his brother-in-law build a carport once. When the man proceeded to describe the building of the structure in excruciating detail, Jessica quickly thanked him for coming and told him she’d call as soon as she made her decision.

Dylan had given Jessica his application over an hour ago, but she had yet to call him. Every time she finished an interview, she’d smile at him, then call someone else. Since there was only one more applicant left, a heavyset man with whiskers, she couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer.

And since he had all the time in the world, Dylan ordered a piece of apple pie and settled back to wait.

The interview ended quickly after the heavyset man referred to Jessica as “girlie.”

When she finally turned to Dylan, he raised his brows and gave her a blank look. She frowned at him, then picked up one application and crossed over to him. She looked tired, he thought. And frustrated.

“Mr. Grant,” she said, staring at the form in her hand, “I’ve gone over your application.”

He gestured for her to sit across from him. “Is there a problem?”

She hesitated, then tugged off her jacket and sat.

“I’d say so. You have a structural-engineering degree from Indiana University, and you’ve worked on everything from high-rise construction to the building of bridges in the jungles of South America.”

“Does that disqualify me?”

“No, it overqualifies you.” She stretched her neck with a weary sigh, then undid the top button of her blouse. “Mr. Grant, did you read my ad in the paper this morning?”

He forced himself not to look as her fingers fiddled with the button. “My name is Dylan, and yes, I did read your ad.”

“Then you know how much I can afford to pay?”

He nodded.

“And you still want the job?”

She unclipped the barrette from her hair. Dylan watched as she shook her head and pulled her fingers through the thick strands. He felt hotter than the weather warranted, and his pulse began to pound.

He had to remind himself she’d asked him a question, then searched his brain to remember what it was. “Yes. I do want the job.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t get it. You can have your pick of jobs and make ten times the salary anywhere else. Why in the world would you come here and work for the proverbial peanuts?”

“Would you like some more coffee, Dylan?”

Jessica glanced up at the waitress, Susan Davis, and frowned again. Dylan? Wasn’t it strange, she thought irritably, that she’d been sitting in this restaurant for over an hour and she’d had her cup refilled only once? She was sure Dylan’s cup had never dropped more than a quarter inch. So what if he filled out a T-shirt and jeans well? So what if that long dark hair and rough slow-talking voice made a woman’s knees turn to water? She was a customer here, too, and the waitress’s selective efficiency was quickly grating on Jessica’s nerves. And so was the smile Dylan was so warmly displaying.

“Thanks, Susan.” Dylan pushed his cup closer. “And bring the lady here a hamburger and fries, please. I think she worked up an appetite interviewing all those men.”

Susan? It certainly hadn’t taken him long to get chummy, Jessica thought. “Never mind. I’m not staying that long.”

“I’ll have seconds, then,” Dylan said with a shrug. “Extra cheese.”

Susan bounced off, happy to oblige.

Exasperated, Jessica leaned back against the vinyl cushions and kicked off her heels. She closed her eyes and breathed her contentment.

Dylan glanced under the table, then raised one brow. “Is taking off our clothes part of the interview?”

She frowned at him. “My shoes are too tight.”

He grinned back. “Your skirt is tight, also,” he said with a note of hope in his voice.

“My skirt stays on,” she said coolly. “And I’m not interviewing you anymore.”

“Does that mean I’m hired?”

She shook her head.

“So who are you going to hire?” he asked. “The fat guy who ‘accidentally’ bumped your knee six times and dropped his pencil under the table four times?”

Jessica felt a fresh wave of anger just thinking about that lecher. She’d had to refrain from kicking him the last time he’d dropped the damn pencil. “Of course not. But since you were paying such close attention, you must have noticed that Mr. Thompson, my second applicant, was highly qualified. He was a carpenter for a housing developer in San Antonio and an electrician for a small construction company in Austin.”

“Oh, yes.” Dylan took a swig of coffee. “Mr. Thompson. The guy whose hands were shaking.”

“He was a little nervous, that’s all.”

“I’m sure that’s why he left here and went straight to that bar across the street.”

Jessica sighed with resignation and tucked her legs beneath her chair. “A pretty sorry lot.”

“And at the salary you’re offering, you won’t get better,” Dylan said pointedly.

“Except for you.”

He grinned at her. “Of course.”

And just who was he? she wondered. Other than the fact he was thirty-four and born in Maine, his application had been sketchy regarding his personal life. There’d been no mention of a wife—or wives, as the case might be—or children.

Damn that smile of his. She hated the way it made her control slip. He sipped his coffee, watching her with dark intense eyes that never seemed to miss a thing. She shifted slightly under his perusal.

“Which brings me back to my question,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel. “With your qualifications, why would you accept what I’m offering?”

Susan set the hamburger and fries in front of Dylan, fussed over him for a minute, then when Jessica scowled at her, reluctantly moved to take another order at the counter.

Dylan slid the plate closer to Jessica. The smell of the fries was sheer heaven. Just one, she told herself, reaching for the plate.

“The first reason is that it’s temporary work, nothing long-term,” he said. “I don’t like to be tied down.”

No big surprise there, Jessica thought. A man who traveled on a motorcycle with little more than a duffel bag was hardly the type to build picket fences. “And your second reason?” she asked.

“This youth center you want to build,” Dylan said, “are you doing it for money?”

“Of course not,” she answered impatiently.

“And the land, Stone Creek, you could sell it and make a few bucks?”

Even the thought of selling one acre of Stone Creek sent a wave of indignation through Jessica. “I told you I would never sell.”

“So everything doesn’t have to be about money, does it?” Dylan asked. “There are other reasons that motivate people, aren’t there?”

Dylan saw the suspicion in Jessica’s blue eyes. Not that he blamed her. He’d certainly be suspicious if he were in her place. He hadn’t even listed all his past experience, but since he wasn’t sure of the competition, he’d given her enough to assure him the job. He just had to convince her he was the right man.

The problem was he wasn’t so sure anymore that he was the right man. He hadn’t been prepared for his reaction to Jessica. Even as he watched her now, with her hair loose and the top of her blouse undone, he felt a wave of overwhelming lust for her. That was all it was, of course. Lust. But it was certainly stronger than anything he’d experienced before. And it certainly would complicate matters. As she nibbled delicately on a french fry, he couldn’t stop the sweat breaking out on his skin.

He’d have to control his more basic instincts, that was all. Jessica was off-limits. Way off-limits.

“Okay, Mr. Grant,” she said, finally breaking the long silence.

“Dylan.”

She nodded. “Okay, Dylan. So maybe there are other reasons that motivate people. Tell me what yours are. I think you owe me at least that much.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Let’s just say I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Another notch in the experience belt, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Jessica couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from curving upward. It was hard to believe, incredible even, that a man with Dylan’s qualifications would work for the pay she offered. “Christmas is just a few weeks away. Are you going to need time off to be with your family?”

He shook his head. “There’s no notch in my belt for family, Miss Stone. Christmas is just another day to me.”

She couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that way about Christmas. It was her favorite holiday. The most special day of the year, as far as she was concerned. She was torn between being happy he didn’t need time off and feeling sorry for him. Dylan, however, did not appear to be a man that wanted sympathy from anyone.

“All right, then.” She met his steady gaze. “You’re hired.”

“There is one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need a room.”

She nearly choked. “What!”

“Your salary isn’t enough to live on. I need a place to stay.”

What was the saying? If something was too good to be true, then it probably wasn’t? “I can’t afford that. It would cost a fortune to rent you a room here in town.”

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to stay out at Makeshift, to cut down on travel time and the expense of gas. Plus, if there’s any problems, I’ll be right there.”

It didn’t matter that everything he said made sense. It wasn’t possible. “You can’t be serious. I can’t stay out there with you, alone.”

“Why not?”

Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Because...well, because I can’t.”

“I won’t attack you, Jessica, if that’s what you’re afraid of. All I’m interested in here is a job.”

She was glad to hear that, but nevertheless, her ego still winced at the outright rejection. “I’m most certainly not afraid. It’s just that, well, I like my privacy and...” She straightened the silverware on the table and fiddled with the napkin.

“And your brothers will kill you?”

She shook her head. “No. They’ll kill you most likely.”

“Let me worry about your brothers. I’m sure they’re reasonable men.”

“Reasonable?” Jessica gave a dry laugh. “Dylan, that word doesn’t exist when describing the Stone men.” She spread her hands wide and sighed. “But it certainly will be interesting to watch you try.”

“So I’m hired?”

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She was insane. Although, she’d be equally insane not to do everything necessary to employ this man. She smiled at him and held out her hand. “You’re hired.”

Dylan smiled back and took her hand. The connection was like grabbing a live wire. They stared at each other, each of them stunned at the awareness that radiated between them.

Dylan quickly let go, relieved that the waitress had chosen exactly that moment to refill his coffee cup and chatter about how much she liked motorcycles. He nodded politely, though he barely heard more than a few words, and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

“You did what?”

Jessica stood in the mesquite-clogged street in front of Makeshift Saloon and silently tolerated Jared’s yelling. Arms folded, Jake stood beside his brother, his face set in hard lines beneath his black Stetson.

“I told you,” she explained patiently, combing her hair back from her face when a warm breeze caught the loose ends, “yesterday I hired a man named Dylan Grant to be my foreman, and part of his salary is a room here. I expect him any minute now, and I want you both to behave yourselves.”

“How could you do something so idiotic?” Jared continued. “You don’t even know this guy. How do you know he’s not a serial killer?”

“Because I know.” Jessica put her hands on her hips and looked at her brothers. They both had the same black hair and Stone-blue eyes as she did. Anyone else having a confrontation with two six-foot-four-inch angry men might be intimidated, but Jessica had learned at a very young age to stand her ground. “And Hannibal liked him, too.” She scratched the dog behind his ears.

Jake rolled his eyes, and Jared threw his hands up.

“Oh, I feel much better now,” Jared said, taking a step toward the dog. When Hannibal growled, Jared frowned and moved back.

Jessica smiled. “See. I told you he’s a good judge of character. I’m still trying to figure out what Annie sees in you, sweet-tempered man that you are. By the way, how are the wedding plans going? It’s only two weeks away.”

“Everything is going fine,” Jared replied. “And don’t try and change the subject.”

“We’ll talk about Jared’s wedding later,” Jake said flatly, tipping back his hat. “Right now you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Jessica sighed and faced her oldest brother. It had always been a little easier to get around Jared than Jake. Since their father had died, Jake had taken his position as head of the family very seriously. A little too seriously at the moment, she thought with annoyance.

Time to change tactics, she decided.

“Jared, Jake—” she moved between her brothers and looked up at them “—you know I love you both, and I wouldn’t do anything to upset you. Just meet Dylan, talk to him. I’m sure you’ll feel the same way I do about him.”

Well, maybe not quite the same way, Jessica amended silently. Her body was still humming from that simple handshake yesterday. She’d tried to tell herself she’d just been so relieved to find a foreman after all those terrible interviews that she’d overreacted to his touch.

But if nothing else, she was honest. And the truth was she was attracted to the man. In a big way.

It doesn’t matter. She had no intention of encouraging any attention from Dylan Grant. She’d made the mistake once of getting involved with someone she’d worked with, and the results had been less than wonderful.

Besides, Dylan had made it clear he wanted work, nothing else. Temporary work. She had the feeling “temporary” was the man’s middle name.

The ground started to shake and the air vibrate. Jake and Jared looked up sharply, their eyes narrowed as they turned in the direction of the sound. Hannibal’s ears lifted.

“He rides a motorcycle?” Jared said.

“Similar to the one you used to ride six or seven years ago,” Jessica reminded Jared.

She held her breath as Dylan roared up, leaving a billowing trail of dust in his wake. He parked the bike in front of the saloon and stepped off, pulling the helmet from his head.

The three men faced each other like gunfighters from the Old West. All they needed, Jessica decided, were gun belts slung low on their hips and spurs on their boots.

This is ridiculous, she thought, and turned toward Dylan with a smile, even though her insides were quaking. Hannibal barked and bounded over to Dylan with an enthusiastic wag of his tail.

Jessica threw her brothers an “I told you so” look. They frowned back.

Dylan knelt and greeted the dog, then straightened and moved toward Jessica. “Mornin’.” He nodded at the two other men.

“Dylan Grant, these are my brothers, Jake—” Dylan met and held Jake’s dark gaze as they shook hands “—and Jared.”

Jared all but scowled at Dylan as he took his hand. Jessica could have sworn there was amusement in Dylan’s eyes as the handshake progressed into a test of strength. She was ready to step between the two when Jared suddenly let go.

She realized she’d been holding her breath and slowly let it out.

That was when the barrage of questioning began. Jessica knew she couldn’t stop it, so she simply stood back and waited. She already knew most of Dylan’s background as far as construction went, but nothing of his personal life. When Jake moved into that territory, Jessica found herself listening closely.

“You have a wife or a family?” Jake asked.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Does it matter?”

“If something happens to you it will,” Jake said evenly. “We’ll need to know who to notify.”

Jessica wanted to kick Jake. Although his question was certainly a logical one, there was an undertone of a threat in it, as well. And based on the dark expression on Dylan’s face, he hadn’t missed the warning.

“I’m not married,” Dylan said flatly. “Something happens to me—” he held Jake’s steady gaze “—you’ll have to deal with it.”

“Well, then,” Jake said with a nod, “I guess we’ll just have to watch real close and make sure nothing happens to you.”

The “watch real close” part rankled Jessica, but at least the tension eased somewhat. Jessica’s breathing had almost returned to normal by the time Jake shook Dylan’s hand again.

“My wife, Savannah, is having a dinner party for Jared and his fiancée, Annie, tomorrow night at the ranch,” Jake said to Dylan. “Sort of a prewedding celebration. Why don’t you come along with Jessica?”

Jessica had to close her mouth as she stared at Jake. She couldn’t have heard what she’d thought she just heard. Jake inviting Dylan to dinner? Not possible. Even Jared seemed to accept the idea without complaint, though he still watched Dylan warily. No doubt they wanted to interrogate the man further.

“Much obliged.” Dylan nodded at Jake. “I’ll be there.”

Jessica couldn’t find her voice to utter a word when Jake and Jared kissed her goodbye. Their boots crunched on the gravel as they walked to Jake’s pickup and got in. They drove off, leaving a cloud of dust billowing behind them.

She’d been surprised when they’d finally quit harassing her about moving out here, but this, this, was unbelievable. They’d not only invited Dylan for dinner, they were actually giving in and letting him stay in Makeshift. With her. Alone.

The realization suddenly made her palms sweat.

She turned to Dylan, equally amazed that he’d handled the cross-examination as well as he had, even when the questions had turned personal.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said.

“That they invited me for dinner?”

“No, of course not. About the grilling they just gave you.”

“They care about you, Jessica,” Dylan said quietly, squinting into the late-morning sun as he watched the pickup disappear. “That’s nothing to be sorry about.”

There was something in Dylan’s voice, a wistfulness or perhaps a regret, that brought an unexplained ache to Jessica’s chest.

“I know what it’s like to lose your parents,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Thank you, but my parents are alive and well somewhere in Europe right now, I imagine. Not together, of course,” he added. “Most likely with the current spouse or live-in friend.”

Confused, she stared at him. “But you said you had no family.”

“I said I had no wife. As far as my family goes, we rarely see each other. Like I told your brother, if there’s a problem here, you’ll have to handle it.”

Jessica had always been so close to her parents it was difficult to understand that kind of indifference. But Dylan’s personal life was none of her business, she told herself, and from the curt tone of his voice, she knew he wasn’t offering any more information.

Quiet seemed to surround them. The breeze picked up and gently swung the wooden sign over what used to be the doctor’s office. The swinging doors of the saloon creaked. She suddenly had no idea what to do with her hands. She clasped them in front of her and turned awkwardly to Dylan. “So, uh, where do we start?”

Dylan stared at Jessica and tried not to notice how snug her jeans were or how the T-shirt she wore defined the roundness of her breasts. He could think of a few places he’d like to start with this woman, most of them involving a bed and fewer clothes. He sighed inwardly. That line of thinking was only going to lead to trouble, so he forced it from his mind.

“How about a tour?” he suggested. “I need to take a closer look at the insides of the buildings and see what kind of condition they’re in. After I look at your blueprints, I can make a materials list.”

“Well,” she said tentatively, glancing quickly away, then back again, “there is a slight problem there.”

“A slight problem where?” he asked, though something told Dylan he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Well, I don’t exactly have any blueprints.”

He was right. He didn’t like the answer. “You didn’t call in an architect on a project this size?”

“Oh, I called one, all right. I just couldn’t afford him. All I have are a few preliminary sketches and permits for the work Jake and Jared did. I thought maybe I could just sort of figure it out as I went along.”

Dylan stared at Jessica in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You thought you could just figure out how to rebuild this entire town—without blueprints?”

“Actually,” Jessica said, her expression full of guilt, “I was hoping you...well, whoever I hired, I mean, might be able to handle it.”

He struggled not to raise his voice. “Me? On the salary you’re paying me, I’m supposed to spend God knows how many hours drawing up plans, too?”

“I don’t expect anything, Dylan,” she said, holding his gaze with her own. “If you don’t want to do it, I’m sure I can manage to pull something together for you.”

“You don’t pull together blueprints, Jessica,” he said sharply. “You draw them. Slowly and carefully.”

This job of his was getting increasingly more complicated by the moment, Dylan thought with annoyance. Hell, before long, this woman would probably have him paying her for the privilege of working here. If he had an ounce of sense or a lick of pride, he’d get back on his bike and keep riding.

But this job had nothing to do with sense or pride, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and faced Jessica.

And the instant he looked at her, he knew he’d never ride on out. Her eyes, a soft deep blue, were wide as she stared back at him. A man could drown in those eyes. There was passion there. Determination. The combination of the two was deadly. He’d never met anyone like her before. Two days ago he’d have laughed at the idea that anyone like her even existed.

But here she was, standing in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes bright. She was a dreamer. An idealist. She hadn’t learned yet that people couldn’t be trusted. That they were only out to get what they wanted for themselves.

She’d learn soon enough.

He stepped closer to her. “All right. I’ll do it. But with all this extra work and no pay, I’m going to need a little incentive.” He lowered his voice as he searched her face. “Something to make it worth my while.”

Her body stiffened at his suggestive tone, and when her gaze locked with his, anger darkened her eyes. “And what exactly would you consider worth your while, Mr. Grant?”

He leaned closer still, bringing his face within inches of hers. “You have to cook for me.”

Dylan struggled not to laugh when Jessica’s lips parted in surprise, and when he found himself staring at that enticing mouth longer than good sense dictated, he straightened and backed away.

“You want me to cook for you?”

He nodded. “You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

“Of course I know how to cook.” She frowned. “But there’s no usable kitchen in Makeshift. Unless I go to town or to one of my brothers’ places, it’s sandwiches and raw vegetables.”

“Sandwiches are fine for lunch, but I want a hot meal at night and a big breakfast every morning.” He took malicious delight in the gasp Jessica uttered. “And if I see so much as one raw vegetable, I’m out of here.”

She folded her arms and faced him. “And just how do you expect me to cook without a stove or oven?”

“Well—” Dylan scratched at his chin thoughtfully “—people ate hot food here before, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” she answered carefully.

“So I guess if you were going to figure out how to rebuild this town without blueprints, you can figure out how to cook without electricity.”

Cook without electricity? Jessica stared at him. She was still reeling from his first assault on her senses, when she’d thought he was about to proposition her. She’d been furious, of course, and ready to tell him where he could go. And yet, at the same time, she’d felt an excitement course through her. Then when he’d told her he wanted her to cook for him, he’d caught her completely off guard again. She’d always been so sure of herself. Of who she was and what she wanted. For the first time, she felt off-key and out of balance.

She didn’t like it one bit.

This project, like the man standing in front of her, was getting more complicated by the minute. But what choice did she have? She had no idea where to begin, but as he’d said, she’d figure it out.

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “All right, Dylan. But let’s hope it won’t be your words you eat, instead of my food. Either one is going to be hard to chew.”

* * *

“He’s staying, Lucas! He’s staying!”

Lucas smiled as Meggie floated upward toward the saloon ceiling and spun. He’d never tire of watching her. One hundred and twenty years hadn’t dimmed that pleasure.

“I will reserve my judgment on that just now,” Lucas said. “I most certainly didn’t like his provocative manner of speaking to her.”

“Oh, yes, he is a rogue, isn’t he?” She smiled brightly. “But I knew he was teasing her. And you did, too, or you would have stopped him.”

Lucas nodded. “I admit I admire his resourcefulness. But I’m not sure why Jessica would object to cooking for him.”

Meggie floated back down and faced Lucas. “I suppose you think a woman should be thrilled at the idea of slaving over a hot stove for a man all day?”

Lucas wrinkled his brow. “It’s a woman’s duty. Why should she object?”

Meggie put her hands on her hips and frowned. “You are an oaf, Lucas Kincaid. Things are not the same as they were for us. Men and women have both changed. Their thinking is quite different.”

He loved the way her nose wrinkled when she was irritated with him. “Perhaps what men do today might be different from our time, my dear, but what they are thinking is certainly not. And Mr. Grant’s thoughts regarding Jessica are precisely the same thoughts I had when I first met you.”

In spite of her annoyance at Lucas, Meggie couldn’t help but smile. “Every time Dylan stands close to Jessica, I feel something. Almost like a pulse of energy that moves from them into me. Did you feel it, too, Lucas?”

He nodded. “Yes. I feel it. I don’t understand it or what it means. But we will soon, my love. Very soon.”

Meggie leaned close to Lucas, wanting his nearness even though there could be no physical contact. “Put your arms around me, my darling. Let’s pretend, if only for a moment, that we are truly holding each other.”

Lucas held out his arms and Meggie moved into them, wishing desperately that Dylan Grant was the answer to their prayers.

“I love you, Lucas,” she said quietly.

“And I, you,” he answered.

They stood there quietly, pretending it was another time and place. “Lucas,” Meggie asked, “do you think Jessica will be angry when she finds out Dylan hasn’t been completely truthful with her?”

Lucas smiled. “Of course not. Why would she be angry? She’ll understand.”

“Do you really think so?”

Lucas smiled reassuringly. “Don’t let it bother your pretty little head. Men know about things like this. She’ll laugh about it.”

But Meggie wasn’t so sure, and as she closed her eyes, she prayed that Lucas was right.

Three

Hannibal trotted alongside his mistress while Dylan stayed a few feet behind, listening carefully as Jessica described the town of Makeshift. The wooden sidewalk echoed with the sound of their boot steps, and he made a mental note that the first order of business would be to replace the missing and rotted planks before someone broke a leg.

And speaking of legs, Dylan thought as he scanned Jessica’s slender body, she had the kind of legs men dreamed about. They were long and curvy, and the thought of running his hands over her smooth calves and up her thighs brought an ache to his loins. The ache tightened as he watched the sway of her hips.

With a curse, he yanked his gaze from her and stopped to stare through a cracked window of what had once been a general store. Assorted cans and boxes lay toppled on the dusty floor-to-ceiling shelves, and a rusty scale sat on the sales counter. Curtains of spiderwebs draped the entire room.

“I’m surprised you haven’t had any vandalism or theft,” Dylan said when he spied an antique cash register.

Jessica moved beside him and cupped her eyes to peer through the window. “Few people know about this place. And those who do know better than to bother anything here. I want to renovate this shop and sell items the kids make themselves, plus novelties of the sort tourists go for.”

“Tourists?”

A cool breeze picked up at that moment and lifted the ends of Jessica’s long hair. She stepped away from the window, and Dylan watched the graceful movement of her fingers as she brushed the loose strands from her face. “You know—” there was a humorous light in her eyes as she looked at him “—that nasty word you’ve never been accused of. Unfortunately donations and sponsors won’t be enough to support Makeshift. We’ll have to bring in some commercialism to keep the center going. Anyway, I think it’s a good opportunity for the kids to learn about business.”

“But why is it so important for you to build your center here?” Dylan asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to set up in town?”

She smiled then. The kind of smile a patient mother gives a child who’s asked a silly question. “Easier isn’t always best,” she said. “I want my kids to be as far away as possible from their everyday lives. They need a place where no one will judge them, a place where they can feel safe.”

There had been a fierce protectiveness in Jessica’s voice when she’d said “my kids.” If she was this devoted to kids she didn’t know, Dylan couldn’t help but wonder what she’d be like with children of her own. An image of her holding a dark-haired, blue-eyed baby brought a strange ache to his chest, and he quickly shook off the feeling. Hannibal spotted a mouse a few feet down the sidewalk and, with a sharp bark, bounded off after the intruder.

“And what about you?” Dylan asked, watching Hannibal disappear around the building. “Is that why you’re here? Because you feel safe?”

She studied him for a long moment, then slipped her hands into her pockets and looked away. “My mother died when I was fourteen,” she said quietly. “It devastated me, and I fell into a hole so black and so deep I thought I’d never find my way out. I ran wild, much to my brothers’ distress, and I came close to getting into some serious trouble. That’s how I ended up working in social services for kids after I graduated from college. I have a group here in town I work with. Right now we only meet on Tuesdays, but after Makeshift is open, we’ll have a full-time staff here and bring in kids from all over.”

“It’s hard to imagine you as a problem teen,” Dylan said.

She faced him, tilting her head and smiling slowly. “Because I look so innocent?”

He nodded.

“Looks are deceiving, Dylan. Take you, for instance.” She stepped closer to him and her gaze moved over his face. “You aren’t nearly as indifferent as you want everyone to believe.”

He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. Nor did he like how close Jessica was standing to him. Close enough to catch the faint scent of jasmine. He felt his pulse begin to pound in his temple, and it took every bit of willpower he possessed not to yank her into his arms and show her that he was far from indifferent when it came to her. “It’s dangerous to be so trusting, Jessica.”

“I trust you,” Jessica said, and watched Dylan’s eyes narrow as their gazes meshed. Dangerous was a good word to describe him, she decided. He had a rugged, muscular strength that could intimidate the brawniest of men and make a woman feel light-headed.

When she realized she was actually feeling light-headed herself, she stepped away. “Makeshift will give these teenagers a second chance to get themselves on track again and move in the right direction. Along with general education, we’ll teach them job and business skills, too.” Hannibal trotted back and she reached down to stroke his fur. “Drafting and construction are viable careers. The center could use someone like you.”

His laugh was dry and short. “You’ve got the wrong man, there. Volunteer and do-gooder weren’t listed on my application, nor are they in my vocabulary. You’ll have to find someone else for the job.”

Was that how he spent his life? Jessica wondered. Moving from job to job, no family, no one to care about him? She couldn’t help the tug she felt in her heart for him.

Dylan Grant was becoming more dangerous by the minute, she decided. The thicker the wall he built between them, the more tempted she was to break through it. Hadn’t she learned the hard way to keep away from his type? Volunteer and do-gooder weren’t the only words missing in Dylan’s vocabulary. So were commitment and love and family. And at twenty-seven, she was ready for all three.

But first, she resolved, she had a town to rebuild.

She turned and moved down the sidewalk, pointing out her intentions for each building. The old hotel would be a functioning hotel for tourists and guests. The bank would be the business and accounting office, the tailor shop an arts-and-crafts room. The barbershop would train hairstylists, and the telegraph office would become a computer center.

As Dylan listened to Jessica describe her future town, he was hard put not to catch some of her enthusiasm. It was an impressive undertaking, and he had to admit he admired her dedication. Before he’d come here to Stone Creek and to Makeshift, every job he’d ever worked on had been much the same as the next. Other than the reason that had brought him here, he’d had no cause to think this job would be any different.

But now, as he followed Jessica to the far end of the town, he had the strangest feeling that this job was different. Very different. There was something about Makeshift he couldn’t put his finger on, something exciting. An energy in the air, in the buildings themselves, that made him feel as if he could do anything.

Except stay of course. That idea was ridiculous. Impossible. He’d tried to settle down once and it had been a disaster. He had no intention of repeating that mistake.

Jessica stopped in front of a small burned-out church at the far end of town. The faded paint had once been white, and half of the steeple was broken off. Mesquite and weeds choked the doors and steps, and a loose shutter rattled in the late-morning breeze. Of all the buildings in Makeshift, the church appeared to have fared the worst.

“I’m not sure where to start here,” she said, folding her arms as she stared at the dilapidated building.

“A bulldozer would be my suggestion,” Dylan said. “Tear it down and start from scratch.”

The light breeze suddenly turned into a cold wind. Dust and leaves flew everywhere. “What the hell...?” Dylan squinted, turning his face from the dirt and debris as he moved up the front steps of the church and struggled to pry loose one of the boards covering the front door. It wouldn’t give.

Jessica touched his arm and pulled him away. “The church stays,” she said over the noise of the wind and Hannibal’s insistent barking. “In fact, it’s the first building I want renovated.”

When she’d dragged him several yards from the church, the wind calmed to a breeze again. Weird, Dylan thought as he slapped at the dust covering his jeans and shirt. “It will cost a lot more to renovate than rebuild,” he said. “What difference does it make?”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “We aren’t tearing it down, Dylan.”

Jessica’s statement went beyond an opinion or recommendation. It was an absolute, emphatic mandate. He looked down at the slender fingers gripping his arm and couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of her skin was as smooth and soft. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

“Promise me you won’t replace even one nail unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she said earnestly.

The way she was looking at him he would have promised her anything. Her eyes darkened to a smoky, deeper shade of blue, and the unexpected need he felt for her shifted to an ache. But he wasn’t the only one affected, he realized. He recognized the desire in her eyes, as well, mixed with surprise. It was like looking into a mirror.

They both stepped away at the same time.

“You’re the boss,” he said, and heard the strained sound of his voice. “I’ve seen enough today, anyway. I’ve got to get back to Cactus Flat and round up a crew.”

“How are you going to do that?” she asked with a sigh. “I’ve already seen what’s available.”

He smiled. “I’ve been around this business a few years more than you. I know where to look. I’ll set it up and be back tomorrow with my things.” He began to head down the street.

“Dylan.”

He turned back at the quiet summons. Jessica walked toward him, hands in her pockets, her cheeks bright red.

“There’s something I think you should know,” she said, staring down at her boots. “Something that might make a difference to your desire to work here.”

He didn’t want her to say it. If she admitted this physical attraction between them, it would only make things more difficult. If they said nothing, it would be easier to pretend it didn’t exist. Yeah, right.

“Look, Jessica,” he said, “I already know.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “And I admit it’s pretty intense. But if we just ignore it, it won’t get in the way.”

She stared at him. “Ignore it?”

“Right.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure.” He started to feel awkward, discussing it like this.

“It doesn’t frighten you?” she asked in amazement.

It scared the hell out of him. But he wasn’t ready to admit that, either. “I can deal with it,” he said, determined to make himself believe it. “After all, we are both rational mature adults and—”

“Dylan, that’s wonderful.” She smiled. “Few people even believe in them, let alone accept them.”

He was really missing something here. “Accept who?”

“Lucas and Meggie.”

“Lucas and Meggie?”

“The ghosts of course. According to the town records, they died in the church fire the night before their wedding. They’re still here.”

He simply stared at her.

She furrowed her brow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “The ghosts. Right.”

“So you don’t mind?” she asked.

“Well, I...” Did he mind? She’d obviously lost hers. “Let’s just say I’m not quite convinced yet.”

She smiled slowly. “You stick around, you will be,” she said. “But don’t worry. You don’t bother them and they won’t bother you. Right, Hannibal?”

Hannibal barked twice.

“Thanks for the warning,” he muttered.

He shook his head, watching as Jessica chased Hannibal back to the hotel. He looked at the church, remembering the strange gust of wind.

Ghosts.

Yeah. Sure.

Never a dull moment, he thought, wondering what other little surprises Jessica Stone had up her sleeve.

* * *

If there was one thing Dylan hated more than anything else, it was parties. The first two months he’d been married he’d been forced into an endless stream of socializing with people he didn’t know, and certainly didn’t care about. He’d never been one for idle conversation, and from his experience, the talk at family gatherings was as idle as it came.

He should have known that the Stone family would not fit that mold.

The second he’d stepped into Jake’s house he felt as if he’d been whisked into a tornado. Three little girls ran past, shrieking, and when Jessica called to one of them, a dark-haired child ran back and hugged her. Dylan was stunned at the resemblance between them.

“Dylan, this is my half sister, Emma,” Jessica said. “Emma, this is Dylan Grant.”

The child smiled, then ran off to join the other two girls. From then on, Dylan was busy shaking hands and trying to remember names. Savannah, Jake’s wife, was a blonde with iridescent green eyes and a soft Southern drawl. Annie, Jared’s fiancée, was also a blonde, with expressive hazel eyes and the glow of a woman about to be married to a man she loved.

Dylan felt a tug of envy, wondering what it would be like to see that look on a woman’s face for him. When Dylan shook Jared’s hand and congratulated him, Jared nodded stiffly. When Dylan glanced at Jessica, he saw her frown at her brother.

Then there were neighbors and friends. A giant of a man named Hugh Slater, who was Jared’s foreman on his oil rig. A crusty older man named Digger who didn’t speak—he boomed. And a neighboring rancher, Sam McCants, who smiled politely as they shook hands, but never took his eyes off Jessica.

Not that he blamed the man, Dylan thought. Jessica looked radiant tonight. She had on a deep blue long cotton dress that clung to her curves. The scooped neckline revealed the soft swell of her breasts, but was not so suggestive as to show cleavage. When he’d offered to drive her truck here tonight and he’d helped her into the cab, a brief flash of one long leg had elevated his body temperature several degrees.

Dylan felt his body tighten when Sam put an arm around Jessica and kissed her on the lips. It wasn’t a long kiss, and it certainly wasn’t passionate, but Dylan decided he didn’t like the man.

“So, Dylan,” Sam said, his arm still draped around Jessica, “why don’t you tell us your secret?”

Dylan hesitated. He had the strangest feeling everyone had quieted and was listening for his answer. Jake and Jared watched him intently. “Secret?”

“I understand you’re staying at Makeshift,” Sam said good-naturedly. “I’ve been trying for years to get around Jake and Jared where Jessica is concerned, with no luck. So what’s your secret?”

Jessica blushed and slipped out from Sam’s hold. “You’re incorrigible, Sam McCants. Room and board is part of Dylan’s pay. It’s as simple as that.”

“Room and board?” Jake raised one eyebrow and looked at Dylan first, then Jessica. “You mean you’re going to cook, too?”

Jessica ground her teeth. She hadn’t intended to mention that fact. Her brothers would never let her live it down. She flashed Dylan a scathing look. He smiled back.

“Dylan’s managed to put together a crew already,” Jessica said, hoping to change the subject. “We’ll be starting tomorrow.”

Jared eyed Dylan. “You’re a fast worker.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” Dylan returned.

Jessica was going to kill Jared. Slowly and painfully. He’d been rude from the minute they’d walked in. When were her brothers ever going to learn she wasn’t a child anymore?

Smiling brightly, Savannah stepped between the two men and pressed a beer into Dylan’s hand. “So has Jessica told you about her ghosts yet?” she asked.

Dylan thanked Savannah and turned his gaze to Jessica as he took a long swig of the beer. “She mentioned them.”

“We think it’s romantic,” Annie said. “The idea of two souls so in love they refuse to leave the town where they were to be married.”

Dylan still couldn’t believe that Jessica actually believed this crazy idea. He wondered if she was putting him on, trying to get back at him for the room-and-board business. He glanced at her, and she smiled sweetly.

“Hello, everyone,” a woman’s high-pitched voice interrupted the conversation. The room went silent, and all heads turned in the direction of the front door.

Dylan watched as an attractive woman of about fifty moved into the room. The red in her plaid jacket nearly matched the red of her swept-up hair, and her black velvet skirt matched her shoes. An older man in an expensive blue suit followed the woman into the room. Dylan noticed the man’s pallor was as gray as his hair.

“So sorry we’re late,” the woman said, though Dylan had the feeling that no one in the room had been particularly lamenting that fact. “It was a battle to drag Daddy away from one of his business calls. I swear, he’s been locked up in the study half the day.”

The woman brushed a kiss first on Jake’s cheek, then Jared’s. It was tolerated more than welcomed, Dylan noticed.

The woman hugged Jessica, then settled her gaze on Dylan. “Oh, Jessica, dear, is this the young man who’s staying with you in that town of yours?”

Jessica flinched, then forced a smile. “He’s not staying with me, Myrna. He’s the foreman I’ve hired to renovate Makeshift. Dylan Grant, this is Myrna Stone, my stepmother, and her father, Carlton Hewitt.”

Carlton’s grip was firm, Dylan noted, though his palm was cold. Myrna’s grip was as weak as it was brief.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.