“I want to apologize for last night.
I was rude and ungrateful. I’m sorry.”

Her words came out in a staccato rhythm, sounding more rote than sincere.

“You haven’t apologized much, have you?”

Tara frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re not very good at it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You have most of the words right,” Matt explained, “but the delivery’s wrong. You see, you’re supposed to sound like you mean it, not like you’re saying whatever’s necessary to get me to do what you want.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, guess what? At this point I would say whatever it took to get you to do what I want.” Her voice was low. “I was afraid—”

“Yeah.” She’d been afraid he wouldn’t come back. Probably because he’d told her he wouldn’t. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Her expression grew serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

Dear Reader,

Building and rebuilding—isn’t that what life is all about? I’ve lived in many old houses, and therefore I’ve worked on many old houses. I am a renovator and builder at heart and it seemed natural to incorporate these aspects of my life into my debut book.

When I first got the idea for this story, I envisioned an independent woman who does things on her own because she’s always had to. She’s never depended on anyone, except for a few close childhood friends, until she’s forced to by situation. My hero, on the other hand, is in the process of rebuilding. His career has been shattered by a devastating revelation and he is determined to make things right again, regardless of personal cost. He, too, is learning to reach out and accept help. While they work on their lives, they’re also renovating the kind of house I’ve always wanted to live in. And they do it well.

I hope you enjoy my book as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love to hear from you. Please contact me at jeanniewrites@gmail.com.

Happy reading,

Jeannie Watt

A Difficult Woman
Jeannie Watt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeannie Watt lives with her husband in rural Nevada. She collects horses, ponies, dogs and cats. Her son and daughter both inherited the math gene that skipped her generation and are studying to be civil engineers. When she isn’t writing, Jeannie likes to paint and sew and work on her house. She has degrees in geology and education.

To my parents, for their love and support over the

years, and for teaching me the meaning of tenacity.

To Gary, for believing in me and for cooking

when I was busy writing.

To Jamie Dallas and Jake, who grew up with their

mother writing—and rewriting—and encouraged her

to venture beyond Chapter Three.

To Mike Allen and Charlie Hauntz,

who always asked, “How’s the book?”

To Roxanne, Tim and Echo—

the best proofreading team ever.

To Victoria Curran and Kathleen Scheibling,

without whose direction and help this book

would not have been possible.

My heartfelt thanks.

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

TARA SULLIVAN, as a rule, did not watch men, but this one was proving to be an exception. She leaned her shoulder against the kitchen doorframe and, for the umpteenth time that morning, paused to watch her carpenter nail the front porch back together. It had been a while since she’d had someone capable working around the place, and somehow she felt compelled to keep an eye on him.

Probably because I half expect him to disappear.

Tara smiled grimly, as she pushed off from the doorframe and crossed the worn linoleum to the pantry, where she still had half a dozen shelves to wash before she could paint.

If he quit, he quit. There wasn’t much she could do about it. Luke had said his friend would stay for at least two weeks or until Luke’s shoulder healed, whichever came first. Tara sincerely hoped that was true because it was the only way she was going to get this place done in time for the reunion.

She sloshed her sponge into the soapy water and started to scrub. At least this man was from out of town, so Martin Somers had no influence over him.

When she was done with the shelves, she carried the wash water to the big kitchen sink, awkwardly dumping the basin before turning it over to dry. She glanced at the clock as she wiped her hands on a towel and realized she didn’t have much time before her appointment. It was a routine matter, just a few signatures to finalize things, but routine or not, Tara was in no hurry to get to the bank. Too many bad memories.

She went through the door to the mudroom, hung the apron she’d been wearing on a hook and then carefully made her way out onto the side porch, where the sun tea was brewing. The boards creaked under her feet, but she knew the safe spots and managed to retrieve the jug without crashing through the old flooring. The carpenter continued to work, keeping his head down, concentrating on the boards he was hammering into place. Muscles flexed beneath his thin white T-shirt with each blow.

“Hey,” Tara called. The dark head came up. Sunlight reflected off his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Want some?” She hefted the jar a little as she spoke. It was getting hot outside and she didn’t want the man passing out from heatstroke.

He hesitated, then nodded, getting to his feet.

“I’ll bring it to you,” Tara said. She nudged the side door open with her toe and disappeared into the mudroom. Her reluctance to have him in the house drinking tea with her had nothing to do with fear or caution, and everything to do with boundaries. Because Tara had boundaries. And she let very few people cross them. It seemed that whenever she did, pain and disappointment ultimately followed.

MATT CONNORS hadn’t been certain what to expect the first day on this job, but he had not expected his new boss to be beautiful. Even dressed in baggy jeans and a loose tank top that read Night Sky Night Hawks across the chest, and with a smear of pale blue paint across her forehead, there was no denying her beauty. Her long, very dark hair was pulled back into a thick braid, accentuating the shape of her face, the slightly aquiline line of her nose, the high cheekbones. Her eyes were startlingly blue and more businesslike than friendly, so he had been surprised by the offer of tea. She’d given him a cool nod as she delivered the icy beverage, complete with lemon wedge and sprig of mint, and Matt accepted the tall glass with an equally impassive expression. He’d made a perfunctory stab at conversation when he first arrived that morning, more to try to regain a sense of normality in his daily life than for social reasons, but the boss had quickly made it evident that she wasn’t looking for pleasantries. She wanted her porch rebuilt and that was just fine with him.

Matt studied her striking profile for another moment as she inspected his work, and then he took a long, grateful drink of tea. It was hot for the end of May and it had been a while since he’d put in so many hours under the Nevada sun. Ten years, in fact, since he’d worked his way through college on his stepfather’s construction crew before attending the police academy.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. I reinforced the two bad joists, but I have some work ahead of me here.” He gestured to the boards he was replacing.

“Another day on this porch?” Tara asked.

“Probably more like two.”

Disappointment crossed her face.

“All right,” she agreed, as if she had a choice in the matter. She pushed the long braid over her shoulder. “I have to go to the bank. Do you mind being here on your own?”

“No.” To him the bigger question would have been, did she feel comfortable leaving him alone at her house? She must’ve guessed the direction of his thoughts.

“Luke trusts you.” The simply stated fact seemed to be enough for her. “Did you bring any water?”

“In the truck.”

“Good.”

Her very blue eyes held his for a moment and then she turned and went back inside, the old wooden screen door banging shut behind her.

Matt took another swallow of tea, his eyes still on the door. Tara Sullivan was a woman of few words. He set down the glass and picked up his hammer. It didn’t really matter to him—if anything it made things easier. He was not there to make friends with her. He was there as a favor to his uncle, his former construction boss, a man who thought he was saving Matt’s life.

TARA ALWAYS HAD the feeling when she crossed the threshold of the bank that every eye in the place was on her. The problem was that it wasn’t entirely her imagination.

The manager of the Night Sky branch of U.S. Trust and Savings had been one of the tellers on duty at the Reno branch when her father had made his brazen attempt at easy money fifteen years ago. He never let her, or anyone else in Night Sky, forget it.

Damn but she wished that when her aunt Laura had finally realized the house was falling down around her she’d applied for the renovation loan with an out-of-town bank. But no. She’d conducted her business locally and Tara had inherited both the house and the debt to a bank she never wanted to set foot in. And it was a huge debt. Tara’d been astounded by the amount, wondering at first how her aunt had managed to secure it at her age on such a dilapidated house. But then she’d realized just how much property values had gone up over the past decade, and decided that maybe it was the land and not the house the bank had counted on for security. The only blessing was that the interest rate had been low enough to make the payments manageable, and after today Tara hoped to continue with her low-interest payments for a very long time.

“Miss Sullivan. Have a seat.” The manager pulled his gold pen a little closer as he spoke.

“You are here regarding the balloon payment on your loan, due October first.” The manager raised his eyes from the paper to meet hers. Tara did her best to look friendly. He did not.

“I met with the assistant manager last week. We talked about refinancing the last payment. I submitted my request in writing.”

“Yes. I have it here.” The corner of the man’s mouth twitched, giving Tara the feeling that this was not going to be the slam dunk the assistant manager had indicated it would be.

“He said that it was very common to refinance a balloon payment. Practically expected.” His exact words had been “just a technicality.”

“That is if circumstances are the same as when the loan was secured.”

“The circumstances can hardly be the same, since my aunt is now deceased,” Tara pointed out.

“Exactly,” the man said. “And according to the information here, you are not currently employed.”

His information was correct, thanks to the statewide cut in the education budget. The Elko community college now had one less English instructor on its payroll. But that didn’t mean she was without income.

“I’m freelancing. Technical writing. I have two projects scheduled to begin next month. I’ve brought you copies of the budget. I’m certain I’ll have more work after that.”

The manager barely glanced at the papers she set on his desk.

“Freelancing.” From his tone, she may as well have said she was panhandling.

“Yes. And as soon as the funding situation at the college is rectified, mine will be the first position hired back. It’s written into my contract, which I have right here.” She pulled a paper out of the stack on her lap.

“And when might that be?”

Tara sucked in a breath. “The HR director expects it to be within the year.”

“I see. And, when you get your job back, is there any guarantee that it would not again be downsized in the next round of state budget cuts?”

“No, but I will be getting another job as soon as my house is refurbished and the reunion is over.”

“Here in Night Sky?”

“I hope.”

“Then you have nothing lined up.”

Tara pressed her lips together and shook her head. Her sense of foreboding intensified.

The manager smiled with mock regret, paused a beat, and then pushed Tara’s papers back toward her with an air of finality.

“I don’t want to appear harsh, Miss Sullivan, but I do not believe it would be in the best interest of the bank to extend this loan under such tenuous circumstances.”

Suddenly numb from head to toe, Tara forced herself to speak.

“You’d get your money back, plus more interest—”

“Your aunt got a lower interest rate by agreeing to the balloon. That was the arrangement she made, the contract she signed. When one enters into a balloon mortgage, it is with the understanding that refinancing is not guaranteed and that the entire loan balance is due on a particular date.”

“Look—” Tara pulled in another breath, tamping down cold panic “—can’t you give me a break here? I mean, this bank loans money.” She gestured at the plastic banner stretched over the tellers’ windows, advertising second mortgage rates, just in case the little worm in front of her had forgotten. “I’m current on my payments. I’ve proven I’m trustworthy, in spite of being laid off…. I’ll pay higher interest if you’ll refinance the balloon. I don’t care. I just need to make payments.” She paused before adding with the utmost sincerity, “It will be very difficult to make the payment and keep my brother in college.” More like impossible, but he didn’t need to know that. “I can do it if you extend the mortgage.”

The bank manager merely blinked at her, obviously unmoved.

Tara swallowed hard. “I would really appreciate it if you’d help me with this.”

It killed her to beg, but she’d crawl on the floor if that was what it took.

“It might be good for your brother to go to work for a while and then continue his studies.”

“No,” Tara replied firmly, making a supreme effort to keep her temper in check. “It might be good for him to continue his studies right now. He’s completed his sophomore year at UNLV and has just been accepted into a prestigious engineering internship program in California. It’s a private college and highly competitive. He needs to go right after summer school or he’ll lose his slot. He has financial aid, but it won’t be enough to cover both schooling and living expenses. If we could refinance this for even a few years…” Tara lifted her chin. “I want Nicky to have a decent shot at life.”

The manager shook his head, making no attempt this time to feign regret. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan,” he said in a “business is business” tone. “Payment is due October first.”

“So I have to chose between my brother’s education and the balloon payment.”

“If that is your situation, then, yes.”

“And if I can’t make payment at that time?”

“I believe you will eventually lose your collateral.”

There was no mistaking his meaning.

The bank would take her house—the house her great-grandfather, one of Night Sky’s founders, had built for his growing family over a hundred years ago. The house that had been the one source of constancy in her turbulent life.

Tara hitched her chin up a notch.

“Not if I go to another bank and take out a loan to pay off your loan.”

The man fiddled with the gold pen for a moment before he said, “You may find it difficult to get a loan in your current situation, unemployed and with your only collateral already tied up as a lien on another loan.” He raised his beady worm eyes to meet hers. “Practically impossible, I would guess.”

This guy was playing hardball.

“If it looks like you will not be able to make this payment—” the worm’s voice broke into Tara’s thoughts “—for the sake of your credit rating, you might want to sell the house first and use the money to settle this loan.”

Sell the house….

The words echoed in her head as she slowly raised her gaze to meet that of the man across the desk from her.

Her jaw tightened as she suddenly understood exactly what was happening. This man had been well aware of the fact that she was going to have to choose between Nicky’s education and making the payment, and he was going to take advantage of it—most probably for one of his best customers. The Somerses would like nothing better than to get their hands on her house, for both punitive and economic reasons. Tara’s property abutted the rear of theirs and provided the perfect opportunity for them to expand their empire of vacation retreats for the rich and semifamous.

The manager met her gaze blandly, with just the barest hint of smug satisfaction.

Tara narrowed her eyes slightly as the comforting calm of battle settled over her, a calm that, from the man’s subtle shift of expression, was being misread as acceptance.

“Sell my house….” Tara spoke the words thoughtfully as she gathered her purse and papers. She rose to her feet.

“Sell my house,” she repeated matter-of-factly. She didn’t speak loudly, but she did speak clearly, and the manager’s eyes darted around the room, as though trying to ascertain whether she was attracting attention. She was. He cleared his throat.

“Just a suggestion for your own financial—”

“I will sell my house when hell freezes over.” Tara raised her eyebrows as she politely inquired, “Does that time frame work for you?”

“Miss Sullivan…” the manager protested as two customers, whose fathers had presumably not tried to abscond with federally insured funds years before, sent curious looks their way.

“I can promise you two things,” she continued. “First, your bank will get its money. Second, Martin Somers will not get his slimy hands on my house because the bank is not going to foreclose.” Tara allowed herself a grim smile. “And you can tell him that.”

“Miss Sullivan, I have no such intention—” But Tara simply raised her fingers to her lips.

The man hushed, probably because he didn’t want to risk having her stay a second longer than necessary. She held his beady gaze for a moment, then turned and stalked out of the bank.

It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind her that she indulged in several deep shaky breaths. Her heart was pounding. What? What on earth was she going to do now?

Tara strode to the Camry, yanked the unlocked door open and dropped behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind her.

Nicky needed more money than she’d ever made in a year, including salary and freelance work….

Tara leaned her head back and closed her eyes, fighting tears of frustration. She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever was. She opened her eyes, determined.

No financial institution was getting her family’s house. It wasn’t going to happen. Nicky was taking his internship and she was going to make the balloon payment. On time.

Now, all she had to do was to figure out how.

TARA HAD BOTH a throbbing headache and a sketchy idea of what to do by early evening. She stood for a moment at her bedroom window, watching as Matt got into his old, but meticulously cared for, Ford pickup—almost a twin to her own old truck—and drove away, leaving a rooster tail of dust in the red light of the setting sun. The dust slowly settled and Tara turned to lean against the windowsill.

Her finances hadn’t seemed that bad prior to her visit to the bank that morning. She wasn’t rolling in dough, but she’d had enough money to meet her monthly bills, including the mortgage she’d inherited, and she had Aunt Laura’s life insurance to pay for Nicky’s college expenses. But now, even if she cashed out her meager 401K and added it to Aunt Laura’s life insurance, she still didn’t have enough.

Damned bank manager.

She’d sunk too much money into the house; most of the remaining supplies and furniture were either already purchased or contracted for, and sitting in storage, or were awaiting pickup. Even if she returned what hadn’t been used, it was only a drop in the bucket. No, she had only one direction to go. Forward. She’d put this house together and do her best to get a loan or grant or private money before October 1.

She let out a sigh and then realized she’d been sighing way too much for one day. It smacked of defeatism. She’d had to be tough for herself and Nicky while they were growing up. She wouldn’t let herself break down now.

She crossed the room to the staircase, running a hand over the stripped banister as she descended. She’d been trying to decide between dark oak or walnut stain. It looked as if she’d better decide soon.

The clock chimed six as she went to the kitchen to get her paintbrushes. She’d be able to get in at least five more hours and still be in bed before midnight, which was about the time Nicky would be getting home. He planned to stay for ten days and do what he could to help with the house before heading back to Vegas to finish his last classes during the summer session. She hadn’t told him about the balloon payment and she wasn’t going to, because she knew he’d postpone school in a heartbeat if he thought she were going to lose her house.

But she wasn’t going to lose the house.

Not without a fight, anyway, because if there was one thing Tara knew how to do, it was how to fight.

HOW DO YOU SAY no to a man who’d been more of a father to you than your father or your stepfather had been?

You don’t, Matt thought as he strode up the walk to his temporary home. At least not right off the bat…especially when the guy was trying to help.

The Anderson house, as it was known to the locals, was more of a cottage than a house, built after World War II as housing for a tungsten mine and then moved in to town when the mine closed down in the early 1960s. A living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bath—more than enough room for a man trying to put his life back together. It was one of Luke’s rentals and Matt had it to himself, since the old man had figured he’d want privacy. He’d been correct. Matt did not want to wake up thrashing from some nightmare with Luke in the house. Some things were private.

The backyard of the house opened onto an alley. On the other side of it across a gravel parking lot, was the back door into the Owl Club, Night Sky’s only casino. It boasted twenty-four-hour fun and sometimes it lived up to its reputation, despite the fact that Night Sky’s population hovered around the 1,200 mark, which included the outlying county.

Matt took a quick shower, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed across the alley to meet Luke for dinner. A fat cat waddled out from under the back porch and threw himself lovingly against Matt’s legs. Matt gently eased the animal aside and kept walking. The cat seemed to have come with the house and he drove Matt crazy, staring at him through the window with its huge yellow eyes.

When Matt came in, he saw Luke seated in one of the red vinyl booths, cupping a tall glass of iced tea in both hands and passing time with a buxom waitress. The waitress smiled at Matt and shook back her blond curls. Matt gave her a nod as he slid into the booth.

“How’d it go?” Luke asked.

“I think the work’s going to take longer than she wants it to.”

“But you’ll be able to get it done.”

“No problem,” Matt said as he reached for a glass of ice water.

Luke glanced up at the waitress, who was watching Matt with unabashed interest. “Becky, this is Matt. He took my place at Tara’s today. I was supposed to work on that porch of hers, but my shoulder’s acting up so bad I couldn’t hammer.”

Becky squinted her eyes. “You’re working for Tara?”

He nodded.

“I’ll bet you’re earning that pay,” she said with a snort before turning to Luke. “Now, what can I get you guys? The special’s good tonight.”

Matt gave his order after Luke, following the waitress with his eyes as she sauntered back to the kitchen, her hips swinging under the short pink skirt. When he glanced back, he saw that the old man was smiling.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Matt said dryly. “‘I’ll bet you’re earning that pay’?”

“Yeah. Well, Tara tends to say what she thinks and do what she wants.”

“She pisses people off,” Matt translated with a half smile.

“That she does,” Luke agreed before taking a swallow of tea. He grimaced.

“I can see it,” Matt replied, as Luke regarded the tall glass in front of him with disgust.

“What I wouldn’t give for a beer,” Luke muttered. He took another swallow of tea, and grimaced again. “Reacts with my medication, you know. And even if I wanted to live dangerously, Becky there—” he nodded at the waitress as she emerged from the kitchen with their prefab salads “—knows I’m taking it and won’t serve me.”

“Rough life,” Matt said. “Having somebody look out for you…whether you want them to or not.”

“Isn’t it?” Luke asked with equal irony. His expression became more serious. “This isn’t a bad town to hang out in for a while, Matt. Think things through.”

“The small-town cure for what ails you,” Matt said, a corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m not sure it’ll work on a big-city boy. Besides, I thought I was here to help you.”

Luke’s eyebrows went up. “You are,” he said innocently.

Yeah, he was. The old guy could barely move his arms. But he knew there was more to the situation than that. They both knew it. Since the incident—well, both incidents, the emotional one and the physical one— Matt’s life hadn’t been the same. If he’d owned a dog, it probably would have run away.

“I’m doing okay, Luke,” Matt said softly, intently, trying to mean it.

Luke’s gray eyes held an expression of deep understanding. “Yeah. I know, kid.”

Matt wondered if he did, and then felt ashamed of himself. Luke had spent thirty years in construction before retiring to Night Sky, his hometown, and he’d seen two tours of duty in Vietnam. He was also a good man—the kind of man Matt always thought his late father had been up until a few months ago when the staggering truth had come to light.

After dropping the salads on the table, Becky leaned over Matt, brushing cozily against him as she pulled the condiments closer. She smiled as she straightened and ran her hands down the sides of her skirt. The invitation was obvious. Matt smiled back noncommittally and picked up his fork.

“Not a lot of fresh blood in this town,” Luke murmured after she had reluctantly left.

“Tell me about Tara Sullivan.”

“What about her?” Luke asked.

“She just seems like an unusual person. Easy on the eyes, but all business.”

“She is all business. And sometimes her bite is as bad as her bark.” Luke speared a giant chunk of iceberg lettuce, then picked up the steak knife and sawed it into edible pieces.

“Why do you work for her?”

“I like her.”

Matt glanced up. He’d sensed from the moment that Luke had sent him out to the place that this woman was important to him. He just didn’t know why. Luke continued to tackle his salad. “I know she can put people off, but she’s honest and…well…let’s just say she hasn’t had an easy time of it around here.”

“Not an easy time?”

“Nope.” The word was flat and final. “I worked for her aunt after I retired. Laura was too busy with too many things to maintain that old house, but she loved the outdoors. She designed the gardens, the pathways and such around the place, and I made them happen. After that, it seemed natural enough for me to maintain things. I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“You do a nice job.” The old house was surrounded by almost two acres of groomed landscaping. Near the house, the design fit in with the Victorian theme—an old gazebo, wooden archways, shade trees, grass and winding paths. Farther away, near the barn and shop, the landscaping melded into the surrounding meadows, which acted as pasture for the two donkeys Tara apparently kept as pets.

“Gives me something to do, and Tara needs a guy around now that Nicky, her brother, is away at college.”

Matt had a feeling that Tara could handle things quite well without a man around, but he kept his thoughts to himself. With no immediate family of his own, Luke had a tendency to adopt people. Like Matt. And apparently like this Sullivan woman, too.

The meals arrived and after Becky was done delivering the hot plates, Matt let the subject drop. He wasn’t that interested in Tara Sullivan. If Luke’s shoulder kept him out of commission, and it looked like it was going to from the stiff way the old man was moving, Matt’d have a few more weeks at the house, tops. Right up until the end of his leave.

How much did he need to know to hammer a few boards back into place?

Not much. In fact, he had a strong feeling that the less he knew, the less involved he got with anyone in this town, the better.

CHAPTER TWO

THE BOSS LADY was hot about something. Matt could see her pacing the porch as he turned his truck into her long gravel driveway. As soon as she heard his engine, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and stalked into the house. He could practically hear the door slam.

This should be fun, he thought as he pulled to a stop. He hadn’t slept much the night before and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Tara in a snit. She reappeared almost immediately with a cell phone, scanning the horizon as she held it to her ear. The boss lady had cleaned up, and rather nicely, too. Instead of baggy jeans, she wore tan denims that did justice to her long legs and a scoop-necked blue shirt that hugged her breasts and flat abdomen. A chain with some kind of a pendant nestled in an interesting hint of cleavage. She looked…different.

She watched him get out of the truck, still holding the phone to her ear. It was fortunate, Matt thought, taking in her killer expression, that he had expertise dealing with people in all kinds of moods.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly as he came to the bottom step.

“Brothers.” She let out an aggravated breath as she lowered the phone, but Matt saw anxiety as well as irritation in her eyes.

“Anything I can do?”

She opened her mouth to answer, and then her expression changed. Matt followed her gaze and saw a plume of dust in the distance. When the vehicle came close enough to identify, Matt shifted his attention to Tara, watching as her face first softened with relief, then tightened again. This did not bode well for the troublesome brother.

Tara stalked down the steps and brushed past Matt as an older silver Dodge pickup pulled in between his truck and a Toyota Camry. A fair-haired kid in his late teens or very early twenties was at the wheel and Matt could tell that he knew he was in trouble.

“You said you’d be home last night,” Tara hissed at her brother, who tried a sheepish grin, then gave up. “I had assumed that meant before the sun came up!”

The brother got out of the truck. “I’m sorry, T. Josh and I got stuck up behind Bounty Peak.” He gestured at the muddy undercarriage of the Dodge. “My cell wouldn’t get service there.”

Tara sucked in a breath and let it out again. “Listen to me. In the future, you call. I don’t care if you have to hike to the top of Bounty Peak to get service, you call.” She pushed a piece of paper into her brother’s hand. “And I’m sure I don’t want to know why you were behind Bounty Peak in the first place. Here’s the list we talked about. Do what you can. I’ve gotta go.”

Matt had seen the same look on his mother’s face more than once during his own turbulent teens—fully justified fear, followed by relief, and then anger at being made to worry unnecessarily. He felt a little sorry for both Tara and the kid.

“I’m late for an appointment,” Tara explained abruptly. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You’re pretty well lined out, aren’t you?”

Matt nodded and Tara gave her brother one more smoldering look before walking swiftly to the Toyota, muttering under her breath. Matt and the brother stood side by side as the car peeled out of the driveway and turned onto the county road.

“She yells at me when I do that.” The blond kid turned to Matt. “I’m Nicky Sullivan.”

“Matt Connors. You worried her,” Matt said as he shook the kid’s hand.

“Yeah. I guess I should have called when we got out of that mud hole,” he admitted, “but I figured I’d be home in an hour.” He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing. “And I think I’m old enough to stay out all night if I want to.”

“Probably not to her.”

“I guess,” the kid agreed. “Hey, you want some breakfast before you get started?”

Matt shook his head. “I had the special at the Owl.”

Nicky grimaced. “Sorry, man.”

Matt smiled in spite of himself. Dinners weren’t bad at the casino, but breakfast had proven to be an adventure. Eggs came in one form. Bouncy. Bacon bordered on scorched. The toast was usually okay, though, and that was what he’d ended up eating that morning after trying all the various components of the special.

“Come on, at least have some coffee. Tara makes great coffee.”

A thermal carafe sat on the counter of the obviously recently renovated kitchen and Nicky shook it. It sloshed reassuringly and he reached for two mugs.

“If I had been any later, she’d have dumped it out,” Nicky reflected as he poured.

“Important appointment?”

“It is for her.” Nicky settled on one of the antique chairs and stretched out his legs. He took a drink of coffee, closed his eyes, took another. “Long night,” he muttered. “Anyway, the local school is celebrating its centennial this year and there’s going to be a big reunion of all graduates. Tara wants a piece of the action.”

“How so?” The coffee smelled great. Matt took a seat on the opposite side of the table and sipped. Star-bucks, move over.

“She wants to use the reunion to help her kick off her bed-and-breakfast business. She’s trying to host a function here.”

“Bed-and-breakfast?” Matt almost dropped his cup. Tara Sullivan was going to deal with the general public? Nicky smiled at him.

“She’s good with paying customers,” the kid said, accurately interpreting Matt’s expression. “We lived in the basement apartment of a bed-and-breakfast for five years while she was going to college. She ended up running the place from time to time for the owners, so she knows what she’s doing. Of course, getting the house ready in time is kind of a challenge.”

“The kitchen’s not bad,” Matt said tactfully. Only the worn linoleum needed replacing. Everything else, from the fancy retro range to the huge fridge, looked new.

“You should see the rest of the place—and I’m only here for ten days. I’ll do what I can, but frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Nicky rolled his shoulders, working the kinks out. “Believe it or not, I’m an engineering student. But I’m a lot better with calculations than I am with a hammer and a saw.”

Matt enjoyed the kid’s candor. “Why doesn’t she just hire a contractor? Money?”

Nicky grew serious. “She has to watch the budget, but the problem is all the local contractors are ‘booked.’” He said the word in a way that caught Matt’s attention.

“What do you mean ‘booked’?”

Nicky’s mouth tightened into a semblance of his sister’s smirk, but it wasn’t nearly as deadly. “She’d kill me for talking about this, but it’s nothing you won’t hear in town. There’s this family that runs an inn nearby. Real successful.”

“Somers Country Inn?”

“That’s the one. They’re ticked off that Tara is opening a competing business.”

Matt frowned. He’d seen the Somers Country Inn when he’d been driving around a few days before, trying to fill the empty hours, trying not to think. It was a few miles away from the Sullivan place—a huge two-story cedar ranch-style building surrounded by picturesque cabins, outbuildings, split-rail fences and giant cottonwood trees. It smacked of luxurious hospitality with a pseudorustic flavor. The kind of exclusive out-of-the-way place where the rich would go to rough it. There was no way that Tara’s little Victorian, even if it were fixed and decorated, could compete with that place.

“Rumor has it, and it’s only a rumor,” Nicky added in a way that made it clear it was anything but a rumor, “old man Somers has fixed it so that nobody wants to work with Tara. I mean, we had no trouble getting help with the roof, the foundation and the kitchen. It wasn’t until the plumbing…”

“What happened with the plumbing?”

“When we changed it over from iron to PVC, she had the guys plumb in a bunch of bathrooms—one for each bedroom, you know. That’s when the community found out she was planning to open a bed-and-breakfast, and suddenly no one was available.”

Matt gave the kid a long look before draining his cup. Nicky filled it again without asking.

“She finally got an electrician to come from Elko, but he was twice as expensive as the local guy. Now all that’s left are the floors, walls and stuff that needs to be fixed like the doors and the porch. Luke tries to do what he can around here, but he gets those arthritis attacks.” Nicky nodded at Matt over his coffee cup. “It’s decent of you to help him out.”

“No problem,” he replied, looking at his watch. “Any idea what time your sister will be back?”

Nicky shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.” He pulled the paper Tara had given him out of his pocket and smoothed it on the table. “But since this list is twice as long as it was the last time I saw it, I think I’d better get busy.”

TARA PUSHED OPEN one of the double doors of the convention room at the community center. She was late for her first meeting of the Night Sky Business Association and she would have to make an entrance instead of slipping in as she’d originally planned.

Almost every chair in the room was filled and all heads turned her way as she started down the aisle between the rows, looking for an empty seat. A few people seemed surprised to see her, but most just stared unsmiling or nodded. She wondered, as she always did, if anyone was sincere in offering the simple greeting. She was, after all, a Sullivan. Daughter of a convicted felon and the latest in a long line of troublemakers.

Her mother’s family had been upstanding citizens, but no one seemed to remember that, and she couldn’t really blame them. Almost everyone here had had some sort of unpleasant run-in with a member of her late father’s family.

Martin Somers was in the front row, dressed in his expensive faux cowboy clothes, his thick gray hair perfectly combed. He, too, nodded as she advanced down the aisle, but it was only for show. He was just like his son—charming and personable until you scratched the surface. Too bad more people didn’t figure that out. Too bad she had to figure it out the hard way.

She scanned the room until she finally connected with one honest-to-goodness friendly face, an ally. Jack Hamish gestured to the empty chair next to him.

“Hey, Tara.”

“Hi, Jack.” Tara nodded at the giant of a man she’d known since he’d been the biggest kid in their kindergarten class. “Thanks for the seat,” she murmured as she sat. “Are these meetings always this crowded?”

“Could I please have your attention?” The microphone whistled before Jack could answer and Tara glanced up to see perfect Stacia Logan adjust the stand, a glittery bracelet sliding up her tanned forearm with the movement.

“I’d like to welcome you to this combined meeting of the Night Sky High School Centennial committee and the Night Sky Business Association.

“A little background for those of you who were unable to attend our first meeting last week. My company, Night Sky Development, has been contracted by the chamber of commerce to ensure the smooth operation of the hundredth reunion of the high school. The chamber and I, in association with various Night Sky high class officers, have been hard at work for almost six months planning this event. We’ve made a lot of headway, but there’s still a lot to do and that’s where you come in.” She paused for emphasis before continuing.

“We have several hundred people coming. I’m certain that a lot of them will be staying with family, but those who aren’t will need rooms. For that reason we’ll be making and sending out brochures listing accommodations along with the schedule of events within the next few days. What we need today is an idea of how many rooms you will have available, price, etcetera, as well as input into where to hold the various functions. We’d also like to hear ideas for activities and promotions we might not have thought of….”

Stacia continued her spiel and, as Tara listened, she calculated what she had to do to have the house completed by June 24.

“Stacia?” Martin’s voice jarred Tara back to the present. “I have a comment. I think that we should have stipulations regarding the accommodations brochure.”

“Stipulations?” Stacia asked with eloquently raised eyebrows, giving Tara the distinct impression that she was delivering a rehearsed line.

“Yes. I think we should require that only accommodations up and running on the day we mail the brochure be included, just in case,” he emphasized the words, “the promised rooms are not available.”

There was only one establishment that he could have been referring to, only one establishment that wasn’t currently operational, and everyone knew it. Tara’s blood pressure jacked up, but she made an effort to control herself as she said in a calm, clear voice, “Are you talking about my place, Martin? Because if you are, I can assure you my accommodations will be done on time.”

Martin scowled at her. “How can you guarantee that?”

“The same way you can guarantee that your establishment will have all of its rooms available. Can you be absolutely certain there won’t be a fire or flood—or some other disaster—at your place before the reunion?”

Tara raised her eyebrows, but before Martin could reply, a snide whisper came from the back of the room. “Gee, who would set fire to Martin’s place?”

A muffled chuckle followed and Tara stifled a groan. Everyone knew Tara’s uncle had once attempted a career in arson insurance fraud. He might have been successful, too, if he hadn’t locked himself into the first old building he’d tried to torch, leading to his subsequent rescue, arrest and prosecution. Surprisingly though, other than her father, he was the only Sullivan who’d spent any significant time in jail. Most of the rest of the family managed to get away with time served.

The laughter grew, but somehow Tara kept from shifting in her chair to face the person who had made the comment. Jack didn’t. He turned and glared.

“Martin has a point,” an elderly woman announced with prim conviction, bringing attention back to the front.

“So does Tara,” came another unidentified voice from across the room.

This time Tara did turn, but she couldn’t identify her surprise defender.

“Look,” she said, wanting to put a stop to the debate, “my rooms will be ready. I wouldn’t put myself on the accommodations list otherwise.” She paused, and then added in a low voice, “So, I’ll tell you what, Martin. You worry about your establishment and I’ll worry about mine. I wouldn’t think my five rooms would be that much of a threat to you.”

Martin’s face reddened slightly as a few low chuckles bounced around the room. Stacia tapped the microphone for quiet and Martin turned abruptly toward the front of the room. Tara suspected she hadn’t heard the last from him.

“So, are you really going to have that monstrosity up and running by the reunion?” Jack asked an hour later as he held the door open for Tara.

“I’ll have at least two floors done,” Tara said as they stepped out into the unseasonable heat. “Maybe three if my carpenter hangs around.”

“I’d help you if I weren’t so damned busy at the casino. Losing the assistant manager really cramped me up hourwise.”

“I’m doing okay,” Tara said in a tone she almost believed. “You know, I didn’t expect to be accepted at these meetings with open arms, but I didn’t expect Martin to launch a public attack, either.”

She stopped at her car and unlocked the door. “I guess I should have been nicer to his son.”

“Or vice versa,” Jack replied evenly.

She smiled, but didn’t reply. She was just glad Ryan Somers hadn’t been at the meeting. Night Sky was small and she had to run into him every now and then, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Well,” Jack said, settling a big hand on her shoulder, “congratulations on surviving your first business association meeting.”

“No thanks to Martin…or Stacia,” Tara added. “I wonder what’s up with her?”

She and Stacia had never been friends, but they’d never been enemies, either. They’d simply traveled in different social circles having little to do with each other.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Honey, if you spent less time in that big old house, you’d know that Stacia and Ryan Somers are a couple.”

“Stacia and Ryan?”

“They’re engaged.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “No.” Jack was right. She had to get out more.

“For over a week, I think.”

“How perfect,” Tara murmured, turning the idea over in her mind. Ryan liked money. Stacia had money. “Perhaps Ryan has spoken of me in an unflattering way.”

“Yes,” Jack agreed in a like tone, “and rumor has it you also spoke poorly of Martin Somers in the bank yesterday. Mrs. Randall told the girls all about it at lunch.”

“Guilty,” Tara admitted without a trace of remorse.

“Stacia mustn’t like having her future father-in-law disrespected,” Jack surmised. “You have to remember, Tara, that it does not pay to cross the prom queen.”

“I was the prom queen,” Tara reminded him in a dark tone. It still made her cringe when she thought about it.

“Yes, but in my heart,” Jack replied solemnly, “Stacia will always be queen.”

“Yours and hers.” Tara grinned before she opened the car door. “I gotta go, Jack.”

“I’ll save you a seat next week.”

“I’m counting on you.”

NICKY WORKED DILIGENTLY around the house, checking tasks off his list and stopping every now and then to talk. He was an earnest, likeable kid and Matt didn’t have the heart to shut him down when he’d asked about Matt’s background. It was the last thing Matt wanted to discuss. He’d made a vague reply and steered the discussion back to Nicky and his college plans.

Nicky accepted Matt’s redirection of the conversation and Matt liked him all the better because of it. Neither of them mentioned Tara, who’d returned home around noon looking tired and not very happy. She’d fixed lunch for the two men before disappearing upstairs without a word. Matt didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but every now and then he wondered what had made her unhappy.

It was nearly six o’clock when Matt finally got into his truck and drove back to town. But he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the grocery store, bought a sandwich and a Coke, got into his truck and started driving again, following a gravel road out of town.

He didn’t have it in him to go to the Owl for dinner. As much as he appreciated what Luke was trying to do for him, he didn’t feel like talking and he didn’t have the energy to dodge Becky’s come-ons. He didn’t want to spill his guts and he didn’t want to pretend to be normal.

He just wanted to have a little time to himself, alone, and try to think about…nothing.

“HEY, BABE, I HATE to ask, but can you fill in at the bar this evening? Maggie and Becky both called in sick with that damned flu, which leaves me a staff of exactly none.”

Jack’s gravelly voice actually sounded desperate, causing Tara to frown as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and attempted, unsuccessfully, to pound the lid back onto a can of walnut stain. She gave up, put the hammer down and took the phone in one hand as she brushed strands of hair back from her face with the other.

“What time?”

She did not want to fill in at the bar. She had so much to do, and it was Friday. The regulars would be out in rowdy force, but there was no way she could leave Jack in a lurch.

“Six would be okay.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Oh, and babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Check in the mirror for paint smudges before you come.”

Tara smiled as she punched the end button and surveyed the room. So much for getting the trim primed tonight.

FOR A PERSON who avoided crowds, she was spending way too much time surrounded by people, Tara mused as she pushed her way through the mob in the Owl Club, balancing a tray of drinks. Usually when she filled in for Jack, she manned the bar while the other waitresses hauled the orders, but tonight she shared the bar with Jack and delivered drinks whenever a restaurant order came in. In the bar area, people got their own drinks—thank goodness, Tara thought as she squeezed sideways between two large men.

She nearly dropped her tray as some fool, who was either new to town or too drunk to recognize her, firmly pinched her butt. Tara didn’t stop to see who it was—she didn’t have time to deal with the jerk. It was payday at not one, but two of the nearby gold mines, and too many people wanted to celebrate getting their check by spending their check. Tara had never understood that particular philosophy, but she was more than willing to help them achieve their goal.

She delivered the drinks to the table of revelers with a polite smile that faded as soon as she turned and faced the throng of people spilling out of the bar.

“Hey, sweet cheeks, get me another. Okay?” A very drunk Eddie Johnson waggled his glass at her, and she barely restrained herself from shoving it into his leering face. Instead she took the glass without a word and headed for the bar. Eddie would figure out soon enough that she wasn’t coming back. Jack wouldn’t serve him in the condition he was in and she needed the glass, which would certainly have to be washed and reused before the night was over.

And it was going to be a long, long night.

THE LAST THING Matt expected when he went to the Owl Club for dinner was that he’d have to wait for a table. Or so he thought until he finally took his seat and saw Tara Sullivan push through the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. She was wearing Levi’s that weren’t exactly tight, but somehow molded to her in a way that made every male in the room take notice. She also wore a red satin shirt unbuttoned into an enticing V and again the pendant dangled on the chain between her breasts. Matt was suddenly very curious about that pendant. He was also curious why she was playing barmaid after a full day of painting the interior of that monstrous house.

None of your business.

But, man, she did draw the eye.

Even the women watched her. Her dark hair wasn’t braided tonight, but was instead twisted up onto the back of her head and held in place with a big silver clip. Little strands escaped, curling around her temples, giving testimony to both the heat of too many bodies and the number of trips she must’ve made through that crowd. It looked as if everybody there was having hard stuff with dinner. Not him. He didn’t want to be responsible for Tara having to push her way through that mob again.

“If you touch me or call me sweet cheeks again, Eddie, you will be sporting your cojones somewhere in your abdominal cavity.”

Matt’s head whipped up at the tight, angry words, clearly audible over the buzz of the crowd even though Tara was in the bar area, almost out of view. Almost, but not quite. He automatically started to rise at the sight of her facing off with some drunken jerk whose surprise was rapidly becoming belligerence as his friends laughed. The guy opened his mouth to say something that would have probably gotten him into a whole lot more trouble when Jack Hamish, the manager of the Owl and resident giant, suddenly appeared by Tara’s side. Matt forced himself to sink back into his chair and let Jack take care of his employee, which he did by escorting the offending patron outside.

When the door closed behind Mr. Sweet Cheeks, Matt pulled his eyes back to the menu on the table in front of him, but adrenaline still charged through his body and his muscles were taut, ready to react.

He let out a slow breath and closed the menu.

Maybe he’d have that drink after all.

But he’d go to the bar and order it from Jack.

MATT CONNORS was at the bar and Tara wondered why, with a zillion people filling the small space, her eyes zeroed in on him. He ordered Scotch straight up and after Jack finished pouring, Matt raised his gaze and unerringly met hers. Her chin went up as she felt a surprising connection between them. He seemed different here, somehow, and he had caught her staring. Tara’s mouth tightened and she got busy filling the rest of her order. She left the bar without looking up again. But she felt him watching her, dammit. And it made her feel ridiculously self-conscious.

The rest of the evening passed in a long blur of shouted orders, sloshed drinks and loud music. Eddie had sneaked back in and Jack threw him out again. He’d had some time to sober up and had not taken his second ejection well.

And Matt had stayed. He stood for a long time, leaning against the wall under Edgar, the stuffed horned owl, watching the crowd, and occasionally her, unnervingly alert behind those wire-rimmed glasses, before finally moving to a vacated stool at the far end of the bar. He didn’t socialize, although a few of the town belles had given him their best shot, and he had switched to club soda after the one Scotch. Tara hadn’t the slightest idea why she noticed these things on such a busy evening.

“You saved my life tonight, babe.” Jack’s voice rumbled from behind her.

“No problem.” Tara gave the bar a wipe as she spoke. It was close to one o’clock and the crowd was finally thinning…but Matt was still there. Maybe this was what he did at night. Maybe he worked for her during the day and spent his evenings at the bar. Watching. She wondered vaguely why he was in Night Sky in the first place. Maybe waiting to get on at a mine. That’s why most single men came to the small town and hung around. Yeah. That was probably it.

Ginny, the graveyard waitress, had breezed in a few minutes before and came out of the back room tying on her apron. She glanced at the swollen tip jar, raising an eyebrow.

“Maggie and Becky are going to be sorry they got that flu.”

“I hear it’s a rough one.”

“Trust me, you don’t want it. Knocked me off my feet for two whole days, then I staggered for two more.”

“Then I won’t get it,” Tara said. “I’ve too many things to do.”

“How’s that house coming?” Ginny asked. “I’m dying to see it.”

“It’ll be done for the reunion,” Tara replied. Ginny was fairly new in town and she had always been friendly. Tara appreciated that, knowing that the woman must have heard all the talk about the Sullivan family, but had still chosen to make her own judgments.

“Invite me for a tour.”

“All right.” Tara gave Ginny a speculative look. “You know, I was wondering if you might have some time when I hire temporary day help.”

Ginny grinned. “Just call.”

“Right now it would only be during the reunion. I can’t pay all that much, but after I’m more established…”

Ginny’s smile didn’t waver. “Call,” she repeated.

Tara nodded. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

MATT WATCHED as Tara Sullivan neatly folded her apron and headed into the back room, reappearing seconds later with a small purse dangling from one shoulder.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said in gruff voice. He grabbed the purse, unzipped it and stuffed as much of the contents of the tip jar into it as would fit.

“I would have come back tomorrow,” Tara protested.

“No. You’ll get busy on that barn you call a house and forget. This way I know you have at least some of the money.”

Tara gave Jack a tolerant smile. “Thanks. But don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

“I have subs lined up for the next few days.”

Tara nodded gratefully. “Good.” She surprised Matt then by glancing over at him, as if checking to see if he were still there, before turning and walking out the door.

Mr. Sweet Cheeks’ friends were bellied up to a table near the door and they had watched her exit with enough interest to catch Matt’s attention. He decided to make certain that she got to her vehicle safely.

Old habits, he thought as he pushed the door open and the warm night air hit his face.

He eased sideways into the shadows after the door swung shut behind him, leaning against the building and keeping his eyes on Tara as she crossed the big gravel lot. Someone needed to tell her to park closer to the door. She had her keys out and was nearly to Nicky’s Dodge when she stopped in her tracks.

Mr. Sweet Cheeks.

Matt wasn’t exactly surprised, and as he moved swiftly across the lot, he could see Tara wasn’t surprised, either. After her first startled movement, she took a defiant stance.

“Don’t even think about it, Eddie,” Tara said to the guy who’d sauntered out of the shadow of a pickup. “Just leave me alone.”

“Or…?” he asked in a wicked voice.

“That cojones promise still holds,” Tara said tightly.

The guy laughed and took a step toward her.

“I’m warning you—” She heard the crunch of Matt’s feet on the gravel and sent a quick startled glance his way. Matt ignored her and headed straight for Mr. Sweet Cheeks. The guy also looked startled, then smug. He hadn’t, after all, done anything. Hadn’t even touched her. Matt didn’t let that slow him down for an instant. He hated guys who preyed on women. The next thing Mr. Sweet Cheeks knew he was backed up against the same pickup truck he’d been hiding behind.

“Do…do you got some…some kind of problem, man?” Mr. Sweet Cheeks stuttered.

“No,” Matt answered quietly. “You do.”

Even in the dim light Matt could see the man blanch. Then he got stupid and took a wild roundhouse swing followed by an attempted knee to the groin. Matt automatically blocked both movements, then sent his fist deep into the man’s midsection. The guy doubled over and fell sideways onto the gravel.

Matt watched the man gasp for breath, then glanced over at Tara. The gratitude he expected to see wasn’t there. Instead she looked stunned and irritated.

“What?” he asked.

Tara just shook her head and watched Mr. Sweet Cheeks struggle up to his hands and knees. She grimaced as the guy retched.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

“His private parts are not in his abdominal cavity, so I would say, yes, he’s going to be fine.”

“I guess I should say thanks.”

“I guess you should,” Matt agreed.

Tara’s blue eyes looked silver in the glow of the streetlight. Silver and ungrateful. “Thanks.” The word was clipped, sarcastic.

“I’m overwhelmed,” Matt muttered. Mr. Sweet Cheeks staggered to his feet and away to his waiting friends. He stumbled a few times before he made it to the door.

“I said thanks,” Tara repeated, reading the obvious annoyance in his face.

“And you truly meant it,” he said sarcastically.

Tara didn’t reply, but Matt could see she thought he’d overreacted. Maybe he had, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d helped her out of a dicey situation.

He shook his head and reached to take the keys from her hand. She hadn’t expected it, so he was able to do it. He unlocked the truck door, opened it and stepped back, holding out the keys. Tara took them, her chin up.

“I can understand why you felt the need to…intercede.”

“But…?”

“But that was Eddie Johnson. It’s not the first time I’ve faced him down.”

“And…?” Matt prompted, sensing there was more.

“And I fight my own battles, my own way. I don’t need help,” she stated with an air of finality.

Matt looked down at her from his superior height, wondering why this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else.

“Well, you know what, Miss Sullivan? You can fight your own battles and you can fix your own porch. Good night.”

Matt had the satisfaction of seeing her beautiful mouth pop open before he turned and started back across the lot to the alley that led to his house. But even as he stalked away he listened to hear the reassuring sound of her door finally slamming shut and the engine of her brother’s truck roaring to life.

Old habits…

CHAPTER THREE

HER CARPENTER HAD fired her.

Tara clenched her teeth as she drove, still having a hard time adjusting to the fact. Half a porch to go, plus several other very necessary jobs, and he had fired her. What was she going to do now? Luke couldn’t help, even though she knew he’d try.

She’d just have to get along without any help. This wouldn’t be the first time she and the Time-Life Home Improvement series had gotten a tough job done together.

Yeah, right. She could do this alone. Who was she kidding?

If only Nicky weren’t leaving next week.

But he was. He needed the summer school credits and, frankly, she needed hands a little more skilled than Nicky’s.

Damn that Matt Connors. And Eddie Johnson. And Martin Somers. And… The list was just too long.

Nicky was sprawled on the sofa, wearing old sweats and watching a hideous Vincent Price movie when she got home.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” she muttered.

He gave her a lazy smile. “You got an e-mail,” he said, lowering the volume of the bloodcurdling screams emanating from the bleached blonde on the television screen. House on Haunted Hill. Nicky’s favorite bad movie. “I printed it out.”

“Where?”

“On the table,” he said.

Tara wearily brushed the loose hair off her forehead as she crossed the room. It had better be good news. This had been one long, rough day. She read the printout, then crumpled it in her fist.

“I cannot believe this,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

Nicky frowned at her. “You sent out all those party brochures. I thought you wanted to book a reunion function here.”

“I did.” Tara uncrumpled the paper and read it again. The Night Sky High School graduating class of 1965 wanted to hold an afternoon cocktail party here before the reunion dance. And they wanted to pay her well for the privilege. A Mr. Nathan Bidart, former class president, had requested the booking, and he also wanted three rooms. Three rooms. Just like that. Almost the entire second floor. And she hadn’t even advertised rooms; Bidart must have simply assumed. And he was in business, which was the market she was targeting. Her stomach hurt.

“Did?”

“I don’t have a carpenter anymore.”

He put the movie on mute. “What did you do?”

Tara shrugged, then rubbed her neck. “I was ungrateful.”

Nicky gave a snort. “So what do you do now? You can’t hold an outdoor party with half a porch. You have to call Bidart and tell him you can’t host it, or find a new carpenter.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Tara said, yawning. She released the clip that held her hair, then groaned as the barrette popped into two pieces. She stared down at the sterling silver conchos in her right hand, the French clip in her left.

The perfect end to a perfect evening. Disgusted, she tossed the pieces into the fruit bowl where Nicky kept his keys and headed for the hall.

“I’m going to bed.”

She caught sight of Nicky shaking his head before he picked up the remote and settled back into House on Haunted Hill, and felt extremely glad he didn’t know about the balloon payment. One Sullivan worried sick about finances was more than enough.

STUPID BIRD.

Tara usually loved waking up to the sounds of the birds in the ancient cottonwood trees outside her window. Usually. But after a long night of calculating in her sleep, and trying to figure out how in the world she could get everything done, Tara was in no mood for cheerful birds.

Matt had done the decent thing and tried to help her and she had done the knee-jerk thing and refused that help. She’d fought her own battles since she was eight years old and some kid had taunted her about having a daddy who stayed too long at the beer joint. That kid had ran home crying a few seconds later with a bloody nose and Tara had discovered she did indeed have the power to fight back. She didn’t have to listen to all the talk about her father, whom she loved and was fiercely protective of, especially since she didn’t have a mother.

Of course, that had been before her dad had committed armed robbery and reinforced the general opinion that there was no such thing as an honest Sullivan.

She and Nicky had moved into the big Victorian house with Aunt Laura shortly after her father’s arrest. It hadn’t been a happy time. The kids in school remembered how fiercely she’d defended her father and wouldn’t let her forget it. The adults in town hadn’t treated “that Sullivan girl” much better.

As soon as she graduated high school, she moved to Reno, taking Nicky with her, never dreaming that someday she’d be back, trying to make a place for herself in the community.

She pushed the covers aside and sat up, glancing briefly at the photo of her father she kept on the bureau and feeling the usual mixed emotions. The picture had been taken when he was about the same age as Nicky and the resemblance was strong. Dark blond hair, an easy grin. Tara looked nothing like him. She took after her dark-haired mother, who was smiling in the matching silver frame. Her mother had died when Nicky was three and her father had died in prison of pneumonia when Tara was eighteen—just a few months before he was due to be paroled. Sometimes, even though she hated herself for it, she wondered if maybe that had been for the best.

No sense dwelling on it. It never did her any good. And right now she had a porch to rebuild and a few new doors to hang.

Nicky groaned when he traipsed into the kitchen an hour later and saw the stack of home improvement books sitting on the table where his plate should have been. He walked to the coffeepot, giving the table a wide berth. He filled his cup, took a revitalizing drink, then leaned against the cabinets. His expression clearly said that he knew from experience how dangerous how-to books could be.

“It’s not that bad,” Tara said without raising her eyes from the pages of one.

“Yes,” he said bluntly, “it is.”

Tara looked up.

“Remember what happened the last time you moved beyond your abilities?”

“Wiring can get confusing. All those junctions…”

“Look, T. You’re good. I’ll give you that. And you learn fast, but you don’t have that much time.”

“Your point?” she asked sourly.

“Tell me what happened last night.”

He brought the coffeepot, filled both of their cups, then took a seat across the table from her.

Nicky shook his head when she finished telling the story. “One punch to the gut, huh?” He was obviously impressed. Eddie was a big guy.

“Neatly done, too.” Although she had thought there might be more to Matt Connors than met the eye, Tara hadn’t expected him to know how to fight like that. His moves had been quick and automatic. Well-practiced.

Silence hung between them for a few seconds and then Tara closed the book in front of her.

“I guess I should go and see if I can talk him into coming back.”

Nicky nodded, his eyes fixed on the kitchen window. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding him.”

Tara’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding.” She jumped to her feet and crossed to the window. Sure enough, Matt Connors’s pickup was turning into the drive.

“Let’s hope he’s not here for his tools,” Nicky commented as he watched the truck roll up the drive.

“Let’s hope,” Tara echoed.

“Or his last paycheck.”

Tara scowled at her brother over her shoulder as she headed for the front door. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“Just don’t blow this, okay?”

“I won’t blow it,” she replied flatly.

I can’t blow it. She took a moment to collect herself, and then stepped out onto the porch.

MATT EASED HIS PICKUP to a stop next to Nicky’s Dodge. He turned off the ignition, but he didn’t get out of the truck right away.

Damn, but he was tired.

He’d had some alleged coffee at the Owl that morning, knowing he probably wasn’t going to get any from Tara, but now the casino brew was burning a hole in his gut. It wasn’t in his nature to leave someone in lurch though and, no matter what had happened last night, the Sullivans were apparently in one.

Numb from lack of sleep, he stared at the porch. Tara stood on the top step, keeping the advantage of higher ground. Matt let out a breath and pushed the truck door open.

Squaring time.

He made his way up the walk as far as the bottom porch step, and for a moment he and Tara simply stared at one another. She was dressed for work, but her feet were bare, and her hair hung to her waist in a loose ponytail. She looked tired and yet she also looked good. Must be the hair he thought, wondering what it would feel like to hold handfuls of it.

And what would it feel like spilling over his chest?

The thought came out of nowhere. What would it feel like if he got a grip?

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tara said, breaking the silence. “I want to apologize for last night. I was rude and ungrateful. I’m sorry.”

The words came out in a staccato rhythm, sounding more rote than sincere.

“You haven’t apologized much, have you?”

Tara frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re not very good at it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You have most of the words right,” he explained, “but it’s the delivery that’s all wrong. You see, you’re supposed to sound like you mean it, not like you’re saying whatever you have to.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Yeah? Well, guess what? At this point I would say whatever I have to to get you to do what I want.”

Not what he expected. He almost smiled, but Tara didn’t notice. She was staring at something in the distance as she worked out what to say next. When she looked back at him, her expression was grudgingly sincere.

“When you hit Eddie last night, I was shocked and…unnerved, I guess. I hadn’t expected any intervention and then, out of the blue, there you were.” She held his gaze for a few seconds. “I’m sorry for not being more appreciative. I know you were trying to help. It was just kind of—” she pressed her lips together momentarily “—scary help.”

Okay. That was a revelation. It hadn’t occurred to him that of the two of them, she might have considered him more of an unknown than the big guy she’d been staring down. “I guess I can understand that.”

Tara studied him matter-of-factly, almost fatalistically. “Are you here to pick up your check?”

“Nope.”

“So—” she tilted her head “—are you coming back to work?”

He gave a nod.

There was a cautious silence, then, for the first time since he’d met her, Tara smiled. At him. A slow, totally fascinating curve of her lips that changed her beauty into something warmer, more approachable, a hundred times sexier. He felt as if his breath had caught in his throat, which was ridiculous. It was only a smile.

“That’s great.” Her voice was low. “I was afraid—”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Her expression grew serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t…as long as you pick on someone your own size.”

Her smile was more wry than sensual this time, but once again, Matt felt a response he wasn’t ready for.

“Do I still get lunch?”

“Twelve sharp.” She raised a eyebrow. “I have some breakfast on, too, if you’re interested. It should be ready in about ten minutes. Nicky’ll probably have more coffee brewing by now.”

Breakfast that didn’t include bouncy eggs and burned toast? Coffee that didn’t bottom out on the pH scale? What a concept.

“Consider me interested.”

THE SUN WAS SETTING by the time Matt finished for the day. He left Tara inspecting the porch, which was practically done, and although she hadn’t said much, she’d worn a satisfied smile that somehow made the hours worth it.

He pulled up in front of his house a few minutes before he was due to meet Luke. He figured he had just enough time to wash the sawdust off before he made his way across the alley for another fun-filled night at the Owl. He’d just turned on the shower when he heard a sharp rap at the door.

He cranked the water off, pulled on his jeans and his glasses, and then walked barefoot over the old hardwood floor to the front entry. The rapping continued, rattling the small curtained window in the door. He pulled the door open and found himself facing a uniformed deputy.

“What happened?” he demanded, hoping the guy wasn’t there to tell him Luke’d had a heart attack or something.

“Nothing’s happened.” The deputy’s tone was professional, his dark eyes carefully appraising. Catzilla peeked in from behind his legs. “I’d just like to talk to you for a minute, Officer Connors.”

Officer Connors. Not only did the guy know who he was, he was pretty damned formal about it.

“Is this official?” Matt asked. He didn’t know how it could be…unless it had something to do with the parking lot incident last night. Assault, maybe? Oh, that would go over well with the lieutenant. He was just itching to get something on Matt.

“I’m not on duty right now.”

Matt stepped back to allow the man in. The deputy expertly blocked the cat’s entry before he closed the door behind him. He gave Matt another quick appraisal before introducing himself. “I’m Rafe Sanchez. A friend of Tara’s.”

“Tara? She had you check me out?”

“No. I heard what happened with Eddie Johnson last night.”

There was a beat of silence while Matt put two and two together. Sanchez wasn’t on duty and Johnson didn’t seem like the type to press charges. “So you decided to check me out.”

“Yep.”

Matt wasn’t insulted. He understood looking out for your own.

“What’d you find out?”

“You’re with the Reno PD. You’re a friend of Luke’s. You’re on vacation.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah.”

“How long will you be in town?”

“A few weeks.”

“And then you’ll be going back to work?”

Something in Sanchez’s voice caught Matt’s attention and he realized Sanchez had facts. At the very least, he knew about what happened, maybe about Matt’s father, too. Matt let out a soft breath.

“I guess you’re here to make sure I’m not a basket case, ready to go off the deep end around Tara.”

“Something like that.”

Matt appreciated the fact that the guy didn’t try to hedge. Matt wanted to assure Sanchez that he was only a little burned out, not some crazy on the brink of exploding, but his training had taught him the less said the better.

“What do you think? Am I safe?”

“You’d better be.” Sanchez studied him intensely before adding, “I just thought you should know that.”

The message was crystal clear. Where Rafe Sanchez and Tara were involved? It was a definite possibility, one that he didn’t particularly like. He didn’t need someone checking up on him, making certain he was treating the girlfriend all right.

“Don’t worry. I’m probably in more danger from her than she is from me,” Matt muttered darkly. To his surprise, the deputy actually cracked a smile.

“Maybe so.” He gave Matt another long look, but it wasn’t so intense now. “You know, if you have any problems—”

“Yeah.” Matt didn’t let him finish. He didn’t need anyone else in his business. “I’ll let you know.”

Another faint smile. “Thanks for your time.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Matt replied with quiet irony.

The deputy let himself out of the house. Matt waited until he heard the front gate bang shut, then headed back to the shower.

“YOU’RE LATE,” Luke said as Matt sat across the table from him fifteen minutes later.

“You look well entertained,” Matt responded, nodding at Becky, who sauntered away. He reached for the beer Luke had ordered for him. He’d told Luke the night before that he didn’t like having a beer with dinner when Luke couldn’t, but the older man had insisted, saying he wanted to live vicariously. “Deputy Sanchez stopped by to check me out.”

“He probably heard that you and Tara had trouble last night.”

Matt’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“We—” Matt’s mouth twitched “—had a misunderstanding.”

“Involving Eddie Johnson.”

Matt tipped the top of his beer toward Luke in silent agreement. The old man probably knew as much or more about the encounter than Matt did. “We made up. I spent the afternoon at her place working on the porch. It’s practically done.”

“Good. I’m hoping to be able to come out tomorrow and take a look, see if there’s anything I can do.”

Matt gently set his bottle down as he tried to come up with a way to say this without getting Luke’s dander up. Finally he just said it. “Maybe you should take it easy a while longer. You know…let the medication take effect?” He didn’t want his friend to hurt himself, but he didn’t want to insult him, either. Thin line there.

“Maybe,” Luke replied after a lengthy silence. He pulled the tea bag out of his cup and squeezed the last bit of moisture out of it. “How’re you sleeping?”

Matt raised his eyes to meet Luke’s. He hadn’t told Luke about his insomnia, but he supposed that his exhaustion had to show.

“I know stress,” Luke said as he put the tea bag aside. “I saw action similar to yours while I was in the service. I was only twenty.” Luke shook his head. “You gotta experience it to understand it.”

That was an understatement.

“How’d you get past it?” Matt shifted back in his chair, not certain he wanted to explore this.

“Time. Change of scenery. More time.”

Luke let the comment sit for a bit as he stirred sugar into his tea. “When I heard from my brother how things had been going for you—your dad…the standoff—I had a feeling. Thought maybe you should get away for a while, and since I needed help…” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “But you’ve figured that out. Time and a new place. It helps. Some.”

After an uncomfortable silence, Matt said, “I appreciate it.” He didn’t necessarily think the change of scenery would provide a wonder cure, but it couldn’t hurt. And the time away would recharge him, help him get ready for the next stage of battle. He gave Luke a half smile and a gentle warning. “I don’t know I’ll be as talkative as the last time you helped me out.”

Luke nodded his understanding.

The last time, Matt had been an unhappy kid, working for his stepdad, Luke’s brother, building apartments while on vacation from college. Torn. His mom had been pushing him to study engineering, education, law—anything but criminal justice. She hadn’t wanted him to become a cop like his biological father.

Matt, however, had been fascinated by law enforcement. And hungry for approval from the man he’d only seen a week or so every summer after his parents’ divorce.

Luke had been his crew’s boss, and he’d also been the only person who simply listened to Matt without offering an opinion, the only guy who just let him talk.

“Mom thinks it’s ‘lovely’ that I’m spending my vacation with you.” A corner of Matt’s mouth lifted. “I’d kind of appreciate it if she kept thinking that.”

He hadn’t given her any facts, except what was printed in the newspaper, and in the paper he’d come off looking pretty good. She didn’t know about the insomnia, the dreams, the lieutenant’s vendetta. Matt was thankful she lived almost seven hundred miles away.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling her otherwise,” Luke replied. “My brother would kill me if I upset your mom.”

“Thanks.” Matt didn’t want his mother upset. Again. She’d suffered enough trying to keep him out of law enforcement and, ironically, after all of the turmoil Matt never did develop the relationship he’d hoped for with his father, even after landing a job in the same PD. Their relationship had never felt like that of a father and son. It was more like that of two guys who worked together, two guys who didn’t have a lot in common. Later, after his dad had been killed, Matt and the rest of the department discovered his father had a good reason for not letting anyone into his life.

He wiped condensation off the bottle with one finger. “What’s Sanchez’s relationship with Tara?”

“I don’t know the particulars,” Luke replied, apparently amused by the abrupt change of topic. “But I think if you upset Tara, you’ll be dealing with Rafe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt said dryly.

“It’d be easier if you just didn’t upset Tara.”

Matt shrugged. “Too late for that.”

Luke’s eyebrows drew together for a split second and then he burst out laughing. He was still smiling when he gestured Becky over and ordered up another round of Budweiser beer and Lipton tea—hold the sugar.

MATT CONNORS was MIA.

The table was set and his breakfast—or what was left of it—was shriveling up in the warming oven. They’d made a deal the day before and she’d agreed to give him meals in lieu of some pay. He’d seemed to like the idea, so she didn’t understand why he’d skip out on the first day.

She finally gave up waiting and started painting another bedroom, but every now and then she paced to the window, scanned the county road. Where was he?

It had been over two hours since she had fed Nicky and sent him to Reno with a shopping list almost as long as he was tall and instructions not to come back for at least two days. Nicky had spent six years of junior high and high school in Reno while Tara went to college, earning first her bachelor’s degree, then her master’s in English, and she knew he had friends to see and stuff to do before he headed south again. He’d already spent most of his short vacation scraping, sanding and painting. Enough was enough. Nicky was still a kid.

A sudden ominous thought struck her and she tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear as she laid down her brush and headed for the phone. Tara dialed the number to the Anderson house and tapped her foot as the phone rang. And rang.

Tara’s nerves started to hum. If Eddie and his numbskull buddies had hurt her carpenter in some kind of misguided attempt at revenge, she was going to—

“Yeah…?”

The voice on the phone was thick with sleep.

“Matt?” Tara said cautiously.

“Tara.” His voice was instantly alert. “What time…?” She heard fumbling and then he muttered an expletive. “Sorry…I overslept. Give me twenty. I’ll be right over.”

He hung up before she could reply. Fifteen minutes later he was at her door, his hair still damp from a shower. He hadn’t shaved and the dark stubble gave him an entirely different look. An incredibly sexy look.

Tara suddenly realized she was staring and stepped back, letting him in.

“So what’d you do last night?” she asked as she led the way to the kitchen. “Tie one on?”

“I was up late.”

He didn’t look so much hungover as exhausted, so she let the subject drop and tackled the matter at hand. “I’d like to get the porch finished and the gazebo fixed and painted, but…” She paused, studying him with a slight frown. “I need you to adjust the height of the new doors before you do that, so that I can stain them.”

She had bought several solid wood doors to replace damaged and missing ones in the house, only to find that while the doorframes were consistent in width, they were not consistent in height. In fact, some of the frames weren’t even true and it was going to take finagling to get the doors to hang and swing correctly. It wasn’t something she wanted to leave until the last minute.

“Show me what you got,” he said. She watched as he crossed the room to the porch door, thinking, in spite of herself, that he wore those worn-out Levi’s very well and wondering why she hadn’t noticed it before.

Until he’d taken on Eddie, she hadn’t realized his long lean body was almost solid muscle. That awareness was having a definite effect on the way she was looking at him now, so she was glad he didn’t have the ability to read minds when he glanced over his shoulder and caught her staring.

“Do you want your breakfast?” she inquired innocently.

“What kind of shape is it in?”

Tara grimaced.

“I think I’ll hold off until lunch.”

Tara was impressed that he didn’t expect her to cook another meal for him. She led the way to the prefab metal shop where the doors had been stacked. The shop had a woodstove and a cement floor and was, all in all, a comfortable place to work. Her aunt Laura had been an artisan who specialized in pottery and soap-making, but she had done a little of everything and had collected quite an assortment of woodworking tools.

Matt went immediately to the table saw, inspected it, then moved on to the tools hanging on the pegboards lining the wall.

“Find what you’ll need?”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets. Tara’s eyes automatically followed.

She had to stop doing that.

“The doors each have a sticky tab on them, telling where they’ll be hung and the measurements of the frame,” she said briskly. “I’ll be wallpapering the parlor. Lunch is at noon.”

Matt Connors nodded. He reached for a saw and Tara headed for the door, glad to have made an escape before he caught her gawking at his butt again.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS FUNNY HOW wallpapering always seemed like such a good idea until she was actually doing it—and hanging paper in an old house that had spent almost a century settling only added to the fun. At least she knew enough now, after that first horrendous experience in her own bathroom, to avoid stripes.

Tara soaked and folded the first strip of vintage rose paper into a book, then hung the plumb bob and drew her reference line. Classic rock played on the radio and she hummed under her breath as she positioned her stepladder and tackled the first strip, applying it to the wall, then smoothing it from the top down to the newly stained and varnished wainscoting.

“One down,” she murmured as she stood back to view the colors.

“How many to go?”

Tara jumped at the unexpected voice.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded. She shouldn’t have left the front door propped open, but she’d never had trouble with vermin before.

“You really do need to work on your manners, Tara.”

“Speaking of which, you should knock before you slither into someone’s house.”

Ryan tilted his blond head back, looking down his nose at her, his perfect lips curved into a perfect smile. Perfectly nasty, that is. Tara gave him her best smirk in return. It made her shudder to think how she’d once been taken in by this guy. Used and discarded. And the kicker was that most of the populace of Night Sky still bought into Ryan’s charismatic golden boy facade. They assumed that any trouble between her and Ryan had to be her fault. She was a Sullivan, he was a Somers.

But Tara wouldn’t let him upset her, because that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Filed any restraining orders lately, Ryan?”

That hit the mark. His eyes narrowed, but his voice was smooth as he said, “Again, that manners thing, Tara.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?”

“To harass me?” Tara suggested, her eyebrows going up.

Ryan regarded her for a long moment. “Now why,” he finally asked in a much too quiet voice, “would I want to harass you? What possible reason could I have?”

He moved another step closer, so that he was only inches away—so close that Tara could feel the warmth from his body, smell his expensive aftershave. And suddenly it was all she could do to hold her ground. Memories, sharp and painful, flooded her.

She hadn’t expected the reaction and it threw her, but she fought to pull herself back together. Ryan had no idea how traumatic their physical encounter had been to her. He was so egotistical that he’d actually thought that she’d want to do it again.

Through sheer willpower, Tara forced herself to look Ryan in the eye. And then she noted with some satisfaction that she had left a pretty good bump on his once classic nose.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Ryan said sarcastically. “I remember now. Your lies. My job.”

“I had nothing to do with you losing your job,” she said bluntly. And it was true. She’d had nothing to do with his being fired from his cushy job with the accounting firm in Elko, where he’d hoped to become a partner. Jack had. But Ryan didn’t know that and she wasn’t going to tell him.

“You’re a liar, Tara.”

Tara simply shifted her weight as she waited to see what was coming next. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Actually I’m here because of the crass attempts you’ve been making to embarrass my father in public.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I think you remember raving in the bank about my father trying to steal your house.”

She didn’t remember using the word steal, but in Night Sky, embellishment was the rule rather than the exception.

“Ryan, surely you have better things to do than chase rumors.”

“Tara,” he murmured, “if you keep doing things like that—if you embarrass my father or falsely accuse him, especially at this reunion—you’ll be very sorry.”

Tara studied Ryan as if he were a nasty insect. “I can’t wait to see what you try to do to me that you haven’t already done.”

“I haven’t taken your house.”

“And you won’t,” Tara responded with a grimly confident smile.

“I will if you don’t come up with a hell of a lot of cash, and it won’t be stealing. I’ll take it just to torch the place, if nothing else.”

“Will you be using Daddy’s money?” Tara asked. “Or Stacia’s?” She smirked. “Congratulations, by the way. Helluva catch.”

Ryan acknowledged her touché with a slight sneer, which turned into a rather nasty smile as he raised his hand to her face.

“Touch me even once and you will be a sorry man.”

His perfect lips curved even as his hand stopped in midair.

“You know Tara, you really…challenge a man.”

It was both a threat and a reference to their past.

“I’m sure Stacia would love to know I still challenge you,” Tara replied with mock sweetness. “Now, kindly get out of my house and off my property.”

She spoke the words matter-of-factly, hoping against hope that Ryan wasn’t aware his presence unnerved her, that her heart was beating harder than it should be.

“And while you’re at it, tell your father to mind his own business. He isn’t getting my house and he isn’t going to stop me from opening my business.”

Ryan merely shook his head and moved even closer, his smile fading. It was the first indication Tara had that he might honestly be a threat. Her body tensed, instinctively preparing for defense, when the side porch door scraped open and they heard booted footsteps in the kitchen.

Ryan’s head swung around and, from his startled expression, Tara knew he’d been aware her brother wasn’t here. He hadn’t expected anyone—had probably thought Matt’s old truck was her own.

And that frightened her.

“Do you need something, Connors?” Tara called as the footsteps continued down the hall toward the parlor. Matt appeared in the doorway a second later, frowning when he saw that Tara was not alone.

Ryan was already several feet away from her. He smiled as Matt entered the room, wearing his charm like an exoskeleton. Tara blinked at the change. Incredible. Who’d believe her side of things when confronted with…this? Ryan extended a hand.

“Hi. Ryan Somers.”

Matt dusted his own hand on his jeans and accepted the handshake with a nod, his expression unreadable. “Matt Connors.”

Ryan waited, but when no further information came, he glanced at Tara with a this-isn’t-over look in his eye. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said congenially. “Stacia will be in touch.”

“Yeah,” Tara replied softly. “I can’t wait.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ryan said as he walked past Matt.

Matt followed Ryan with his eyes until the man was through the front door.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

He gave her an impatient look. “I’m not stupid, Tara. Something happened.”

Tara shrugged. She picked up her wallpaper brush and idly ran her thumb over the bristles. “Did you need something?”

“No. I just came in to remeasure a frame.” His mouth tightened as he studied her carefully composed expression.

Tara dropped her gaze. She wished he’d go back to work so she could have her breakdown alone. It was the first time she’d been alone with Ryan since…she couldn’t think about it now.

“Is there anyone in this town you don’t have some kind of a problem with?” Matt muttered as he turned to leave.

“No.” She’d snapped the word. Tara drew in a sharp breath and made an effort to bring her voice back to a more even tone, “Now, would you do me a favor and let me get back to work?”

To her relief, he gave her one last look and then walked out of the room and down the hall, the sound of his footsteps fading as he passed through the kitchen and back out onto the side porch.

She walked to the window and watched Ryan’s BMW roll down the driveway and turn onto the main road. She hugged her arms across her middle and found that she was shaking. And, worse than that, she was close to tears.

Tara swallowed, disgusted with herself for being so weak, for letting Ryan intimidate her. She needed to get hold of herself. Ryan couldn’t hurt her again as long as she stayed out of his way. She just needed to think logically, not let fear get the better of her.

She was still facing the window, arguing with herself, when she heard Matt come back into the room. She didn’t turn around.

“Tara?”

“Matt. Go. Please.” She spoke in a fairly normal voice, if a little husky. She just didn’t know for how much longer she’d be able to hold on.

“Tara,” Matt replied in a tight voice, “I’m not going away.”

“Why?” she asked, abruptly swinging around. “Do you want to see me cry? Is that why you’re back? Do you want to see me cry, too?”

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” he asked quietly.

Tara stilled at his very logical question. “Oh, man.” The words came out as a whisper. She dropped her chin, but he reached out to tip it back up with his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you mean, ‘too’?” he repeated. “Did that guy want to make you cry?” he asked.

“He wants to see me crawl.”

“Why?”

She shook her head, afraid that if she spoke, her voice might break.

“Not ready to discuss it?”

She shook her head again, pressing her lips together, hoping he didn’t notice that her eyes were shiny.

Matt looked down at her and Tara stubbornly held her tears at bay until, with the air of a man acting against his better judgment, he reached out and gently put his arms around her and pulled her against the warmth of his solid chest. And, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, Tara let him do it. It had been a very long time since anyone had tried to comfort her and, dammit, it felt better than she imagined it would.

“It’s okay,” Matt whispered. She exhaled and leaned into the warmth of this man she barely knew. She let him hold her until Nicky drove into the yard few seconds later, unknowingly breaking the spell she had fallen under.

She frowned as she stepped back out of Matt’s loose embrace and he gave her a quizzical look.

“I don’t do this.”

“What don’t you do?” he asked softly.

“I don’t act like this,” she answered. “I never act like this.”

“You don’t let people comfort you?”

She shook her head.

To her surprise he smiled. “Hold still, Tara.”

“What?”

“Hold still.” He moved a step closer and once again he tipped her chin up. But this time he slowly and, oh so gently, kissed her and Tara felt her knees go weak.

“Hey, T.” Nicky burst into the house and Tara took a stumbling step backward just before her brother strode into the room.

“Looks like you’re making some headway,” Nicky said to his sister, oblivious to the stunned expression on her face. “Hey, Matt.” He went on into the kitchen, talking the entire way. He reappeared with a pitcher of orange juice and a glass. He filled the glass, drank it, filled it again.

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