“Would you mind if I came by tomorrow?” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue Copyright

“Would you mind if I came by tomorrow?”

Ronan asked Deirdre.

Yes, I mind! But she felt trapped by the little voice inside that reminded her it would be rude to refuse. Ronan was looking at her, his eyes the color of tiger-eye topaz alive with interest. “All right,” Deirdre said before she could think too much more about it.

Ronan nodded. “I’ll come by tomorrow, then.” He took her hand in his to say goodbye.

Driving home a few minutes later, Deirdre was a mass of churning anxiety. Why was she letting him into her home? She didn’t want to look at a man, let alone think about one.

Without warning, the memory of his big hand taking hers returned. The man radiated warmth. And she hadn’t been warm in a very long time....

Dear Reader,

Happy Valentine’s Day! And what better way to celebrate Cupid’s reign than by reading six brand-new Desire novels...? Putting us in the mood for sensuous love is this February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, with wonderful Dixie Browning offering us the final title in her THE LAWLESS HEIRS miniseries in A Knight in Rusty Armor. This alpha-male hero knows just what to do when faced with a sultry damsel in distress!

Continue to follow the popular Fortune family’s romances in the Desire series FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE BRIDES. The newest installment, Society Bride by Elizabeth Bevarly, features a spirited debutante who runs away from a business-deal marriage...into the arms of the rugged rancher of her dreams.

Ever-talented Anne Marie Winston delivers the second story in her BUTLER COUNTY BRIDES, with a single mom opening her home and heart to a seductive acquaintance, in Dedicated to Deirdre. Then a modern-day cowboy renounces his footloose ways for love in The Outlaw Jesse James, the final title in Cindy Gerard’s OUTLAW HEARTS miniseries; while a child’s heartwarming wish for a father is granted in Raye Morgan’s Secret Dad. And with Little Miss Innocent? Lori Foster proves that opposites do attract.

This Valentine’s Day, Silhouette Desire’s little red books sizzle with compelling romance and make the perfect gift for the contemporary woman—you! So treat yourself to all six!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Dedicated to Deirdre

Anne Marie Winston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

has believed in happy endings all her life. Having the opportunity to share them with her readers gives her great joy. Anne Marie enjoys figure skating and working in the gardens of her south-central Pennsylvania home.

For Nora

Who has great taste in shoes, champagne

and pals (!)

And who excels at midnight readings.

One

“Lee! Don’t pull—”

Too late. Deirdre Patten’s oldest son used every ounce of his wiry five-year-old strength to tug a box of sugared cereal from the very bottom of an enormous stack of the breakfast foods in the grocery store. With an experienced eye born of many brushes with disaster, she instantly calculated that she was too far away to grab her son. Her heart lurched as the entire stack tilted and began to slide slowly forward. Visions of the grievous injury a huge stack of boxes could do to a little boy flashed across her mind as she dashed forward, and in the same instant, the entire array of cereal boxes crashed to the floor right in front of her.

“Lee! Honey, where are you?” Frantically she kicked aside boxes, then dropped to her knees looking for a little arm or leg beneath the avalanche. “Lee? Lee!”

“Hi, Mommy!”

Her heart began to beat again when she heard the chirpy little voice. She paused in the middle of her frantic shoveling and looked around. On the other side of the aisle, Lee was waving to her. He stood beside a stranger, a man with dark chestnut hair, a man who had Lee’s wrist in a firm grasp.

“Baby, are you all right?” She leaped over the boxes and knelt beside her son, running her hands over him. Nothing looked broken. “How many times have I told you—”

“The man saved me, Mom.” Lee was pointing up, and she realized the man who had released her son’s wrist must have pulled him out of the way of the boxes.

She sat back on her heels with a weary smile. “Thank you so much. This one and his little brother keep me...on my...toes.” Her voice drained away to nothing as she recognized the man looking down at her.

“Hello...Mrs. Patten, I believe?”

The voice was the same, deep and slightly rough, with a lazy drawl to the words that made a woman’s toes curl. She’d noticed that the night of the office Christmas party in Baltimore, Maryland, three years ago even though she’d been so upset with her husband she could barely see straight.

Slowly she got to her feet, keeping her hands on her son’s shoulders in front of her. “Hello.”

He extended a large, tanned hand. “Ronan Sullivan. We’ve met before.”

She flushed, a nod her only acknowledgment as she reached out to shake his hand. “Deirdre is my first name, but my friends call me Dee. This is Lee and my other son, in the cart, is Tommy.” She barely touched his fingers before drawing back quickly. His hand was warm and firm, and the brief moment when her hand was in his produced an unsettling instant of awareness that she forced herself to ignore. “Thank you for your quick thinking. Lee could have been badly hurt.”

“You’re welcome. No problem.” He grazed his knuckles across the top of Lee’s closely shaved head of black fuzz. “I saw it coming, so I was ready for a quick rescue.”

“Ah, well, thank you again.” She cast a glance at her cart to make sure Tommy hadn’t strayed from his seat in the front. A store employee had come running and was restacking the boxes.

“You’re welcome again.” He hesitated for a bare instant. “Is your husband still with Bethlehem Steel?”

“Yes,” she said, though why he would mention her husband after the last time they’d met was beyond her. She’d hoped that perhaps he’d forgotten some of the more humiliating details of that evening.

“Long commute from out here. Do you live in the area?”

She hesitated, then decided there was no reason to keep her situation a secret. Sooner or later she had to begin to tell people. “I’m divorced now. I have a farm halfway between Butler and Frizzelburg.”

His eyes warmed, though he didn’t smile. “My grandparents had a farm down in Virginia. Do you work it?”

She shook her head. “I lease most of the land to the man who has the place next to ours. I have a small business that keeps me pretty busy.”

“What do you do?”

She twisted her fingers together, then caught herself and flattened her palms against her sides. “It’s nothing, really. I design and make a line of doll clothes.”

“Hmm.”

She couldn’t tell what that meant, but she felt defensiveness rising around her like a growing field of corn. “It allows me to make enough to live on and still be home with the boys.”

“That’s important.”

“It is to me.” She glanced over at Tommy, who was showing signs of restlessness, a prelude, she knew, to a leap from the cart. “Well, I must be going. It was nice to see you again.” A blatant lie. Seeing Ronan Sullivan stirred up all kinds of memories of her old life, memories she was determined to forget.

“Before you go,” he said. “Would you know of anyone with a place to rent in the area? I’m looking for—”

“Mom!” Lee clutched at her hand. “Maybe he’s the one! Ask him.”

“No.” She loved her sons but there were times when she thought seriously of locking them away for a day or ten. “I’m sure Mr.—”

“Ronan,” he reminded her.

“Ronan,” she repeated dutifully, “wouldn’t be interested in the apartment.”

“What apartment?” He was looking at her for an answer, eyes the color of tigereye topaz suddenly alive with interest

“It’s nothing great,” she said quickly. “I’m looking for a tenant to rent the apartment over the stable. It’s very small and extremely rustic. I’m sure it wouldn’t suit you.”

“You never know. Would you mind if I looked at it?”

Yes, I mind! But she felt trapped by the little voice inside—a little voice that sounded strangely like her mother’s—that reminded her that it would be rude to refuse.

Really, there was no reason for her to worry. She’d envisioned renting to a woman, but why should a man be any different? A civilized man. He’s not Nelson, she told herself firmly. One bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole barrel. Making up her mind, she said, “All right,” before she could think too much more about it. “But don’t expect too much. It’s primitive.”

He nodded. “I’d still like to look at it. Is tomorrow convenient?”

Tomorrow! “Tomorrow would be fine. Around eleven?” Maybe he would be working; she could always say evenings didn’t suit, just stall until—

“Eleven it is.”

Driving home through the quiet Butler County countryside a few minutes later, she was a mass of churning anxiety inside. Why was she letting him look at the apartment? She didn’t want a man hanging around her home, good apples in the barrel or not. She didn’t want to talk with a man, didn’t want to look at a man, didn’t even want to think about one. She had a few exceptions—her brothers, her friend Frannie’s husband, but she had grown up with Jack so he didn’t really count...but other than that, she deliberately avoided even making eye contact with the opposite sex. The thought of so much as a casual date left a very bad taste in her mouth.

She’d planned to fix up the apartment, rent it to a career woman who wouldn’t be home much. Still, maybe a male tenant wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She wouldn’t have to see much of him, would hardly know he was there.

Without warning, the memory of his big hand taking hers returned. The man felt like a big heater, radiating warmth. And she hadn’t been warm in a very long time.

It was perfect, Ronan thought as his white pickup truck crested the hill on the rutted lane that led to Deirdre Patten’s place. A perfect place to write. Not a reporter or a determined fan in sight, and none likely to find him easily.

And to make it even better, he had his research right under his nose. Fields on his right, forest on his left. The fields sloped gently down to a wide, flat valley through which a little stream meandered. A stone farmhouse—an old stone farmhouse, from the look of it—was surrounded by a neat square of yard, and across the gravel driveway, an equally ancient barn loomed. Beside the barn was what looked like a chicken house, a pig sty and finally a smaller, and much newer, stable painted a traditional barn red with white crossbars. Green fields, interspersed with stands of tall trees and fencerows overgrown with climbing vines, spread out in every direction.

It looked like a picture on a postcard titled, “America, Circa 1950.” And it was right off the highway, though no one would ever guess it was there.

Taking his foot off the brake, he let the truck coast down the lane, trying in vain to avoid the worst ruts. He’d probably have to have the wheels aligned every couple of months if he stayed here.

Halfway down the lane, he slammed on the brakes abruptly. The wheels skidded in the loose stone, then caught and held as he pumped the pedal. What the hell—?

Dead smack in the middle of the lane were the two little Patten boys, Lee of the cereal box slide and his little brother—had Deirdre said his name was Tommy? They were hunched over something on the ground, something that made a heck of a lot of dust. One had a handful of leaves he was cautiously stuffing into whatever it was. They were so absorbed in what they were doing that neither one of them even heard the truck.

He considered blowing the horn, but he didn’t want to scare the little fellas, so he opened his door and swung out of the truck, intending to call to them to move out of the road.

That’s when he saw the flames.

“Hey!” That wasn’t dust; it was fire! He didn’t have much experience with kids, but he knew nobody in their right mind would allow boys this small to mess around with fire.

As he started forward, the oldest child looked up. A broad smile split his face and he hollered, “Hi-ya, Mr. Sullivan, it works! Come see our fire!”

Since he planned on doing exactly that, he walked up and hunkered down beside the smaller boy. The flames were still a tiny blaze, hungrily licking at the leaves. “What are you doing?”

Tommy held up a magnifying glass. “On TV Yogi an’ Boo-Boo started a fire wif a mag-i, man-i—”

“Magnifying glass,” supplied his brother. “And so did we!”

“Umm, that’s interesting.” Ronan took the magnifying glass and pretended to examine it while he eyed the little blaze. “But you don’t want that fire to get very big.”

“No,” agreed the littlest boy. He stood and pulled something out of one pocket of the sturdy, very grubby jeans he wore. “We’re gonna put it out.”

Glancing down at the small hand thrust under his nose, Ronan couldn’t help but grin. The little guy had a yellow plastic water pistol, primed with enough water to douse a match—maybe. “Good idea,” he told the child solemnly, pressing his lips together to prevent the chuckle that was trying to escape. “But I know another way to put out a small fire like this. Want me to show you?”

“Okay!” Both little boys stepped back as he stood.

“Fire needs air to breathe, just like you do,” he explained. “I’m going to step on it, keep it from getting any air, until it dies.”

“Can we help?”

“Sure.” Anything to get that fire out before it realized how much prime fuel surrounded it. “One, two, three, stomp!” And as he did, he slipped the magnifying glass into his pocket. Where in the heck was their mother, and what was she thinking, to be letting them try a dangerous stunt like this?

It didn’t take much convincing to get the boys interested in a ride in the truck—another issue he’d mention to their mother. He boosted them in and drove on down the lane to the house, parking in the graveled area next to the old barn. As he lifted each child from the truck, a battered green Bronco came jouncing across the pasture farthest from him. As it neared, he saw Deirdre was driving. She looked scared and upset—until she saw the children. Then her expression changed to pure fury.

She was out of the Bronco almost before it slid to a stop. “Where were you?” she demanded. “I specifically told you to stay in the yard.” Her pretty, heart-shaped face was stern, and she tapped her foot as she waited for an answer.

Ronan was fascinated. He’d thought the phrase, “Vibrated with anger,” was a figurative description until now.

“But the yawd bums,” Tommy offered.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to start a big fire,” said Lee.

“A fire?” Her green eyes grew round. “Where did you get matches? What did you set fire to? Is it still burning?”

Ronan cleared his throat as he reached into his pocket, offering her the magnifying lens. “The intrepid scouts here didn’t need matches. I helped them put it out.”

“You’re kidding.” She took the item from him as if it might bite. “You actually started a fire with this?” she said to the boys.

“Yep!” Tommy, less experienced at reading his mother’s ire, swelled with pride.

She didn’t miss a beat. “And is it okay to play with fire?”

Both children visibly sagged. Small voices muttered, “No.”

“That’s right,” she said. “And what’s the rule about fire?”

“There has to be a grown-up with us.” The older boy looked chastened—but not exactly sorry.

“And what happens when you don’t follow the rules?”

As one, two little faces fell, and they turned toward the house. “Go to our rooms,” they said in mournful unison.

“I’ll let you know when you can come out,” she called after them. Then she turned to Ronan. “Mr. Sullivan, I don’t know what to say, except thank you again.” She sighed, looking at the magnifying glass and shaking her head. “They can find things to get into that I’ve never even thought of.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin any longer. “They were pretty proud of that trick.”

She shuddered. “Thank God you came along when you did. I went the other way to look for them because that creek is like a magnet. I was sure they were down there.” She slipped the lens into her own pocket. “You know, if you decide to stay here, you’ll have to put up with them.”

He chuckled. “They aren’t so bad. Just lively.”

“You can say that again.” She shook her head in exasperation and blew out a breath as she shoved stray black curls out of her peripheral vision. Pointing to the stable as she began to walk, she indicated that he should follow her. “I’m sure you’ll think twice about this apartment when you see it. I’ve been planning to fix it up, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. As I said, it needs a lot of work.”

“I don’t mind work,” he said mildly.

“And Butler County isn’t exactly a hotbed of social events. You’ll have to drive back into Baltimore for any kind of nightlife.”

“Definitely not high on my list.” The thought of social events led like an electrical current through a chain of thought that halted at the first time he’d ever met this woman. As he followed her into the barn and up a flight of stairs, he could almost see her sitting in a pool of candlelight, a strained, obviously false smile pasted on her pretty face.

The social event had been the annual Christmas party for the office employees of Bethlehem Steel. His cousin Arden, being between boyfriends, had invited him. He hadn’t had any plans, so he’d agreed to go. They were seated at dinner by name cards, eight to a table. He and Arden had been paired with one of the company vice presidents and his wife, the vice president’s executive secretary and her husband, and Deirdre and Nelson Patten, who was another top executive.

Drink had flowed freely during dinner, too freely, and Patten had gotten slurring and stupid, well before the end of the meal. His wife had sat in embarrassed silence, eyes on her plate unless someone spoke directly to her.

He’d been struck by her unusual beauty, unable to keep his eyes off her—and the first time she’d risen to visit the ladies’ room, he’d realized that she was heavily pregnant. He’d never thought pregnant women were particularly sexy, but his body seemed to forget that when he looked at Deirdre Patten.

Even obviously unhappy, she was strikingly pretty, with soft roses blooming under the fair skin along her high cheekbones and big, long-lashed green eyes beneath strongly defined, arched brows. Her black hair was pulled back into a classic twist, but strands of it escaped to form a halo of curl around her head.

The gown she wore was basic black, plain in contrast to some of the sequined atrocities that decorated some of the other party goers. But in his memory, the color had been the only thing basic about it. The dress had only two teeny, tiny straps, baring her creamy shoulders, showing off her delicate collarbones and her long, pale neck before molding itself to her breasts and falling over her belly nearly to the floor. It had a sort of stole around it that clipped in the front, right at her breasts, and though she was certainly far better covered than many, he could see that she was generously proportioned in that department. Most generously proportioned. At the time he’d wondered if that was due to her pregnancy, but now he plainly could see that she was still well endowed.

The dancing had begun after dinner. He’d taken Arden onto the floor, and promptly lost her to the attentions of a young man. As he returned to his seat, he’d noticed Patten had taken to the dance floor, too. But instead of holding his lovely wife in his arms, he was wrapped in an indecently close embrace with the executive secretary, whose husband was nowhere to be seen. Deirdre sat alone at their table, a small, forced smile pinned into place, her head high.

A real lady, he remembered thinking. He also remembered thinking that if she were his, the last place he’d be was in the arms of some other woman. Especially when she was pregnant. Any idiot knew women needed reassuring when their bodies were stretched out of shape and their waists were nothing but a memory. No, he’d have to take that back. Her idiot husband obviously didn’t know it.

Ronan had taken the seat next to her, but he’d never been good at small talk. Why was it that he could think up dozens of glib lines for his characters to utter, and when he needed them, words always seemed to have dried up? Deirdre had sat beside him in silence, trying gamely to ignore her husband practically having sex with the woman on the dance floor.

Around eleven o’clock the pair had disappeared altogether for a time. Arden had come floating by, whispering in his ear that this might just be The One, and would he mind very much if the fellow took her home, at which he’d laughed and told her to call him in a few days.

He could have left then, but no power on earth would have dislodged him from that table while Deirdre Patten sat there all alone. Finally, when midnight came and her husband was still nowhere in sight, he’d said, “I’d be happy to see you home, Mrs. Patten.”

She’d looked at him then, and he had the feeling she was really seeing him for the first time.

“Thank you, but I can call a cab. I’m used to it,” she’d said. She’d risen then, and so had he “Good evening.”

There was no reason for him to stay longer, so he’d followed her out of the ballroom. He had no idea when her baby was due but she looked like she couldn’t be far away from delivering. God forbid she should fall. Catching up to her in the hallway, he’d offered her his arm at the top of the steps. She’d hesitated, whispered, “Thank you,” and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Outside the front of the lavish hotel in which the party had been held, the doorman hailed a cab at Ronan’s signal and he helped her into the back seat. And as the cab drove her away, he’d thought it was a damn shame for a woman like that to be wasted on a jerk like Patten.

Now he waited, a step below her as she unlocked the door to the rooms above the stable. Dressed in a butter yellow tank top tucked neatly into a pair of belted khaki shorts, she didn’t resemble the elegant woman from that Christmas party. But as he eyed the neat hourglass figure, the curve of her buttocks beneath the shorts and the thick ponytail that confined most of her black curls, he decided she was equally attractive like this.

He’d fantasized about her for months after the party, picturing her with him, how he’d handle her like spun glass, how she would respond.... It had been a harmless fantasy; he’d never expected to see her again, though he’d wondered if her baby had been a girl or a boy. And, if he was honest, what she’d look like when she wasn’t pregnant.

Now he knew. She looked damn good. No, she looked fantastic. Running into her at that store had given him a jolt because she’d looked incredibly close to the way he’d recreated an unpregnant Deirdre Patten in his agile mind.

Immediately, he began hoping that he would see her again and her children...but not because he wanted to get to know her. Although she’d been a pleasant, harmless fantasy, he wasn’t looking for romantic entanglements. That was the absolute last thing on his mind, of course. No, he was interested in her sons. His knowledge of kids was limited. Being around her children would be exactly what he needed to give life to his current novel. True, the boys were a little younger than the kids he’d first envisioned in the plot he was working on, but it actually would make the story even more compelling if the children were preschoolers.

Her rental property was a stroke of incredible luck. And it wasn’t a lie—he was looking for a place to live. Bolton Hill, right in the center of downtown Baltimore, was an enclave of wealth a few blocks wide. But it was surrounded by crime and squalor, and shrinking every year. And while he loved the area, he had found it getting more and more difficult to write in that setting.

He needed space; space to walk and think without the constant vigilance of warding off muggers, to sleep without gunfire and sirens, to work without well-meaning neighbors constantly interrupting his work hours to prove to their friends that a bestselling author really did live next door.

He craved anonymity. He craved the simple ability to walk out of his home without being recognized, a respite from the women who constantly planted themselves at his elbow, hoping for a relationship or even a night with him.

And after the experiences he’d had recently, being hard to locate was highly desirable.

“I warned you.” Deirdre stepped aside to let him enter the first room.

She wasn’t kidding when she said it needed work, was his first thought. The main room was a large one, with an old wall-mounted sink and an ancient refrigerator at one end—presumably what passed for the kitchen-living area. The floors were unfinished lumber, the walls unpainted. But two skylights as well as a wide window at the near end gave the room a light and airy feel. Through a door at the far end, he discovered a smaller room—a bedroom?—and a bathroom. A real bathroom, with a claw-footed tub and white porcelain fixtures. This room also boasted a large window at its end, though it had no skylights.

Rustic, definitely. But with a few modifications, he could make it work.

“It really is awful,” she said from behind him. “I need to fix it up a little before I rent it. It was built more recently than the rest of the buildings here, about sixty years ago when the owner had racehorses. His head groom lived here.”

Sixty years ago. Recent, by the standards of the house and the big barn, both of which had to be well over a century old.

Nodding his head, he walked around the empty space. He already knew he was going to take it but he didn’t want to appear too eager. Finally he said, “I think it will do if I work on it, add paint and paper, maybe sand the floor.”

“You want it?” She eyed him as if he weren’t quite sane.

He laughed. “It’s solid, looks well insulated. The rest is cosmetic. Would you mind if I fix it up a little?”

“You can do whatever you like with it,” she said. “I would offer to reimburse you for any expenses, but—” she swallowed and looked him straight in the eye “—my finances are a bit too strained.”

He nodded. “I can understand that.”

“You can?” Her expression warmed, and the beginnings of a tentative smile appeared.

“Umm-hmm.”

“Money.” She sighed. “Life would be so much easier if we didn’t have to worry about it.”

“Umm-hmm.” This was dangerous ground, considering the staggering sum of his last royalty statement.

“Where do you work, Mr.—Ronan?”

Out of habit he searched for an evasion; admitting to being a bestselling suspense novelist had caused him more grief in the past than he could recall. He’d become even more cautious since a fan had been apprehended and eventually convicted of stalking him a year ago. And being anonymous had the added attraction of keeping fortune hunters and celebrity hounds at bay. No, he never told people who he was anymore. It was safer, and less complicated in the long run. And Sullivan was a common enough name that the association didn’t come up.

“I’m, uh, sort of a freelance journalist.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. He’d started out writing articles to support himself while he worked on his first novel.

She nodded, comprehension flooding her expression. “Not exactly a profession you’ll get rich at.” Then, to his relief, she changed tack. “Cleaning service is included in the rental.”

“Uh, that’s not necessary. I can clean it myself.” If she saw what he already was planning to do to the interior, she’d know for certain he wasn’t a struggling writer. He knew that eventually he’d have to tell her the truth, but he hoped the renovated apartment would compensate for his harmless deception. She wouldn’t have any trouble renting it after he left.

“Oh, no, I insist—”

“No, I insist.” He injected a, “case closed,” note into his voice. “You have a business to run and I wouldn’t think of letting you waste time on cleaning this place. It’s so small I’ll have no trouble.”

Her brow was furrowed, her eyes troubled. “All right, if you’re sure. But if you ever need a hand, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I promise.” He held up a hand like a Boy Scout. “Now, how much is the rent?”

Three days later he moved in. Deirdre had told him she was going to be away for the day, taking her sons to a family reunion up in Pennsylvania. She wouldn’t be back until well after dark, probably close to midnight, she said. “So don’t be alarmed when you hear my Bronco coming down the lane.”

The timing couldn’t have been better. She left at seven in the morning. As soon as her vehicle was over the ridge, he used his cell phone to call the team he’d hired. Speed was of the essence, he’d stipulated when he’d called the renovation firm. And he didn’t mind paying extra for it. When the guy heard that he planned to pay the full amount in cash, he couldn’t get the details fast enough.

The paneling came first. He’d chosen a light blond oak because drywall would have to dry before it could be painted or papered; this had to be done in one day. The panels went right over the rough wooden walls, the studs in the original walls providing plenty of support.

Once the paneling in the first room was done, the subfloor for the carpet went down. The plumber arrived shortly after one o’clock to install the shower and the Jacuzzi, and the guys with the tile for the kitchen and bathroom were right on his heels. By four in the afternoon, he had a rather nice-looking little place, if he did say so himself. The electrician was still working on the dimmers and the surge protection for his office equipment when his new furniture arrived. They were just finishing when the movers arrived with the things he wanted to bring up from his place downtown, and right behind them came the woman from whom he’d ordered the custom blinds and the decorator with art and some stuff like baskets and wreaths for the kitchen walls. It fit perfectly with the casual country feel of the paneling. Lucky for him, the stable windows didn’t face the house, or he’d have had to keep the blinds permanently closed.

The last contractor was gone by ten in the evening and he sank down on the new leather couch with a satisfied sigh, looking around him. Amazing. Money worked miracles. He hadn’t grown up with it, and he still wasn’t used to how easily the thought of extra money could make things move.

Tomorrow the man from the phone company would install his modern line, his fax and telephone. He would unpack his books, get on-line again, and hook up his computer and printer—

The sound of a vehicle growling down the lane was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—10:09. Wow. He’d just barely made it. He distinctly remembered her telling him she wouldn’t be back until late. Since when was a woman ever early?

The next day was Sunday. Deirdre hustled the boys out of bed and they all went to church. Then she turned the car south toward Baltimore. This was the part she hated. The judge had decreed that every Sunday her ex-husband would have visitation rights with Lee and Tommy.

Every Sunday she drove to her friend Frannie’s home, where she handed her precious children over to Nelson under the watchful eye of either Frannie, her husband Jack, or both. Nelson wasn’t permitted to come near her anymore since she’d gotten the protection order, and the judge had been quite firm in his admonitions. One more little trick and Nelson wouldn’t see his sons at all.

She might have to answer for it at the Pearly Gates someday, but she prayed for that one little trick.

Because of Nelson’s past behavior, the boys were exchanged at this specified location in front of witnesses. She never wanted to be caught alone with her ex-husband again. Since she’d taken precautions to secure her privacy when she moved out of the house they had once shared, she didn’t think he even knew where they lived now. She picked up her mail at a post office in the next little town, had her telephone number unlisted and her business telephone now showed no address. If he had to contact her, he called Frannie and left a message that Deirdre returned. She hated having to instruct Lee and Tommy not to tell their father their address or phone number, but there was no way around it. When she explained that the judge had suggested it, they’d been sufficiently impressed that she doubted their father could bribe the information out of them with ice cream or anything else.

Today went like it usually did. Nelson was waiting for her in front of Frannie’s. When she pulled in, Jack came out of the house to greet her. Bless his heart, he must have been watching. She helped her sons out of the car, hugged each fiercely and said, “Have fun with your daddy today.” Then Jack took each little hand, and her babies walked down the driveway to the car where their father was waiting.

She was uneasy the entire time the boys were gone, every Sunday. During their marriage, Nelson had saved his worst temper tantrums—her euphemism for abusive rages—for times when he and she were alone. She prayed their children would never know what he was capable of.

As she watched, Lee spoke earnestly to his father before Jack let go of his hand, and she knew he was telling Nelson that she had said it would be nice if he took the boys swimming today. In truth, Tommy was on medication for an ear infection and shouldn’t get his head wet, but if she asked his father not to let him swim, they’d go swimming, sure as the moon came up at night It gave her a small measure of satisfaction to outsmart him. After a few weeks of writing notes that he took great pleasure in crumpling and tossing on Jack’s driveway without reading, she’d resorted to this approach when she had instructions she wanted him to hear.

She stood in the driveway waving to her children until the car turned the corner. Then she turned to smile at Jack as he walked back up the driveway. Or tried to smile, anyway. Not an easy feat when your lip was trembling.

Jack lifted an arm and encircled her shoulders loosely as they walked toward the house. “They’ll be back before you know it.” His voice was a comforting rumble in her ear.

“I know,” she said. “But I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry.” They had a variation on this conversation nearly every Sunday. Time to change the subject—divorce was an ugly, boring topic, and she tried not to inflict it on her friends. “So how’s it going with two?”

Jack and Frannie had had a second child five weeks ago—a son. Actually, it was their first, since their daughter Alexa was really Jack’s orphaned niece, whom they’d adopted when they were married ten months ago.

Jack looked thoughtful. “I think it’s going okay, but I don’t really have anything to judge by. Lex was such a piece of cake.”

Deirdre laughed. “Must be nice. Neither of my children has ever been a ‘piece of cake.’” She stepped past the door that Jack held open for her and entered the home.

“Hi, Dee. Look, Alexa, it’s Aunt Dee-Dee.”

Alexa was thirteen months old and full of herself, blond and chubby. She ran full tilt at Deirdre, holding up her little arms to be picked up. “An-Dee!”

Catching the little girl up in a fierce hug, Deirdre felt her eyes welling with tears again. Frannie sat in a rocker in the family room with baby Brooks at her breast. She looked serene and happy as she watched her husband, and Dee couldn’t help but envy her a little bit. “Never forget how lucky you are,” she said, swallowing.

“Lucky to get me,” Jack said from behind her. When both women snorted and rolled their eyes, he clutched at his heart and staggered toward the doorway. “Mortally wounded.” He straightened and headed for the door to the kitchen. “I know it’s a struggle, but if you can bear to be without me, I’m going out to mow the grass.”

“Okay, honey,” Frannie called after him. “If you do a good job, maybe we’ll invite you back later.” She exchanged an amused smile with Deirdre. “So how are you? I haven’t talked to you all week.”

Deirdre shrugged. “Fine. I got another big order from that doll museum in upstate New York. That’ll keep me afloat for a little while.”

“That’s great! This is the third time they’ve used you, isn’t it?” Frannie lifted Brooks to her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Boy, are you a load,” she said to him.

“Just like your daddy,” Deirdre said, nodding in answer to the previous question. It was true. Little Brooks had weighed a whopping ten pounds, two ounces at birth and showed every sign of being as big as his daddy.

Then Deirdre remembered that she really did have some news. “Oh, guess what? I found a tenant for the apartment.”

“Wow!” said Frannie. “That was fast. You just decided to rent it last week. I thought you said it needed some work before it could be rented out.”

“It does. But the man says he’ll do it himself.”

“A man! Do tell.”

“His name is Ronan Sullivan,” Dee told her.

“And...?”

“And nothing.”

“How old?”

“Thirty -five-ish.”

“What’s he look like?” Frannie’s gaze was glued to Dee’s face.

Dee thought for a moment. “He’s not as big as Jack—who is?—but he’s bigger than Nelson. He has dark hair and he seems very nice.” And his hands are warm and gentle.

“I’m sure I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on that description,” Frannie said drily. “Are you comfortable having a man on the farm?”

“Not completely,” Dee admitted. “But I can’t ignore men for the rest of my life. In case you haven’t noticed, they’re everywhere.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Frannie settled the baby at her other breast. “One of these days you’re going to meet some attractive man and realize you’re still young. You never know, maybe you’ll decide to have a fling with this tenant.”

The words caught her by surprise, sent a rush of purely feminine anticipation through her as Ronan’s lean face loomed in her mind’s eye. And she realized she’d hesitated a bit too long as she looked over at her friend, whose eyes were alive with open speculation.

Two

On Monday morning she was on the front porch shaking out the rugs when Ronan came around the corner from the side of the stable that faced the woods.

“Good morning.” He waved as he altered his path and came toward her.

“Good morning.” Deirdre stopped, not sure what else to say. Was she expected to chit-chat with him every time they met? She’d become used to a degree of solitude in the past year; having someone popping up every time she walked outside her house was going to take some getting used to.

“I took a walk down along the creek.” He was smiling. “It’s really beautiful out here. Very inspiring.”

“Inspiring?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I should have rented that apartment out to an artist.”

“It was just an expression,” he said as his smile faded. His expression was suddenly guarded, his eyes watchful.

What had she said? She replayed the harmless conversation in her head. Weird. “I’m going to the post office in a few minutes,” she said. “Is there anything you want to mail?”

“No.” He considered. “But I might go by there later today. I’ll have to get directions.”

“Sure. There’s one in Frizzelburg, although I use another one so I won’t be able to pick up your mail for you.”

He nodded. “I guess I’d better fill out some change-of-address cards and get a post office box.”

“No prob—”

“Woof-woof-woof-woof-woof!”

She was interrupted by a deep, loud barking that grew closer as the dog making the noise zeroed in on her location. “Stand still!” she said urgently to Ronan. “He’s not fond of strangers.”

Around the corner of the house charged a big, hairy dog, barreling at them full speed. “Murphy, no! Wait!” Her voice was as rough as a drill sergeant’s and she stepped in front of her tenant, scowling at the black-and-white dog.

To her relief, her dog halted his mad charge. He stopped about five feet from her and braced his legs; the hair on his back stood up and his canines showed as the barking became a steady, low-pitched snarl. “Quit that,” she said, walking over to him. “Sit.”

He did both immediately, and she stroked a hand down his nose as she reached him. “Good boy. Lie down.”

The big dog dropped to his belly and she gave him a command to stay. Then she turned to Ronan again, aware that her pulse was racing. What must his be doing?

“I apologize. He’s usually confined to the house or the fenced area, but the boys must have let him out.” On cue, her two sons came tearing around the corner. They stopped dead when they saw her, then slowed and walked toward her at a distinctly unenthusiastic pace.

“Sorry, Mom.” Lee’s big brown eyes were beseeching. “We just sorta forgot the gate was open.”

She hated to scare them, but they had to learn to think before they acted. “Mr. Sullivan was taking his walk. What do you think Murphy would have done if I hadn’t been out here?”

Tommy’s eyes welled with tears and one dripped down his cheek. “Please, Mommy, don’t let them take him away. We promise to shut the gate next time.”

She was aware that her tenant hadn’t moved a muscle, and she thanked God he had good sense. And though every cell in her body cried out to her to comfort her children, she knew she had to make sure they understood. “There better hadn’t be a next time. You may not use that gate. Go through the door on the other end of the porch, remember?”

Two little heads nodded.

“Should we take him back?” Lee asked, indicating the dog.

“No, I need to introduce him to Mr. Sullivan, anyway. But—” she held up a warning finger as her two little terrors turned to scurry away from Mom’s wrath “—two beds need to be made and I don’t want to find clothes on the floor when I come up to check your rooms.”

As they dashed off, she bent and put a hand in Murphy’s collar. “If you don’t mind,” she said to the tenant, “I’d like to let him sniff you so he knows your scent.”

Ronan nodded. “That might be wise.”

His voice was droll, and she relaxed.

Then, his amber eyes curious, he said, “Why do the boys think someone will take him away if he gets out?”

She couldn’t decide how much to tell him, but since the dog was dangerous, it was only fair that he know it. She led Murphy over to him, praising the dog as he thoroughly investigated Ronan and mentally giving her tenant points for not shrinking away. “Murphy bit a man once. But it wasn’t Murph’s fault. The man was hurting someone and he was only trying to protect me. Anyway, my husband—my ex-husband—called the police and told them Murphy was vicious, that he needed to be put down.” She could hear her voice shaking; she stopped and bent her head over the dog, stroking him to give herself a moment. “The dog warden came and took him away right in front of the boys.”

Ronan made a sound of sympathy deep in his throat. “No wonder they’re upset.” Murphy was sniffing his hands and he placed them gently on the animal, scratching the big dog’s ears. Murphy closed his eyes and leaned against Ronan’s legs. “Obviously he wasn’t killed. What happened?”

“He was quarantined for ten days to be sure he wasn’t rabid. While Murph was in quarantine, I got a lawyer to help me convince the authorities that the dog wasn’t vicious. He was evaluated by two different obedience trainers and two veterinarians. All four said he appeared to be of good temperament, that he has protective instincts and he probably was only acting aggressive under ‘appropriate circumstances.’ But they also said it was likely he’d bite again if he perceived a threat to me.” She paused and swallowed, then lifted her head and looked up at Ronan. “Murphy was protecting me from a close encounter with my ex-husband’s temper. He’s classified now as a ‘dangerous dog,’ and if he ever bites again, he’ll be put down. He’s very wary of strangers now, as you might expect, but I don’t believe he would harm you.”

It seemed that her statement was superfluous. Ronan had knelt and was vigorously rubbing Murph’s ribs. As she watched, her “dangerous dog,” rolled over and let Ronan rub his furry white belly. “I’d say he likes you,” she said drily.

“I like him, too.” He tugged playfully on the immense paws flopping in the air.

“If you ever want to take him along on your walks, feel free.”

Ronan rose and so did Murphy, shaking himself vigorously from head to toe, hair flying everywhere. “I’d love to take him with me sometime. And he could use the exercise, I imagine.” Critically he eyed the dog. “He looks like a wolf—is he a husky?”

“He’s an Alaskan malamute,” she said, fondling Murphy’s ear. He leaned against her and she staggered back a step before she could catch herself. “Huskies have blue eyes—mals’ eyes are dark brown.” She glanced at her watch. “Well. I’d better get to work or the morning will be gone.”

“Yeah, me, too.” But he made no move to leave, simply stood there looking at her, an odd expression on his tanned features. “I like your dog,” he said again, then sketched her a mock salute and turned toward the stable.

Chapter One completed Ronan all but patted himself on the back as he got up from his desk and stretched. He lanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Time to knock off for a while. He could put in a few more hours later tonight if he felt like it. But he was well under his deadline, so there was no pressure.

He’d been here four days and already those two little hellions had given him enough material to cover the first several chapters. He’d learned that superglue, once applied, is stuck forever, that chocolate bars left in little pants’ pockets make a major mess in the washing machine and that when you dig up a dead salamander, its skeleton falls apart.

It wasn’t as if he needed that much. A carefully worded sentence here, a phrase there, could give his readers the feeling of knowing his characters. It was more a matter of style, he thought. Each character needed to have a well-defined style. The oldest of the two children in his book was a leader, like Lee. Usually the idea man, the schemer, the one who came up with the ornery ideas. His younger sister—he’d decided at the last minute to make the littler one a girl—was a total tomboy, adoring her big brother and willing to do just about anything he wanted.

And then there was that dog...it would be a real shame not to use that dog in a story sometime. Big Murph, he thought affectionately. He wouldn’t use a malamute, maybe a shepherd or a rottweiler, a breed most people could identify.

Her face invaded his mind, and his fingers stilled on the keys. Deirdre had about the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, a true, clear green set inside thick black lashes that were so long they curled up naturally at the ends. Her eyebrows were strong, for a woman, making a definite statement above those eyes, letting the world know she wasn’t as soft as that body suggested, and when she regarded a person with that silky dark brow lifted in cool challenge, it was all a person could do not to respond to it. And speaking of responding...man, what a figure she had! He deplored the anorexic look females seemed to go after these days. Deirdre Patten had big breasts, and her hips, while certainly not wide, were beautifully rounded, just tempting a man to pat them. In between was that teeny-tiny waist, a perfect little shelf for his hands to rest.

For a man’s hands, he meant. Any man. Not one in particular.

Hey, there, buddy, he cautioned himself. She might have been your fantasy once, but that’s all she’s going to be. You have work to do. Besides, she clearly wasn’t wealthy and he’d promised himself he’d only chase wealthy women from now on. That way, he’d know they weren’t after him for his money.

But she doesn’t know you’re wealthy. And it’s going to stay that way, he told himself. As soon as you’ve finished this book, you are outta here. In fact, he probably should start scanning the ads now, talk to a Realtor, see what was out there, hunt for a little house in a secluded location like this one.

But to do that, he needed to get a newspaper so that would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, he felt like taking a walk.

He headed down the stairs and started across the yard toward the house. He’d taken Deirdre up on her offer to let Murphy accompany him on his walk the next day, and he’d brought him along every day since. Circling around the end of the house, he walked along a stone path toward the back.

Along the side of the house, huge clumps of peony bushes were in full bloom. Along the fence beside the nearest pasture, a rambler rose like those he remembered from his childhood was laden with pale pink blossoms. A hummingbird feeder full of red nectar swung gently from a tree, and as he let himself through the whitewashed gate in the fence surrounding the back yard, he saw that Deirdre’s flowers were starting to unfold their cheery blooms in the raised bed to one side of the yard. She couldn’t plant anything along the ground in the backyard, she had explained, because Murphy “christened” everything so frequently that he killed it. Her solution had been to make a box from old railroad ties and fill it with soil, raising the plants above the level of Murphy’s frequent markings. In another little touch of which he approved, she had suspended pots of trailing annuals from wrought-iron arms on the fence.

He’d been charmed the first time he saw the backyard, and he felt the same way today. Murphy wasn’t in the yard, but a terrific barking from inside the house gave away his location. Just as he began to mount the steps leading to the porch, Deirdre appeared at the back door. When she saw him, she opened the screen and Murphy came bounding down the steps to greet him, jumping and leaping in ecstasy. Obviously the dog had figured out that Ronan equaled “walk.”

Deirdre was smiling at his antics as she wiped her hands on a checkered dish towel. Her gaze met his over the dog’s bouncing head, warmth and amusement lighting the green to emerald.

God, she was beautiful. Her black hair was loose, the first time he’d ever seen it that way, framing her heart-shaped face in a riotous mass of curls, and when she smiled like she meant it, her eyes slanted into appealing half moons above high cheekbones. She had a little dimple in one cheek and her cheeks and lips were pink and soft looking. She was wearing denim overall shorts and beneath them...nothing? For a minute, he had visions of those rounded breasts spilling out the sides of the shoulder straps before he realized she was wearing a skimpy tank top with thin straps beneath.

He had the notion that he must look like a landed fish, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Desire streaked through him, and his body began to stir. He was thankful her dog was so big as he maneuvered Murphy in front of him, and he finally tore his gaze away. “I, ah, I thought I’d take him along with me for a walk again,” he said. But as if they had a mind separate from his willpower, his eyes zeroed right back in on her.

Her hands had stilled on the towel and her eyebrows rose in a questioning look. The atmosphere between them suddenly seemed as intimate as a first kiss; for a minute, she looked as dazed as he felt. Then Tommy appeared behind her, and she turned to slip an arm around her son.

She cleared her throat, staring at the dog rather than Ronan. “That’s fine.”

He watched her lips form the words, then realized he needed to respond.

“I’ll have Murphy back in about an hour,” he said slowly. “In time for his dinner.”

“Did you eat yet?” Tommy asked him.

Ronan shook his head, smiling at the child. “Not yet. It’s a little early.”

“Maybe you can eat wif us. I’m helpin’ cook a cake.” The little boy looked hopefully up at his mother. “Is there enough spaghetti for Mr. Sullivan, Mom?”

She was looking at him again and he could see the refusal gathering in her eyes.

Whatever common sense he possessed flew right out through the open space between his ears. If there was any way he was going to get a chance to spend more time in her company, he’d take it. “Spaghetti sounds great. If it’s okay with your mom.” He addressed his words to Tommy, but he was still looking at Tommy’s mother.

“You’re welcome to join us,” she said, breaking the eye contact and looking away, out over the fence at the fields beyond. “We’ll call it a thank-you for walking my dog.”

He didn’t care what she called it. As he turned, he could still see her eyes in his mind, luminous with unanswered questions.

She knew he was returning when she heard Murphy’s big feet beat a tattoo on the wooden boards of the porch. She went to open the door for the dog, then held it wide until Ronan had mounted the steps and come inside. As he approached, she saw that he carried a bottle of red wine. “This might go nicely with the pasta,” he said.

“Thank you.” He was holding out the bottle and she took it, a bit startled as she recognized the label. Her tenant had expensive taste in wines.

He stood just inside the door, taking in the room, and she saw what he was seeing. She’d worked hard to make this house a haven for her and the boys, and she was proud of the end result. Oh, there were any number of things yet that the old house needed, but she felt happy here.

Copper pots hung around the old stone fireplace and a variety of half-burned candles, some rolled from beeswax by the boys, stood on the mantel. A wooden trestle table took up much of one end of the room on an oval rag rug near the fireplace; upside-down bundles of drying herbs and flowers hung from the exposed beams of the ceiling. At the other end of the room, more rugs were scattered over the brick floor, while unobtrusive—but thoroughly modern—black appliances gleamed. Oil lamps, a wrought-iron “tree” full of baskets, a rocking chair with an afghan tossed over the back...this was her kitchen.

She already had set the table with glazed ceramic pottery, a treasure she’d resuscitated after finding it in a box in the attic. Now she said, “Dinner is almost ready. Tommy. Call your brother and wash your hands.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Ronan.

“There’s a powder room on the right down the hall,” she said, pointing with the wooden spoon she was about to dip into the spaghetti sauce.

He disappeared behind Tommy, and as he left the room, she felt the invisible presence he seemed to carry around him disappear, too. She’d dreamed about Ronan last night, an embarrassingly detailed dream from which she’d woken aroused and unfulfilled, wondering what it would be like to have him kiss her, touch her. It was only that she’d been alone so long, she had told herself, and he was here, underfoot all the time. And she knew from his concern the night of that abominable Christmas party that he was a nice man.

He was good-looking, despite the way she’d downplayed him to Frannie. His chestnut hair had a reddish cast to it in the sunlight, and his jaw—often stubbled as if he’d forgotten to shave—was square, with a deep dimple right at the bottom of his chin. He towered over her, though that wasn’t difficult since she was only two inches over five feet, and she’d noticed that although he gave the impression of being lean, his shoulders blocked the light when he passed through her low doorway. His eyes were like a big cat’s, mesmerizing his prey, the golden gaze piercing and direct, ferreting out every secret she thought she had hidden.

The telephone rang as she was putting cheese and a salad on the table.

“Hella?”

“Hello, honey.”

“Hi, Mom.” She tucked the phone into the curve of her neck as she continued to work. “What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask. Or maybe I’ll be doing you one, depending on your point of view.” Her mother chuckled. “Your father came home with tickets to the circus for tomorrow. We’d like to take the boys, if you don’t have plans. In fact—” her voice warmed enthusiastically as the brainstorm hit “—why don’t I come get them and let them spend the night? I can be there in thirty minutes, they’d have a little time to play this evening, maybe take a late swim in the pool, and then they can sleep in tomorrow. We don’t need to leave to get to the circus until about ten.”

Her mother’s timing couldn’t have been worse. If she came for the boys in thirty minutes, Deirdre would have to finish the meal alone with Ronan, a situation more awkward than she could imagine. But search as she might, she couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to nix the plan. “I guess that would be okay, Mom. If it’s all right with the boys.”

Both children and their guest had straggled back into the kitchen as she spoke on the phone. She held the receiver to her shoulder and said to Lee and Tommy, “Would you guys like to spend the night with Gramma and Grampa and go to the circus tomorrow?”

Wild war whoops were the answer, and she motioned for quiet as she said to her mother, “I think that’s a yes. See you shortly.”

Quickly, she got the rest of the meal on the table, adding two wineglasses and handing Ronan a corkscrew as she cut the boys’ spaghetti into manageable sizes. She tried not to notice how efficiently Ronan opened the bottle with a few deft twists of his wrist, then slowly and smoothly extracted the cork before filling her glass and his.

“We can dispense with the tasting ceremony,” he said.

She made a determined effort to smile casually, nodding in agreement. It felt incredibly strange to be sitting at a table with a man again, although if she was truthful, Nelson had rarely taken family meals with them. Most of the time she and the kids had been on their own.

“So tell us where you’ve been going when you walk,” she said. “Have you found a favorite spot yet?”

He considered the question, but Lee couldn’t stand to be quiet for long. “We all have a special spot,” he said. “Mine’s the big rock up on the hill. It’s my fort.”

“An’ mine’s the pine tree clearing,” said his brother. “We play we live in there sometimes.”

Ronan smiled. For the first time he noticed Lee was missing both top front teeth. His little brother had a lisp a deaf person could hear. They were both so damned cute he thought they could be the kids he saw in commercials. “You’ll have to show me your fort and your house in the clearing someday,” he said. “Maybe next week you can come with me when I take my walk.”

“O-kay!” Lee clenched his fist in the air and drew it down to his side.

“Nelson Lee.” His mother was giving him the eye. “You have manners. Use them.”

“So.” Ronan thought he’d draw fire away from the kid. “Does Mom have a special spot?”

“Uh, not re—”

“Yep.” Lee bounced in his chair. “She likes the creek. She takes off her shoes and goes wading sometimes.”

“One time we all taked off everyfing and got inna water.”

Deirdre made a choking sound. A deep red blush washed up from her neck to her hairline as she said to Tommy, “Do you remember our rule about telling Private Family Stuff?” To Ronan she said, “Don’t ever have children. The whole world hears all.” She picked up her wineglass and took a healthy swallow, but he noticed she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

That was okay for now. He sensed her skittishness, and he wondered if she’d had any relationships since her husband. The idea made him frown. He hoped she hadn’t given any other guy the kind of green light she was giving him tonight, arranging for her mother to take her kids so they could have the evening alone. Thinking of what would happen later tonight was a bad move, he decided, shifting in his chair to ease the sudden tight fit of his shorts. A very bad move. Purposefully he turned his attention back to the meal.

Supper was lively, as he’d expected with the little boys around. He learned that they had both been hospitalized last summer after they used big, healthy-looking poison ivy leaves for a “salad” they decided to sample outdoors. Lee proudly showed him the missing space in his front teeth, courtesy of a close encounter with a swing that he didn’t see coming his way. Tommy showed him a small scar on the side of his knee where he’d had stitches after he’d fallen from a tree. He learned that Lee’s favorite color was green and that Tommy slept with a stuffed alligator he’d had since he was an infant.

“From my father,” Deirdre explained. “My father is a biologist. He’s a little...different. How many people do you know who would pick out a three-foot, stuffed alligator for a six-pound baby?”

Ronan agreed that it was an unusual gift while he watched the shift and play of shadow over her smooth ivory shoulders, bared by the light summer clothing. He was truly amazed by her children. How she stayed sane keeping up with these two was beyond him. He’d felt himself sweating as the boys described their various creative escapades.

But he couldn’t keep his mind on the conversation. It was taking a concentrated effort not to stare at his hostess with his tongue hanging out. She looked like a porcelain doll, he decided. She must garden, because he knew she didn’t hire anybody to help out with the yard work, but her ivory flesh looked as though it had never known the kiss of the sun.

When she emptied her wineglass, he refilled it and handed it across to her, and her fingers brushing over his raised goose bumps up his arms in a pleasantly arousing tingle. Even more arousing was the knowledge that the tingle was going to get a whole lot stronger later this evening.

Tommy proudly presented his baking effort for dessert, an angel food cake with lurid green icing made from whipped topping, food coloring and vanilla pudding. He’d seen the frosting recipe in his Sesame Street magazine, he informed Ronan, and Bert an’ Ernie made it. Ronan had no idea who Burton Urney was, but he thought the guy should be drawn and quartered for teaching little kids to make disgusting-looking things like that. He tasted it gingerly and was surprised to find it was pretty darn good.

Murphy began to bark as Ronan was finishing his second piece of cake, and Deirdre’s mother breezed in the back door. She stopped dead when she saw Ronan sitting at her daughter’s kitchen table with Tommy on one knee and a smear of green icing on his cheek.

“Good evening,” she said, eyes as striking as her daughter’s sweeping over him from head to toe. Though she was quite polite, he could sense the curiosity radiating from her.

Ronan set Tommy on a chair and rose, politely offering his hand. “Hello. I’m Deirdre’s tenant, Ronan Sullivan.” Deirdre’s mother was no taller than her daughter, with an amazingly trim figure for someone he figured had two-plus decades on her. Her hair was snow-white, carelessly anchored in a bun at the back of her head from which stray tendrils escaped and wisped around her head. He was looking at Deirdre in thirty years, he realized.

It wasn’t an unpleasant thought.

“Ronan, this is my mother, Maura Halleran,” said Deirdre.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Halleran,” he said.

When she smiled at him, his heart was lost. “Sullivan,” she said, “A good Irish name. When did your family come over?”

“Come over?” As far as he knew, his parents were still safely ensconced in their condo.

“From Eire.” Her green eyes were deadly serious. “My grandmother O‘Leary was born there. We O’Learys haven’t been away that long. The Hallerans abandoned—”

“Mo-ther.” Deirdre had obviously heard this before. “Take my children and go before you scare Ronan away. He’s a good tenant and if he leaves, who knows what kind of maniac I’ll wind up with.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and herded her and the boys toward the door. “Could be someone like you.”

He was still laughing to himself when the boys hollered goodbye and disappeared around the corner of the house with their grandmother, after retrieving the amazing alligator from Tommy’s room.

“Wait a minute,” he said, belatedly remembering something. “They didn’t pack anything. Don’t kids still need suitcases?”

“Not for a night at Gramma’s,” Deirdre said. “She keeps extra sets of clothes there all the time. The only thing that can’t be replaced is the alligator.”

“Ah.” Another tidbit to file away. He never knew when a reference to a grandmother might come in handy in a story.

Deirdre was hovering nervously in the middle of the room and he patted the seat beside him. He’d been anticipating this moment ever since she’d announced before dinner that the boys would be going to their grandmother’s house. “Come sit down. I imagine you don’t get many chances to put your feet up when those two are around.”

“You imagine correctly.” But she didn’t sit down. Instead, she began gathering plates and flatware and fitting them into the dishwasher. “I’m sorry about my mother. She’s always been interested in Irish history. Well,” she added, “that’s the polite way to phrase it.”

“I liked your mother,” he said mildly as he rose and gathered glasses, carrying them to the sink. If she needed some time to ease into his arms, that was all right.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Sure I do. You cooked. It’s only fair that I help clean up. Besides, the sooner the table is cleared, the sooner you’ll sit down and relax.”

He didn’t imagine the startled glance that came his way as she quickly put away the remains of the meal. But she didn’t comment, just bent and hauled an enormous dog bowl out from beneath the sink. “I have to feed the big guy first.”

He was riveted to the spot by the sight of her rounded bottom straining against the seat of her overalls when she bent over. He could hear his blood roaring through his veins, could feel his body reacting and he resisted the strong impulse to grab her by those lush hips and pull her back against him, to tear off first her clothes and then his, to plunge into her and let his flesh pound against those smooth buttocks that would be as porcelain white and soft as the rest of her until they both were satisfied.

He was hard as a rock now, distinctly uncomfortable in the shorts that had seemed plenty roomy when he’d put them on. Turning his back to her, he spotted the wine still on the table, and on the pretext of retrieving it, used the opportunity to tug himself into a more comfortable position. Even the touch of his own hand made his flesh leap and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of his story, the apartment, his agent’s phone call earlier in the day... anything to keep him from giving in to the primal demand to turn back to that enticing little body this very minute.

His hand shook as he reached for the bottle and the two glasses. “I’ll take the wine out on the porch.”

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

He hoped it was a long moment. He hadn’t had a reaction like that to a woman since he was about seventeen; he wasn’t sure he liked it. But he guessed it made sense. Deirdre had been in his mind for a long time. He’d never expected that he’d ever even see her again, much less be invited into her bed. Well, strictly speaking, she hadn’t invited him yet, but why else would she have sent her children away overnight? She wasn’t the kind of woman who would carry on with her kids sleeping in the next room, even assuming he would have, which was assuming an awful lot.

The object of his lustful thoughts backed through the screen door then, carrying the dog bowl. Murphy was attached so closely to her side Ronan was sure she would fall over him. But she set down the bowl without incident, and he watched, fascinated, as Murphy gobbled down his dinner in less than ten seconds.

Deirdre shook her head fondly. “Murph, you’re a big hog, do you know that?”

The big hog wagged his tail and made a peculiar noise, not a howl, not a growl, more a ridiculous “ru-ru-u,” a definite answer to his mistress.

Ronan laughed, and she smiled. “He thinks if he’s charming enough, someday I’ll give in and let him have more.”

She turned and came toward Ronan, and he picked up her wineglass and handed it to her as she sat down beside him on the sturdy, old-fashioned glider. Murphy, seeing his hopes of additional chow dashed, wandered out into the yard to make sure no other dog had invaded his territory.

Deirdre tucked one foot beneath her; the other, he was amused to see, didn’t reach the floor. He gently pushed against the floor, setting the glider into a gentle motion.

She didn’t speak, neither did he. It was after eight, and the warm June day was finally drawing to a close, the sky dimming and night sounds beginning to filter through the air. A bird called plaintively a time or two, and the rasping of a cricket’s wings rose. From a distance the demanding bellow of a frog rhythmically boomed beneath the softer noises.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Deirdre’s voice was hushed and reverent. “Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person in the world, sitting out here after the boys are in bed, enjoying the peace.”

Coming from someone who’d been through what obviously had been a hellish marriage, he thought that was a telling statement. “You feel safe here.”

Beside him, she was silent, and he could almost feel the air around her withdrawing. “Some people take safety for granted,” she said. “To me, it’s a gift.”

“How did you find this place?” He wanted her to relax.

The aura of tension eased palpably. “My friend’s husband knew the previous owner. When he found out I was looking for a place, he thought of this.” She paused. “I owe him an enormous favor.”

“What kind of favor?” He didn’t like the sound of this, friend’s husband or not.

She shrugged. “Who knows? It doesn’t really matter. I’d do anything—absolutely anything—that he asked.” She lifted her glass and drank, and he reached for the bottle and filled it again.

“Lucky guy,” he commented.

“Yes, he is.” She appeared oblivious to the innuendo in his words. “He’s married to one of my best friends, they’re so wildly in love it’s embarrassing to watch sometimes, and they just had their second child.”

He felt a little better. Lifting his arm, he slowly laid it across the back of the glider, casually resting against her shoulder but not completely surrounding her. Yet. “Do you ever think about getting married again?”

“Are you crazy?” She reacted so strongly that he damn near spilled his wine as the swing swayed crazily for a moment. Then she shoved off the glider and he lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. She went to the door and yanked it open for Murphy, who had come up to lie on the rug in front of the screen. His big tail had barely disappeared when she let the door bang shut behind him and spun on her heel. As she stalked across the porch, he could see that she was seething with fury. “I will never get married again. You saw what a prince I chose the first time around.”

Three

It was the first time she had acknowledged the Christmas party where they’d met. He eyed her back, rigid and frozen where she had come to a halt by the rail, and he realized she was shaking. He hadn’t seen her lose it like this. Even when she’d had good reason, at that damned party, she’d been calm and collected, a miserable lady too well-bred to make a scene.

Slowly, he walked across the porch, setting his wineglass on the wide railing. He reached around her and took hers from her and set it down. Then, driven by some instinct that he didn’t fully understand himself, he laid his palms on her shoulders, burrowing beneath the cloud of hair and gently rubbing the tense muscles of her neck.

His thumbs stroked and molded, caressed and massaged as he offered her what comfort he could. For long moments he silently kneaded her flesh, feeling the tension ease out of her little by little.

The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed and her body moved slightly with the pressure of his hands. Her head drooped forward, lolling from side to side, and her hair spilled over his hands. He was getting hard again simply from touching her satiny skin, and he took a deep breath. His hands slowed their massage until he was doing little more than sliding his fingers over the rounded joints of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, bending to offer the words into her ear, stirring curling tendrils of hair with his breath. “We can talk about something harmless, like the weather. Or—” he took her elbow and turned her gently around “—we can forget about talking.”

Her eyes were wide and dark in the evening light. The only sign that she’d even registered his words was a slight parting of her lips. Without touching her anywhere else, he lifted his hand and slipped it along her cheekbone, cradling her small face in his palm. She said nothing, only watched him through opaque eyes as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers in the lightest of caresses.

When he touched her lips, he had to restrain himself from devouring her on the spot, so tantalizing and arousing was the contact. An odd feeling spread through him. He’d thought of her so often in this context, but the reality was so much...more. His nerves were jumping and he told himself to calm down and quit overreacting. This didn’t mean that much, he assured himself. Even though it felt right somehow, in a way he’d never experienced before.

The second kiss was bolder, firmer, though he deliberately reminded himself to go slowly, take it easy. She made no move to resist him, but he felt her mouth begin to stir, moving beneath his until he insistently thrust his tongue into her depths. She gasped. He pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around soft curves, his body meeting hers from shoulder to hip. For the first time, she touched him, putting her small hands tentatively to his shoulders, then sliding them around his neck as she allowed him to kiss her, and kiss her, deepening the contact with each stroke of his tongue.

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