“Not just my daughter, Tate. Our daughter.”

“Our daughter?” He blinked, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”

“When I left here nearly ten years ago, I was carrying your baby.”

“A daughter?” Tate felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “I have a little girl?” He dropped back into the chair and sat there, too shocked to speak.

Taking a deep breath, he thrust a hand over the tips of his hair, sliding the fingers to the back of his head where he held on, trying to keep from losing his mind.

He had a little girl.

A dozen questions crowded his mind.

Why? Why hadn’t Julee told him?

And why was she telling him now?

Dear Reader,

Here is an acronym that explains why you should not miss the opportunity to enjoy four new love stories from Silhouette Romance so close to Valentine’s Day:

L is for the last title in Silhouette Romance’s delightful MARRYING THE BOSS’S DAUGHTER six-book continuity. So far, Emily Winters has thwarted her father’s attempts to marry her off. But has Daddy’s little girl finally met her matrimonial match? Find out in One Bachelor To Go (#1706) by Nicole Burnham.

O is for the ornery cowboy who’s in for a life change when he is forced to share his home…and his heart with a gun-toting single mom and her kids, in Patricia Thayer’s Wyatt’s Ready-Made Family (#1707). It’s the latest title in Thayer’s continuing THE TEXAS BROTHERHOOD miniseries.

V is for the great vibes you’ll get from Teresa Southwick’s Flirting With the Boss (#1708). This is the second title of Southwick’s IF WISHES WERE…terrific new miniseries in which three friends’ wishes magically come true.

E is for the emotion you’ll feel as you read Saved by the Baby (#1709) by Linda Goodnight. In this heartwarming story, a desperate young mother’s quest to save her daughter’s life leads her back to the child’s father, her first and only love.

Read all four of these fabulous stories. I guarantee they’ll get you in the mood for l-o-v-e!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor

Saved by the Baby
Linda Goodnight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Samuel Barker.

May you have a long and blessed life. You are my hero.

Books by Linda Goodnight

Silhouette Romance

For Her Child… #1569

Married in a Month #1682

Her Pregnant Agenda #1690

Saved by the Baby #1709

LINDA GOODNIGHT

A romantic at heart, Linda Goodnight believes in the traditional values of family and home. Writing books enables her to share her certainty that, with faith and perseverance, love can last forever and happy endings really are possible.

A native of Oklahoma, Linda lives in the country with her husband, Gene, and Mugsy, an adorably obnoxious rat terrier. She and Gene have a blended family of six grown children. An elementary school teacher, she is also a licensed nurse. When time permits, Linda loves to read, watch football and rodeo and indulge in chocolate. She also enjoys taking long, calorie-burning walks in the nearby woods. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com.

Dear Reader,

If ever I wrote a book of my heart, you are holding it in your hands. Immediately after I conceived the idea of a mother’s desperate search for a bone marrow donor for her child, my daughter introduced me via e-mail to a family who was fighting the same battle to save their son.

With amazing generosity and sometimes painful honesty, Samuel’s family shared his—and their—struggle. They relayed Sam’s journey through e-mail updates and heartrending photographs, believing that through the telling, listeners would be moved to give the precious gift of bone marrow so that other children might have a chance at life.

You can’t imagine the times I’ve wept during the writing of this book, knowing that countless real children, like Samuel, fight a daily battle for survival. Nor can you imagine how humbled I am by the faith and courage of Sam and his amazing family. In fiction, I have the ability to be sure everything turns out all right. In real life, this is not always the case. Samuel’s recovery has not been easy, but I am thankful to report that at one year post-transplant, he continues to improve.

I hope you are touched and entertained by Saved by the Baby. Should you like more information about bone marrow donations visit www.marrow.org or contact your area blood bank.

With best wishes,

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

“I got five bucks and a bottle of Bud that says she won’t stick around two days.”

Jeet Hammond lounged a fat elbow on the counter of Harper’s Doughnut Shop and pointed his coffee cup at the long-legged brunette sashaying past the picture window. Disinterested, Sheriff Tate McIntyre watched the woman flick in and out of view between the signs plastering the plate glass. He hadn’t a clue who his deputy was talking about and he didn’t care. Tate had neither the time nor the heart to worry about females.

With a good-natured grin he reminded his deputy of what everyone in the county already knew. “No betting on beer, Jeet. You know I don’t drink.” Few people understood the reasons why.

“I know, I know, and you don’t gamble, either.” Jeet’s fleshy face wrinkled in mischief. “But I still do.”

Tate laughed and pushed back the remains of Clare Harper’s almost-famous pecan pie. Then the serendipitous Oklahoma wind teased the woman’s shapely legs, lifting the edges of a blue-flowered skirt ever so slightly, and he realized who she was. Suddenly, the pecan pie felt as heavy on his stomach as a watermelon. He hadn’t known she was back in town.

Jeet, his head tilted in a comical leer, stared at the billowing skirt and chanted prayerfully, “Higher, higher. Dang, but she has the prettiest legs I ever seen. No wonder them fancy folks out West pay money to take pictures of ’em.”

“If your wife heard you talking about beer and some woman’s legs at the same time you’d be sleeping in my spare room again.”

Jeet had the grace to look guilty, though he continued to follow the brunette’s progress until she was out of sight.

“You got that right.” He sighed blissfully. “But Tate, old buddy, even a tough case like you has to be affected when Julianna Reynolds shows up in Blackwood after all this time.”

Tate shifted uncomfortably and concentrated on his warm, sweet coffee. He was affected all right, but not in the way Jeet had in mind. Ten years ago when Julee had walked away from him on those gorgeous gams she’d taken something he’d never gotten back—his last twenty dollars and a sizable chunk of his heart. He didn’t intend that anyone would ever hurt him that way again.

“If she was so successful, how come we never seen no pictures of her?” Jeet craned his head toward the window.

“She’s a leg model, Jeet. It’s hard to recognize a person by her legs.”

He didn’t add that he’d recognized Julee every time he’d seen those long perfect legs in a commercial or a magazine. If he thought about it, he could still feel the smooth silk of her skin against his. But he darn sure wasn’t going to think about it. Not now. Not ever.

“Some folks said it was her in that movie last year about the ballet dancer.”

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“Man, that billboard out by the interstate almost made me run off the road the first time I seen it. I bet that was her.”

It was Julee, all right. Tate had driven out to that billboard and set up a driver’s license check right next to it. Sat up there half the night staring at those legs, writing tickets, and reliving the one memory that haunted him.

A scalding sip of coffee washed down the bitterness that rose every time Tate remembered the woman he’d loved enough to die for. He hadn’t been good enough for her. He’d known it then and he knew it now. She deserved a better life, and they’d both known an illegitimate mixed-blood troublemaker from the wrong side of the tracks couldn’t give it to her. With an annoyed grunt, he clanged the white mug onto the saucer.

Tossing several bills on the table, Tate rose. “Come on, Jeet. Lunch is over and we’ve got plenty of work to do.”

His portly deputy scraped back from the table, hitched up droopy pants, and followed. “Wonder what she’s doing here after all this time.”

That’s what Tate was wondering, too.

Julianna Reynolds was on a mission.

With a purposeful swing of her famous legs, she strode down the sunny main street toward the Blackwood Municipal Building. With every step nearer the man who held her whole world in his hands, Julianna fretted. He was married, happy, successful. She’d planned never to interfere in the life he’d chosen, but desperate times meant desperate measures. Somehow she’d get his cooperation without ever revealing the real reason for her sudden reappearance in Blackwood. She owed him that much.

The huge clock on the grounds of Evans Funeral Home read a little past noon. She blanched at the grim reminder of death, the terrible vulture hovering over her day and night. Death was her enemy, creeping forward with each passing moment. Only the grace of God and modern technology held the monster at bay for now.

The warm spring breeze stirred the scent of tulips in the brick planters on each side of the tall courthouse steps. Without pausing to admire their beauty, Julianna opened the heavy double doors and entered the cool, dim interior.

Megan, her only child, the light of her life, her reason for living, was dying. Only a bone-marrow transplant could save her, and after several weeks of searching and testing, no donor match had been found. So, Julianna had done what she’d sworn never to do. She’d packed a bag and come back to Blackwood to find Megan’s father. She’d come home to find Tate McIntyre.

No one sat at the reception desk outside the wooden door marked Seminole County Sheriff. Julianna paused, gathering courage to open the door. Throat dry as cotton, her confidence waned. What if he refused? What if this plan to save Megan failed? Drawing a deep breath to calm her trembling insides, she turned the knob to Tate’s office.

The door was locked. Shoulders sagging in disappointment, she leaned her forehead on the cool brass plate bearing Tate’s name. If she hadn’t already cried enough tears to fill a football stadium, she’d have broken down.

“Looking for someone?”

At the deep, gravelly voice, Julianna jerked her shoulders back to flawless posture and whipped around. Tate McIntyre, older, bigger, and far more handsome than she remembered stood a mere three feet away.

Her heart did a foolish jitterbug that she chalked up to nerves. She was scared silly, not attracted, though any female alive would notice this tall, dark lawman.

Wearing a shuttered expression above a crisply pressed uniform shirt, creased blue jeans and brown boots, he was still Tate, but with tantalizing changes. Lean and tough looking, he brought to mind a marine. The tall, anvilshaped body that had made him a top football recruit filled out the sheriff’s shirt to perfection, the olive color emphasizing his mocha skin and green eyes. His brown-black hair was shorter, the almost military cut highlighting the high cheekbones of his Native heritage. Julianna’s stomach dipped. The handsome boy had become a stunning man. A man who had chosen another woman over her.

From somewhere in the building came the static of a police radio. Tate cocked his head to listen, not taking his eyes off her for a minute.

She’d wondered about him many times over the years, but nothing had prepared her for this moment. Her ears rang and blood pulsed at her temples. Some deeply buried emotion threatened to rear its head as she took in the man she’d once loved with all the teenage passion possible. She fought it back. Tate was the past, and she was here for Megan. Only for Megan.

Suddenly short of breath, Tate stared at the tall, willowy brunette with a death grip on his office doorknob. Julee Reynolds was not only back in town, she was standing outside his office, looking up at him with anxious blue eyes that threatened to undermine his resolve never to get emotionally involved with a woman again.

With steely control, he drew some air into his tortured lungs. She’d always been beautiful to him, even when the other guys had called her “Olive Oyl” and “Toothpick,” but years of working in an industry where beauty is carefully cultivated had enhanced her natural assets. He didn’t want to notice, didn’t want to feel a thing in her presence, but he did.

“Hello, Tate.”

She extended a hand—a long, manicured hand with those fancy fake nails women liked. Fool that he was, he wrapped his fingers around hers. The jolt of awareness from her skin to his was as powerful as the stun gun they’d zapped him with in the police academy. She was warm and soft and—criminy, she was Julee, the woman who’d taken his heart to L.A. and never sent it back. That’s why he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. Heck, he couldn’t even think.

Like his father, Julee had been relegated to a mental file marked “unsolvable case” so he could move on with his life. Maybe that’s why seeing her affected him so strongly and brought back an avalanche of unwanted feelings. Time and hard work had distanced him from most of the pain in his past, but nothing had ever filled the void Julianna had left when she’d stepped on that old Greyhound bus and ridden away.

He’d known she had to give the modeling world a shot, had wanted that for her. She and her mom had already lost their house and were barely holding things together. He just hadn’t realized it would hurt so much when she never came back, especially after his career-ending injury. Eventually, pain turned to resentment and resentment to bitterness. She’d proved him right. He wasn’t worth her coming back to. He’d fallen into a black hole after she left and nearly destroyed himself. Since then, he’d kept his heart locked away, taking care not to risk that kind of rejection ever again.

If he had a lick of sense, he’d find out what she wanted and send her back to L.A.—ASAP.

“How are you?” Her voice was that smooth honeyed alto that had once sent his teenage libido into overdrive. Just talking to her on the phone had been a sexual fantasy. Sexiest voice, sexiest legs, sweetest girl on the planet.

He slammed the cover on that file so fast his brain ached.

“Doing good. Yourself?” He willed himself to release her hand, then reached around her and unlocked his office so they could go in. Lord knew he needed to sit down and get a grip.

Standing aside, he let her enter first, catching the subtle drift of some designer perfume. He couldn’t name it. Never was good at that sort of thing, though he could sniff out a meth lab or a drunk driver with his eyes closed.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, her blue gaze drifting around the old, narrow office that he’d worked so hard to gain. His desk, always a cluttered mess, looked even more so today. The air-conditioning wheezed and rattled and little dust wads flapped in the vent. To her big-city eyes, accustomed to the best, he supposed this place looked and smelled like a musty hole in the wall.

“A very long time,” he repeated, glancing at the calendar on his desk. Nine years, seven months and thirteen days, to be exact. The date she’d left him was a permanent scar on his heart, like a bad tattoo that no amount of surgery could remove. “I heard you did all right for yourself.”

“You heard?”

He shrugged, not willing to let her know how he’d scrounged for every drop of information, praying she’d make it big then praying she wouldn’t. He’d even fantasized about her coming back, broke and lonely. In his dreams, he’d been the man she needed, the only one who could help her. He’d been a dumb kid then who’d believed in the impossible.

Tate shifted the weight off his bad knee. Weather must be changing for the old injury to act up this much. Or maybe it was the eighteen-hour day he’d spent on duty, half of it on his feet, searching the lake woods for a lost child. But Tate had no complaints. He’d felt like a million bucks when he’d placed the boy in his tearful parents’ arms.

He knew his stance had given him away when Julee’s gaze came back to him, drifting down his body to rest at his aching knee. Though her attention was purely curious, Tate’s body grew warmer than the April weather dictated.

“I never did get a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your knee injury. Does it still bother you?”

So she had known. And never even called. Apparently, she hadn’t given him another thought once she hit the big city.

“Sometimes,” he admitted gruffly. Nearly ten years had passed. Why was she bringing it up now?

Julee touched his arm lightly, but enough that the electric shock of her touch still made his insides quiver. Not just physical wanting, though she had that power, too, but emotional need so intense he wanted to collapse at her glamorous feet. After all this time, he was still a fool.

“I always hated what happened to you.”

If she’d cared so much, why hadn’t she come home? Why hadn’t she been the one to see him through those black days? Why had she left him alone to drown in alcohol and self-pity and to marry the first woman who would tolerate both?

“That was a long time ago.” He stepped back from the subtle lure of her perfume, placing the desk between the two of them. “It all happened a long time ago.”

They’d been so young, thinking they could have it all. Julee would be a famous model. He’d play pro football. Then they’d find their way back to each other. Trouble was, her dream came true about the same time his died on the ten-yard line with three minutes to go in the first half of the season opener.

He’d fallen into the black abyss of anger and alcohol, too proud to call her, but furious when she didn’t call him. Then Shelly had come along, sweet and sympathetic, willing to tolerate his drunken rages and self-pity. She’d been his anchor during a time when he’d wanted to die. Out of some alcohol-distorted sense of gratitude, and because he needed to believe someone cared, he’d married her after less than a month.

Tate squeezed his eyes shut and blotted out the memories. Too much time had passed to go there now. “So. What brings you back to Blackwood?”

And how soon will you be on the next flight out?

Some emotion stirred behind her beautiful blue eyes. What was it? Nerves? Anxiety?

Squinting in thought, he studied the intense set of her jaw, the shadows above her elegant cheekbones. That’s when he knew. Julianna was afraid.

The loose rollers on his chair clattered against the brown tile as he pulled it away from the desk. One hand on the nubby gray backrest, he waited, cop instinct on alert.

What was she afraid of? And what on God’s green earth could it have to do with the hometown she’d abandoned years ago? Better question, what did it have to do with him?

“Mind if I sit down?” she asked. Tate tried to ignore the tingle in his gut whenever her lips moved. “I have some important business to discuss with you.”

Fighting the need to protect her from whatever demon chased her, and the greater need to protect himself from her, Tate indicated the green vinyl-covered chair across from his desk, then settled into his own. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. Julee sat, crossing her long beautiful legs directly in his line of vision. His chest tightened. Sitting upright, he steepled his hands beneath his chin to block the view. He had to get her out of this office.

“Business?” Curiosity got the best of him. What kind of business could bring Julianna Reynolds back to Blackwood?

When she leaned forward, expression earnest, her silky blue blouse gapped slightly, affording him an unwanted glance of creamy skin. Infuriatingly, his body reacted. She was sexy, vulnerable and beautiful, a combination that spelled danger for any man but was deadly for him. She was big city and he was small town. She was rich and he was a working stiff. And she was, as her mother had once said, “too good for that McIntyre boy.”

Criminy! Why he was thinking this way? He didn’t know this woman. Hadn’t known her for years. All they had was the past, and that was better left alone.

The phone emitted a soft buzz, and he barely held back a curse. He was too busy to worry over Julianna Reynolds, and the sooner he found out what she wanted, the sooner she’d be gone and he’d be safe from thinking too much.

Holding up one finger of his left hand in a “wait-a-minute” gesture, he punched a button with the right. “Yeah?”

His receptionist’s voice came out of the speakerphone. “Mrs. Barkley needs you to drive by her place. She’s sure the Peeping Tom is back.”

Taking out his annoyance on the receptionist, he growled, “Where have you been?”

“Even Rita the Magnificent has a bladder, Tate. Don’t get your tail in a twitch.”

He glanced at Julee, saw her struggling with a grin, and was relieved when she rose and starting roaming the room. He swiveled sideways to avoid watching the swish of her blue skirt against silken thighs.

Having Julee in his office was bad enough without the hired help humiliating him. Smart-aleck receptionist. But he knew better than to cross Rita the Magnificent. She was a lot more than a receptionist, and he couldn’t manage without her. “Tell Mrs. Barkley I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

“Oh, she said there’s no big hurry. And she wants to know if you’ll stop by the store and get Penelope some cat food before you come out.”

Tate gave in to a grudging grin. He’d investigated her “Peeping Tom” four times in as many months. Poor old Mrs. Barkley. Anything for a little company. He wondered what kind of cake she’d baked this time and hoped he’d have time to eat a piece of it while she entertained him on the piano.

“No problem.”

From the corner of his eye he could see Julee surveying the row of framed certificates and citations hanging around his small, cluttered office. He hoped she wouldn’t miss the college diploma. She’d had success handed to her on a silver platter, but he’d worked plenty hard for his.

As he started to disconnect, Rita spoke again. “Don’t forget you need to be back in time for Little League practice.”

“Anything else?”

“I left the list on your desk. A meeting with the county commissioner at four, the task force tomorrow morning, Martha’s birthday party and the slave auction at the high school—”

“Hold on.” He scrounged around in the enormous stack of folders and papers. The list lay in plain sight beneath a snow globe paperweight that Jacob, his seven-year-old buddy from the Big Brother program, had given him last Christmas.

“I found it.” He stuck the list in his shirt pocket and shut off the receptionist’s disembodied voice.

Julee’s blue gaze, wide with curiosity, drifted back to him. “You are a busy man.”

“Goes with the job. So if you don’t mind…” He let the words trail off hoping she’d take the ball and run with it. Her visit was starting to get under his skin.

Before she lost her nerve, Julianna settled back into the green chair and plunged into the story she’d rehearsed for days.

“I’ve come home to Seminole County to do some charity work. You know. One of those celebrity things that are good for an income tax break.”

She blasted him with a hundred-watt smile as fake as the words she’d spoken. She’d never done a “celebrity thing” in her life. Though she’d worked tirelessly to increase bone-marrow donors and had even headed a previous drive, celebrity had nothing to do with it. Outside the modeling industry and this small town she had no celebrity status, but Julianna prayed Tate wouldn’t know that. Finding cures for sick children had simply become her passion.

Tate arched an eyebrow. Stacking his hands behind his head, he tilted back in his rather bedraggled roller chair. “What could that possibly have to do with me?”

Julee crossed her arms over her middle. She hadn’t expected a red-carpet welcome after all these years, but his cool appraisal turned her butterflies into swarming buzzards.

Behind him, through the window, Julianna vaguely comprehended the ebb and flow of light traffic out on the street. A single horn honked. Car doors slammed. The quiet, unhurried normalcy of everyday life in a small town soothed her.

Normalcy—a condition she could hardly recollect. For a while three years ago, life had almost been normal. They’d been sure Megan had been cured by the chemotherapy treatments.

Then had come the frightening news two months ago that Megan’s leukemia cells had reappeared, throwing her into the desperate search for a bone-marrow donor, the only hope of cure now that chemo had failed to permanently destroy the disease. Until now they hadn’t even considered this last-ditch, drastic kind of treatment. For the first time Julee had no choice but to involve Tate. Megan was in a second drug-induced remission, but the doctors said it was only a matter of time until the cells began to multiply again. How much time, no one could say.

Not one day since then had they lived a moment without fear. Megan, her beautiful nine-year-old daughter, deserved a normal life, and so did dozens of other children awaiting a bone-marrow transplant.

If she could get Tate to donate blood without him knowing about Megan, everyone would be better off—Megan, Tate and his wife. No wife, however devoted, wanted the shock of discovering her husband had an unknown child by his first love. Plenty of reasons to face Tate’s chilly regard.

Leaning her elbows on a pile of official-looking documents Julianna locked eyes with the man who held Megan’s fate. The air conditioner thumped to life, but even the cool blast of air couldn’t counter the tingle of sweat prickling the back of her neck.

“I’m involved with increasing the number of minority donors for the bone-marrow transplant database. Since my hometown happens to be the tribal capital of the Seminole Indians, I thought this would be a good place to start.”

The chair rollers clattered to the floor. Tate frowned at her, puzzled, but clearly intrigued. The chatty clerk at the motel had been telling the truth; Sheriff McIntyre was a sucker for a good cause.

“Bone-marrow donation?”

“People wouldn’t necessarily be donating their bone marrow. At first, there’s just a blood test and the donor information is put into the data bank. Then if someone needs a transplant, doctors can access the data bank for a suitable match.”

“I thought relatives usually donated bone marrow.”

Julee’s pulse kicked up a notch, the falsely chipper smile tightening. “That’s the ideal situation, but sometimes family members don’t match.” Like me.

In a deliberate attempt to calm her fraying nerves, Julee picked up the paperweight from Tate’s desk and rolled it between her hands, watching snow drift over the pair of baying hounds. Was it her imagination, or could she still detect the warmth of Tate’s skin? Oddly, the thought calmed her.

“Any reason why you’re targeting minorities?”

Oh, yes, the most important reason in the world. Their daughter had Tate’s Seminole heritage and the genetic types that went with it.

“Minorities have a very limited donor system, so the chances of finding a match are almost nil. And because their population is small, we need all the donors we can get.”

“We?”

She shrugged, but her grip on the paperweight was tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She’d done fine without this man for nearly ten years. She had no desire to disrupt her life or his any more than necessary, but Tate’s cooperation could save Megan’s life. “I’ve been working with the bone-marrow registry for a while. Too many kids die who could be saved by somebody if only that someone had his blood type on file.”

Her heart had been broken a dozen times as beautiful children she and Megan had come to know had withered away while waiting for a transplant. Minority children especially lacked hope. Somehow, she had to change that.

“Why come to me? Why not go to the hospital or the Chamber of Commerce?”

“I have. The hospital administrator thinks it’s a great opportunity for PR. The bone-marrow people will send a mobile unit, the Saturn Company has signed on to sponsor, and we’ll accept regular blood donations, too, to help with expenses.”

He tilted back in his chair again, eyebrows knit in thought. Bright sunlight slanted in through the window behind him and gleamed off his almost-black hair. He picked up a pen and rotated it between his fingers. “Let me ask that again. Why come to me?”

“I’m lining up all the community and civic leaders. The mayor, the school administration, fire chief, etc. Since I’m especially interested in bringing the Seminoles on board, your influence…” At Tate’s thunderous expression, Julee clapped her lips together. She’d thought he was warming to the idea, but now the cold, shuttered expression returned.

“You’ll have to go to the BIA or tribal chiefs if you want the Seminoles. Don’t expect me to get involved.”

Her heart fell. “But I thought—”

“You thought what, Julee? That you could march in here and pretend ten years hadn’t passed? That I’d ignore the law-enforcement needs of this county to run around drumming up business for your tax break?”

“No! That’s not what I thought at all.” Where had she gone wrong? “As I said, you’re the sheriff, you have a certain clout that could be used—”

“Used? No thanks. Been there, done that.”

Julee squeezed her hands into fists, the long nails digging at her skin. She wanted to scream, to cry, to grab Tate and make him listen. Everything was coming out all wrong.

“That’s not what I meant!”

With a loud exhale, Tate held out a palm, peacemaker style. “Look, Julee, I don’t mean to be a hard case about this, but there are plenty of others to help with this cause of yours. I really am awfully busy, and given our history, I’d expect to be the last man on earth you’d come to.”

Their history was exactly why she had to have his help, but for Megan’s sake she dared not tell him that. Resuming perfect posture on the slick vinyl seat even while her insides howled in terror, she struggled for control and a serene façade. Any act of hysteria on her part was bound to make him wonder why he was more important than any other civic leader.

“We were once such good friends, I just thought—”

“Once,” he interrupted. “And once was a long time ago, a time I don’t care to revisit. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He tossed the pen down and pushed upward from the desk. “I have to see a woman about a Peeping Tom.”

“Wait. Please.” But Tate was past listening.

Julee watched in dismay as the Sheriff of Seminole County, the man whose very blood she depended upon, grabbed his hat and, as if he couldn’t stand to be in her presence another moment, strode out the door.

Chapter Two

“He says he won’t help, Mom.” Julianna gripped the telephone receiver, trying to keep the panic at bay.

“He has to!” Beverly Reynolds’ strident voice pierced the distance from California to the Blackwood Motel.

“I know that, Mother,” Julianna cried. Then flopping back onto the standard green-and-brown motel bedspread, she relented. “I’m sorry. I’m just so scared. What if I can’t convince him to be tested?” She rubbed at the ache building between her eyebrows. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The motel television flickered to a commercial and Julianna saw her own legs hawking a new brand of depilatory cream. She turned away from the inane sight.

“I don’t know, either, honey.” Regret tinged her mother’s words. “If I hadn’t lied to everyone, especially Megan, you could come right out and tell Tate the truth.”

“I don’t want to hurt his family, but if he doesn’t agree to donate on his own, I’ll have no choice.”

“No! Absolutely not. You can’t risk it.” Julianna held the phone away from her mother’s screech. “The doctors have told us a dozen times how important a positive mental state is to Megan’s struggling immune system. Her health is too fragile to suddenly discover the father she thought was dead is alive and well in Oklahoma. Who knows what the shock might do to her?” A tormented sigh came through the phone lines. Julianna envisioned her mother repeatedly pushing short frosted hair behind one ear. “This is all my fault. I never should have started that lie.”

“You did what you thought was best at the time, Mama. I don’t blame you for any of this.”

When Julee had discovered her pregnancy and Tate’s marriage to another woman, her mom had created a deceased husband to save face in the new city and among new friends and co-workers.

“You were so young and so stubbornly determined not to ruin Tate’s chances for a football career. For a while I hated that boy. There you were pregnant, trying to succeed in this crazy modeling business, and wanting to spare the very boy who’d gotten you into trouble. I only meant to protect you and Megan from mean-spirited people.”

“I know, Mama, I know.” Julianna stared at the black spots on the ceiling tile. She’d relived those days in her mind a thousand times wondering what she could have done differently, and the answer always came out the same. She didn’t know.

Her mother hadn’t wanted her united with Tate, though she’d bitterly resented Julianna’s original plan to keep Tate in the dark. But Julee had feared what would happen if he’d discovered the pregnancy. He would have abandoned the athletic scholarship, his only opportunity to move beyond the horrible poverty and despair of his childhood. He would have gone back to work at the gas station and killed himself trying to care for a wife and a baby. In the end, after she’d reconsidered, he’d already traded her for someone else, so she lived with the lie created to protect them all.

“You never did approve of Tate, but he’s different now.”

“Different? Honey, Tate McIntyre was always different.”

“I mean different in a different way.” Julee laughed a little at that, comparing the almost military perfection of the Tate she’d seen today with the long black hair, the wary eyes, and bad attitude of the Tate she’d known ten years ago. “I don’t believe for one minute he’d intentionally hurt Megan. The bad-boy reject has become the golden savior and this town thinks he walks on water. From all appearances, he’s gentle and kind to everyone. Everyone but me, that is.”

“I don’t see why he should be angry with you,” Beverly sniffed defensively. “It’s not your fault he lost the football scholarship. And it sure wasn’t your fault he married that Atkins girl while you were still carrying his baby. I’ll never forgive him for that.”

“Mama, don’t go there. Please. I’ve had such a stressful day.” Gripping the phone a little tighter, she twisted the cord around her finger. “How’s Megan? Is she there?”

“No, she’s at school. Since you told her about having a bone-marrow drive where her daddy’s relatives lived, and explained how some of them could possibly match, she’s been full of zip.”

Julianna said a silent prayer of thanks. As long as Megan remained in remission, they had time to search for a donor. Her chest filled with a familiar mix of joy and pain. Being a mother was the hardest and most wonderful thing she’d ever done.

“Has she gained any weight?”

“In two days? Honey.” Her mother’s voice brimmed with sympathy. “Megan is like you. She’ll never fatten up too much.”

Julee had a vision of Megan’s wide, omnipresent smile in a narrow face with Tate’s high cheekbones and leaf-green eyes. Her arms hung like twigs from her T-shirt sleeves and she’d been bald so often, she’d taken to wearing a ball cap even when her hair had grown out. Julianna’s heart expanded with fierce mother love. Megan was an amazing kid, so full of life and love it seemed impossible that she could be dying.

“I have a meeting with the hospital administrator and the radio-station manager in a while, Mom, so I’d better get moving.” She sat up on the end of the bed. “Give Megan my love.”

“Try not to worry so much, Julee.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” It was an oft-repeated phrase.

“Everything is just dandy from this end. Eugene is coming over for dinner and afterward Megan and I have a hot game of Super Nintendo to finish.”

Julianna knew her mother and their affable accountant, Eugene Richmond, would be much more than friends if not for her and Megan. She had halfheartedly encouraged the pair to take their relationship further, but in truth, she couldn’t work the insane modeling schedules without her mom to help care for Megan. And with Megan’s hospital bills, every penny counted. When she’d discovered Julee’s pregnancy ten years ago, Beverly had moved to L.A. and become housekeeper and nanny while Julianna had provided the finances. So, adding to Julianna’s burden of responsibility, dear Eugene offered only friendship to the woman he wanted to love.

Replacing the receiver, she lay back on the full-size bed. Out of long habit she began the tedious exercises that kept her legs in high demand in commercials, magazine ads and movies. Sometimes, when she wasn’t worrying about Megan, she wondered what would happen when her legs gave out. How would she support her sick child? The agency loved her now because of the huge commission she brought in, but she had no illusions about this silly, shallow business of making a living with her body. She was a piece of meat. When the meat turned bad, she’d be nothing.

For the millionth time she wished she’d gotten an education, wished she’d chosen a career that made a difference in life, wished she’d been a nurse or a teacher or something that mattered. Viciously, she bicycled the air. She was nothing, nothing, nothing, but a pair of legs.

Chapter Three

“Crown me.”

Tate groaned and gave up one of his checkers, clunking the piece down with feigned annoyance. “You’re cheating again, old-timer,” he said with affection to the man sitting across from him.

Every Tuesday at noon, rain or shine, Tate attended a Chamber of Commerce meeting in the conference room of Blackwood Community Center, then moseyed over to the Senior Room for a game of checkers or dominoes. Today former sheriff Bert Atkins, his friend and mentor, was beating the pants off him.

“Ha! Don’t need to cheat when you play this bad.” The older man chortled happily and popped another peppermint in his mouth—his crutch to avoid smoking. “You must be working on a case the way your mind is off somewhere. Anything I can help you with?”

Bert Atkins had served Seminole County as sheriff until his second heart attack had forced him to retire, but his mind was as sharp as ever. With uncanny accuracy, he always knew when Tate was struggling with a problem.

Tate was, in fact, working on a suspected chop-shop operation, though that wasn’t where his mind had been. He hadn’t quite pinned down the source yet, but if he was right, the kingpin was a well-respected citizen. Bringing him down would be neither easy nor popular. And this was an election year.

After frowning at the board for a moment he moved his black king, jumping two of Bert’s men. “Guess my mind isn’t as scattered as you thought.”

But to be honest, his mind was scattered. Julee Reynolds was driving him crazy. Since he’d found her slumped outside his door two days ago, looking like her dog had died, Tate had thought of little else. Having her name and the bone-marrow drive on the lips of every Blackwood citizen didn’t help much and he was feeling like the county jerk instead of the county sheriff because he didn’t want any part of either.

Bert slapped the table, sending the checkers into a quiver. “Gol’ dern it, boy. I’m gonna have to study on this next move.” He shoved a plastic bag in Tate’s direction. “Here. Have a peppermint while I think.”

Obliging, Tate removed the crinkling cellophane and welcomed the candy’s cool sweetness. While Bert studied, his snow-white head bent over the board, Tate looked around at the group gathered in the Senior Room. A half dozen men played various games at other tables. He’d worked hard to gain the respect of this town, and in return the citizens of Blackwood had been good to him. He was happy, content. Or at least he had been until Julianna Reynolds blazed into town and reminded him of the hole inside his chest.

At the far end of the long room a group of ladies chatted and crocheted around a sofa grouping. One of them looked up, caught his eye and waved. He knew by the way she elbowed her companion that the unattached sheriff of Seminole County had just become the topic of conversation.

With an inward groan, he waited. Who would it be this time? The new librarian? Or maybe Mary’s recently divorced granddaughter? The ladies of Blackwood found his lack of a love life intensely interesting and seemed determined to remedy the problem by throwing unattached females in his path.

Sure enough, before Bert had a chance to claim any more of Tate’s checkers, Mildred Perkins laid aside a long rectangle of pink fluff and headed in his direction. The busiest body in town, Mildred considered finding him a wife her sworn duty. They didn’t understand what he couldn’t tell them—he’d failed at love twice, and that was enough. He was good at a lot of things, but love wasn’t one of them.

“Sheriff,” Mildred began, fingering the eyeglasses that hung from a beaded chain around her neck.

“Mrs. Perkins,” he acknowledged politely. “How are you and the Crochet Club today?”

“Oh, we’ve nearly finished that blanket for Cindy’s new grandbaby. Which is what I wanted to see you about.” She twisted the chain into a knot. “Not the baby exactly, but Cindy. Did you see the newspaper today? Cindy was right on the front page. Right there with Julianna Reynolds.”

She said Julee’s name with such relish Tate flinched.

He’d nearly swallowed a doughnut whole this morning when Rita had stuck the paper under his nose, berating him for not taking a more active part in Julee’s charity blood drive. There was Julee, smiling fit to kill as she signed up folks for the big donor drive.

“Yes, ma’am. I saw that. Cindy looked mighty nice.”

“Cindy?” Mildred’s piercing voice shot up a notch. “Cindy? Land o’ goshen, Sheriff, I’m not talking about Cindy. I’m talking about Julianna coming back to Black-wood to help cancer victims. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever heard?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, keeping a bland expression while hoping Mildred wasn’t about to set him up with Julee. “Real nice of her.”

“Did you know the car dealership is having a drawing? The winner gets to drive a new car free for a whole month?”

“I’d heard that.” Who hadn’t? In two days time, Julee had turned the entire town upside down. The radio station blasted a reminder of the bone-marrow drive every fifteen minutes, the newspaper couldn’t seem to print enough rosy articles about the small-town girl who made good, and everywhere he went somebody reminded him of how sweet and perfect and single Julianna was. To hear them talk she was a cross between Mother Teresa and Sandra Bullock.

“Well?” Mildred crossed her arms over the huge red flower decorating her shirtfront and fixed him with a questioning stare.

He pinched his lips between thumb and forefinger and arched his eyebrows. Had he missed something?

“I didn’t see your name on the list of civic leaders who’ve signed up to donate.”

Tate sighed inwardly, guilt warming the back of his neck. He fiddled with a checker, sliding it back and forth along the edge of the board. “I didn’t see yours, either.”

“You gotta be under sixty,” she huffed impatiently. “And Lord knows I passed that a long time ago. You’re young and fit as a fiddle so you got no excuse not to help out those poor little suffering children.”

The guilt of worrying about those “poor little children” was eating a hole right through the smothered steak he’d had for lunch. “Needles make me nervous.”

Mildred laughed and patted his arm. “Oh, Sheriff, you big tease. I know you’ll do your part. Just have Julianna hold your hand while they poke you.” She beamed at the genius of her suggestion. “And afterward, the two of you can come over to the Bingo Game together.”

Bert clunked down another checker, taking one of Tate’s. “Mildred, you’re interfering with my concentration. Why don’t you be useful and go get me a cup of coffee?”

While Tate silently thanked his old friend for the change of subject, Mildred drew back like a hissing adder. “Bert Atkins, you go get your own coffee.”

With a huff, she flounced back to the circle of crocheting ladies who’d been acutely attentive during the brief exchange. Six smiles beamed their goodwill across the room. Mildred’s mouth moved non-stop while she looked at Tate with an expression that said she was certain—absolutely certain—he wouldn’t let her, or Julianna, down.

Sometimes Tate didn’t know whether to hug them or hate them. Dear sweet ladies who meant well, but somehow thought he needed their input in every facet of his life. Not that he didn’t appreciate their casseroles and pies and crocheted afghans. He did. But right now, the last thing he needed was another reminder of the woman he’d never been able to forget.

“Why not donate blood, Tate?” A checker in one hand, Bert paused. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tate wallowed the peppermint with his tongue and pretended to study the checkers. “My deputies are helping out. I’m too busy to get wound up in Julee’s celebrity tax write-off.”

“Tax write-off or not, it’s a good cause. Just because you and Julee were an item way back when is no reason to avoid her now. Unless you still have feelings for her.”

Tate blanched at the plain speaking. Feelings? Heck, yes, he still had feelings for her. Trouble was, his feelings were all mixed up—fear, mistrust and a longing so fierce he’d been tormented all last night with dreams of Julee. He’d awakened in such a sweat he’d gotten up at 3:00 a.m. to take a shower. A cold one.

“As far as I’m concerned I’ll be glad to see her gone.”

“Question is, why?” Bert pointed a checker at him. “Shelly always said you never got over Julee.”

How could he explain that avoiding Julee was a matter of self-preservation? Learning to live without her ten years ago had nearly killed him, an experience he couldn’t afford to repeat.

“I wasn’t the right man for Shelly,” he said, skirting the issue of Julee. “You know it and so does she.” His brief and disastrous marriage to Bert’s daughter had been the final chapter in his book of love. Never again.

“A man can’t work 24-7 and keep a woman happy, that’s for sure.”

“Running a sheriff’s office is a full-time job. If anyone understands that, it’s you.”

“Being a good sheriff’s one thing, but I don’t recall ever sleeping in my office. You let this town run you ragged.”

“I owe them, Bert. Just like I owe you.”

The old sheriff had seen something worth saving in the rebellious youth, though for the life of him Tate couldn’t imagine what it had been.

“You don’t owe me a blamed thing. This county needed a good sheriff and we were danged lucky to get you.”

“Still, I wish things could have been different for Shelly’s sake.”

“I know that, boy. That’s why I got no hard feelings.” Bert smiled and reached for another peppermint. “That and the fact that Shelly found a nine-to-five fellow and had me some grandbabies.”

“She deserved a better man than me.”

He’d married Shelly out of gratitude, like a groveling dog happy to have a pat on the head. She’d made him feel like a man again during those dark days when he’d cared more about killing himself with liquor and fighting than living, so he’d repaid her kindness by messing up her life. And the remorse he felt for disappointing his mentor, the only man who’d ever believed in him, would never go away.

He shook his head to clear the memory. As a rabble-rousing teenager he’d been called worthless trailer trash. Now he hid behind a clean uniform and a sheriff’s badge, but deep down he figured the cruel taunt was still true.

Pushing back from the table, he looked at his wristwatch. “Time to get back to work before the good citizens of Blackwood change their minds about me.”

“Don’t want to talk about Julee, huh?” Bert looked at him with a half smile.

“Nothing to talk about.” He reached down to rub his knee. Thinking about Julee stirred up all his old aches and pains, some of them higher up than his knee. “She zoomed in here like a mosquito. Once she’s zapped everyone’s blood, she’ll zoom right back out. The sooner, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

As he started to rise, the hospital administrator tapped in on low-heeled pumps to tack a huge poster on the bulletin board. Tate lifted a hand in greeting, then let it fall to the table, sinking back into his chair. A photo of Julee and her famous legs stared out at him below a caption announcing the bone-marrow drive. And if that wasn’t enough to make him swallow the peppermint whole, the celebrity herself swept into the center, long, glorious legs drawing the stares of everyone in the place.

Julianna’s heart took one giant leap from her chest to her throat. Tate, looking too handsome to be real, scowled at her from across a checkerboard. For the hundredth time since the meeting at his office, she asked herself why he disliked her so much. He’d been the one to betray her and find someone else in a painfully short amount of time. She’d known then that his love had not run as deep as he’d claimed.

Julee remembered the morning she’d left Blackwood like yesterday. Tate, wearing his high-school letter jacket, long black hair slicked into a ponytail, leaned his backside against a beat-up old Ford pickup, pulled her between the V of his legs and held her until the bus arrived.

She couldn’t recall much of anything they’d said, just the feel of his rock-hard arms holding her close, the wool and leather scent of his jacket, and the warmth of his breath on her hair. The heavy ache of parting hung in the air between them. When the bus arrived, air brakes ripping the quiet morning, she’d started to cry. The Oklahoma wind had whipped her long hair around her face. Tate had smoothed it back, then cradled her face in his hands and brushed away the tears.

“Promise you’ll come back,” he whispered fiercely. “Promise.”

Since the day she’d received the call from the Body Parts Agency in California, he’d agreed she had to go. He knew how badly she and her widowed mother needed the money this contract promised. No matter how much she loved Tate, this was a chance in a lifetime she had to take.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

But the tormented look in his green eyes said he was just as scared as she was.

Heart breaking, she’d almost backed out, almost decided not to go when he pushed her up the steps.

“Go.” He shoved twenty dollars in her hand and stepped back. “They’re gonna love you out there.”

As the double doors folded inward, he pressed two fingers to his lips and laid them on the window. She’d held his eyes, frantically mouthing “I love you, I love you,” until the bus rumbled away and he was lost in the smoke and fumes. Hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, he’d stared back at her with a stark, broken expression. She’d cried all the way to L.A., fearing that last kiss was his final farewell.

It had been. Regardless of his promise to wait, he’d found someone else and married before she’d even discovered she was pregnant with his child. So much for his promises of undying love. He’d moved on with his life and eventually so had she. So, why was he staring at her now as though she was a hair in his hamburger?

Self-conscious beneath his scrutiny, she smoothed both hands down the sides of her powder-blue sheath. Though she’d intentionally dressed to appear successful and confident, she felt as gawky and insecure as she had in high school, the skinny girl who was all legs.

To make matters worse, the hospital administrator, who was nearly as excited about the bone-marrow drive as she, drew the attention of everyone in the room. “Look, Julianna,” she squealed. “There’s the man you need.”

Julee cringed. Oh, she needed him all right, though she prayed he’d never find out just how much. Reluctantly, she left the woman’s side and moved in Tate’s direction. Since the disastrous meeting in his office, she’d steered clear, hoping public pressure would convince him to donate after she couldn’t do the job. Now, time was growing short. She had to be certain he would be in town that day. If worse came to worst, she’d do the unthinkable. Against her mother’s advice and at the risk of causing trouble for Tate and his wife, she’d tell him about Megan.

Approaching the table she recognized Bert Atkins, the man who’d been sheriff in her high-school days. Since arriving in Blackwood she’d renewed a number of old acquaintances, and though she didn’t want to be here, had never planned to return, she was surprised to feel an unexpected nostalgia for her hometown.

“Hello, Mr. Atkins,” she said cordially, training her eyes on him instead of Tate. Even then, she could imagine the heat of disapproval simmering from the county sheriff. Her pulse thudded disconcertingly.

“Howdy, Miss Julee. How’s the big city?”

“Hectic. Noisy.”

Bert grinned. “Yep, that’s the way I remember cities.”

“But L.A.’s a great city,” she hurried to interject, not wanting him or Tate to know just how hectic life had become or how peaceful and pleasant Blackwood seemed after the crowded stress of L.A. “How about you? How’s the family?”

“Good. Good. Shelly’s a counselor over at the high school now and got two little ones, Zack and Amy. I’m a granddaddy.”

A counselor. Julee’s sense of worth dropped another notch. While she was flashing her legs for a camera, Tate’s wife helped young people find direction and guidance.

And Tate had other children now. She glanced at him, but his green eyes were as hard and unreadable as marbles.

“I’m glad, Mr. Atkins. Tell her hello for me.”

“You can tell her yourself. She’ll be here the day of your big blood drive. I guess half the county will be.”

“I hope so. That’s what I needed to see the sheriff about.”

“Well, sit down then.” The older man hopped up and pulled out a chair. “You two go on and talk while I find me a cup of coffee.” He glanced at Tate with a grin. “Guess Mildred isn’t planning to bring me one.”

Though she had no idea what he meant, Julee smiled in response and accepted the chair as Bert moved away, leaving her alone with Tate. For some reason, her legs grew weak every time she encountered Sheriff Congeniality. Scooting up to the table her knee bumped his, sending a warm awareness straight to her midsection. The contact had the opposite effect on Tate. He jerked as though she’d stabbed him.

Julee felt a trickle of remorse as realization struck. “Is it your knee?”

The question caught him by surprise. He blinked, reflexively reaching for the old injury. “No. The knee’s fine.”

“Oh. Good.” An uncomfortable silence hung between them. After their initial encounter Julianna wasn’t sure how to begin. What else could she possibly say to this familiar stranger that would change his mind?

“Could we declare a truce? Start all over?”

His right eyebrow shot up. “Start over?”

Closing her eyes momentarily she bit back a sigh. Once she’d been able to tell him anything, but now time and heartache had built a wall between them. “The hospital administrator tells me you’re the man to see about traffic control.”

He shifted sideways, away from her. The fluorescent lights cast a glare along his square jawline, highlighting a narrow white scar. With a shock, she remembered the night he’d gotten that scar…because of her.

“Why would a blood drive require traffic control?”

Julee forced the memory away, though looking into his moss-green eyes proved just as tumultuous. “Because the high-school band has volunteered to drum up interest, if you’ll pardon the pun, by marching down Main Street Saturday morning. People will hear the band and be reminded that the drive has begun.”

A gaggle of ladies, all carrying bags of yarn, twittered past, poking each other as they cast knowing looks at the handsome sheriff. Tate nodded politely, trying to cover an expression of amused exasperation.

“Look, Julee,” he said, leaning near enough that she caught a whiff of peppermint and some wonderfully warm male scent. “I’m the sheriff, not a parade marshal. Can’t the city police take care of that sort of thing?”

Julianna’s pulse stumbled. From this close she could count the black spiky lashes framing Tate’s green eyes. He had such beautiful eyes, deep and fathomless, and as full of mystery as the man himself.

Hands in her lap, she nervously twisted them together. Why was she thinking of Tate and that scar and his gorgeous eyes? Hadn’t she had enough bad experiences with men? And why was she suddenly hub-deep in memories of the two of them jouncing along in that old beat-up Chevy truck, its heater barely keeping the fog off the wind-shield while they listened to Pearl Jam on their way to a football game? It was in that pickup that they’d first… Julianna mentally slammed on the brakes. Do not go there.

“The city police are helping,” she said, amazed to sound so normal when her thoughts were anything but. “But they suggested your office was needed to erect detour barriers for through traffic and such things as that. In fact, Chief Little suggested the two of you coordinate efforts.”

On an exhale Tate leaned back in his chair and glanced down at his watch. Light reflected off the handsome copper band with turquoise insets. “I’ll talk to him.”

Relieved, Julianna pressed clammy hands to the table-top. With any luck, she and the enthusiastic townspeople would wear down his resistance. Come Saturday, Tate would stretch out that dark, sinewy arm and give their daughter a new chance at life. “I appreciate this. I really do.”

With an accepting tilt of his head, Tate’s gaze fell to her hand. “That’s quite a ring.”

“Thank you.” Nervously, she clasped the ringed hand to her chest, twisting the sapphire that matched her eyes.

“Engagement ring?”

“No.”

He arched that black eyebrow again and she wished he’d stop it. The movement of that one little eyebrow had the power to reduce her to nothing. Embarrassed by her completely aberrant thoughts as well as the ostentatious sapphire, which had been a gift from a former beau, heat rushed to her cheeks. The cut and size of the stone weren’t all that unusual in L.A. but here in Blackwood the ring seemed out of place. And so did she.

“So you’re not married?” Behind the unfathomable eyes lurked an emotion Julee couldn’t identify.

Uncomfortable with the personal turn of conversation, she gestured vaguely. “Not at the moment. My life is far too busy.”

She didn’t want to admit the truth, especially to Tate, but the last man she’d dated had lost all interest when Megan’s cancer returned. Though Julianna was too occupied with saving her daughter to mourn his loss, his disappearance had cemented her belief that she was only an ornament, a decoration.

“Too busy,” he said softly, the words a reminder of how their own busy lives had pulled them in different directions.

The double doors leading into the center flapped open and a slight breeze swirled around their legs, bringing with it the scent of coffee and the remnants of the Chamber luncheon. A rattle of voices, the words incomprehensible, drifted around the room, but Julee felt isolated, captured in the aura of Tate McIntyre. An odd lump of longing filled her throat.

For a nanosecond the air vibrated with memory. Julee studied the remains of an interrupted checker game, making every attempt not to look at Tate.

Breaking the mood, Tate scraped back from the table and rose. “Sorry to run out on you again, but duty calls.”

She looked up at him, grateful for the tiny crack in the fence between them. For one entire minute there had been a feeling, a something hovering around that table, that gave her hope. “Your job seems very important to you.”

“It’s my life.” His wonderfully angled jaw clenched. “And I’m good at it, Julee. I’m good at it.”

He turned to move away, his muscular legs long and fluid in the creased uniform pants.

“Tate,” she called.

He turned back, waiting.

“I’m glad you’ve made a good life, that you’re happy.”

A flash of something—pain?—quickly masked, flared as he held her gaze. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel the magnetism of Tate and the old memories, but she couldn’t seem to tear her attention away. And truly she was pleased that the hurting boy she’d loved had found fulfillment.

“What about you?” he asked, his words intense, almost harsh. “Are you happy?”

“I…I…” Julee stuttered. “Of course.”

“Good.” For another interminable moment he held her with a look that brought a flush to her face and trepidation to her soul. And then he was gone, the beautiful athletic physique striding out of the Senior Center.

Why had he asked such a thing? And why had she hesitated? Her life was busy. She had her career, her friends. And most of all, she had Megan. Certainly, she was happy with the life she’d chosen.

Wasn’t she?

Chapter Four

The day of the bone-marrow drive dawned with the perfect sunny weather of mid April in Oklahoma. Tate awoke, just as he did at least three times a week, in the front seat of his SUV. Only this morning the blast of the Blackwood High School marching band yanked him upright. He cracked his bad knee on the steering wheel and cursed. In the seat next to him a warm wiggling form yelped, reminding him of his only reward for a sleepless night.

Last night he’d sat inside a rusted-out station wagon inside the B & D Auto Salvage where he’d observed a transaction he could only view as suspicious. To his disappointment, no hard evidence of a chop-shop operation had come his way.

A warm wet tongue scraped at his hand.

“Hey, partner.” With a grin, he stroked the skinny, red, mixed-breed pup he’d found scrounging around the Dumpsters outside B & D. He’d shared his chips and baloney with the mutt, but that had been hours ago. “I’ll bet you’re hungry as a bear.” His own belly growled. “I sure as heck am.”

Hoisting the pup like a football, he unlocked the side door to his office and, thankful for the facilities made available by his predecessor, went inside for a quick shower and shave. On his way he grabbed several pieces of ham from the small refrigerator in the employee’s lounge.

“Here you go, fella.” He laid the slices on a paper towel and filled a bowl with water. “This’ll have to do until we can get out to my place.”

Which wasn’t likely to be soon. Tired as he was, today was the day of the bone-marrow drive. And he’d be glad when it was over. Then Julee and her famous legs could go back to L.A. and leave him the heck alone.

Not that she’d actually asked that much of him, but her presence in town had caused him no little discomfort. Everyone who remembered their romance brought it up. And everyone else seemed bound and determined to involve him in Julee’s project. He didn’t want to think about Julee and the rush of longing he experienced every time someone mentioned her name.

From outside, a tuba ripped off a few practice notes. He’d better hurry. He stepped into the closet-sized bathroom and shut the door.

Every man in town was agog over Julee. Big deal. What man wouldn’t be enthralled by her combination of beauty, smarts and success? Just because she wasn’t married now didn’t mean she hadn’t been a half dozen times before. And even if she’d had as many lovers as his mother, her private life was none of his business. But he’d gone off spouting about happiness like a love-starved orphan. He’d had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from asking if she was dating anyone. And if she was, was he good to her? Did he make her laugh? Would he give her the houseful of kids she’d always wanted?

Stripping off his clothes he kicked the wrinkled jeans into the corner in disgust.

There he went again assuming she was still the same Julee he’d known, when she clearly wasn’t. Back then she’d dreamed of two things—making enough money to take care of her mother and then spending the rest of her life with him and the babies they would make together. Now, family was the last thing on her mind.

He’d known then the dream was too good to be true and that he’d lose her to California, proving what he’d always known. A shanty-town bastard with a chip on his shoulder wasn’t good enough for her or any decent woman. That was okay. He’d accepted who he was and all his shortcomings a long time ago. He didn’t deserve her, never had.

She’d been so good, his Julee. The kind of girl who championed the underdog, stood up against bullies. He smiled at that, remembering how she’d stood up to him a few times when he’d wanted to break some guy’s nose just because he was mad at the world. Sensible, gentle Julee had a calming effect on the wild, angry boy he’d been. She could make him do anything.

But not this time. Not again. He nearly hadn’t survived the last time. He couldn’t fall under her spell again.

He grabbed a towel from the tiny corner cupboard and turned the shower on full blast.

He had to get Julee out of his mind and out of his town. If he could keep his distance another twenty-four hours she’d be gone. Stepping beneath the spray, he let the warm water drown every thought of Julianna Reynolds.

In minutes, smelling and feeling considerably better and dressed in the extra uniform he kept hanging on the back of the bathroom door, Tate was out on the street. The stray pup attached his nose to the sheriff’s creased pant leg and followed.

This morning the usually early sheriff was late, a fact that disgruntled him no end. To make matters worse, Julee stood in the middle of Main Street talking to his deputies. So much for washing her out of his mind. Every cell in his body started to hum. Criminy. Why’d she have to look like that?

“Mornin’, boss.” Jeet waved a doughnut in his direction. Tate’s stomach growled again. He’d given the last of the ham to the pup. “What’s that thing following you? A piece of rusted baling wire?”

Glad for the distraction, Tate’s mouth quirked at the apt description of the skinny pup dogging his heels. “Ah, just a stray I picked up last night.”

“Another one?” Jeet’s fleshy jowls jiggled as he turned toward Julee. She looked beyond beautiful standing in the morning sun with her long brown hair gently blowing around her face. “The sheriff here’s got a dozen of these mutts running around his place. Supposed to turn them over to animal control, but he never does.”

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