“Would you like to come in?”

“Very much,” he answered.

“But you’re not going to.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

Because it was wrong—more so than the first time, not as much as the second, but still wrong. Because, in spite of her assurances, he wasn’t sure what her expectations were. Hell, he wasn’t sure what his expectations were. Because they were a great match for a one-night stand, but neither of them brought much hope to the success of anything more.

And because he liked her, honestly liked her, and though he didn’t know what he wanted from her, he did know one thing for sure: he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d gotten enough of that for a lifetime.

Lawman’s Redemption
Marilyn Pappano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARILYN PAPPANO

brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book proved that she wasn’t crazy but creative. Since then she’s sold more than forty books to various publishers and even a film production company.

In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she spends her free time mowing the yard and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches.

You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK, 74067-0643.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The first time Brady Marshall ever saw Hallie Madison, he picked her up in a bar, took her back to her motel and spent most of the night having amazing sex with her.

The second time was in church.

In a wedding.

Thank God, not as the bride.

He stood at the front of the First Baptist Church of Heartbreak, Oklahoma, with Jace Barnett, the best man, and Reese Barnett, the groom, on his right and Del, Reese’s father, on his left. As the organist played a slow processional, he gazed out over a full church and watched the bride’s attendants come up the aisle. First were Emma and Elly Harris, wearing matching dresses and scattering baskets of petals. A few yards behind them was the first bridesmaid—a petite china doll with silvery-brown hair cut as short as a boy’s…though with those delicate features, no one would ever mistake her for one.

Bringing up the rear was the maid of honor. She was of average height, athletic looking, her also-short hair also silvery-brown. Despite her lack of curves, no one would ever mistake her for a boy, either—but neither would they figure her for a private investigator, which she was.

And in the middle was Hallie. His mystery woman from two nights ago. She hadn’t offered her name or asked for his, and he’d been satisfied not knowing. He should have asked. Even if he’d known she was sister and soon-to-be sister-in-law to his best friends, he still might have gone to the motel with her…but he wouldn’t risk money on it. Most likely, if he’d known, he would have high-tailed it out of that bar and spent the night regretting what he hadn’t done.

Better than spending his time regretting what he had done.

Hallie was about five foot eight and slender, but with curves in all the right places. Her hair was silky and blond and past her shoulders, her eyes were hazel—he hadn’t realized he knew that until just now—and her smile was bright and cheery, but anyone who looked closely could see the tension underlying it. For whatever reason, this wasn’t a great time for her, but she was doing her best to hide it for her sisters’ sake.

There they were—the Madison sisters. He’d heard a lot about them from their oldest sister, Neely. There was Kylie the pretty one, Hallie the popular one and Bailey the smart one. If Hallie made a habit of doing what she’d done with him two nights ago, he could understand why she was popular.

But he didn’t think she did. Maybe his ego needed to think that he’d been special, though he knew too well that wasn’t true. While Hallie might not routinely pick up sex partners in bars, he did, and he knew special had nothing to do with it. Being lonely did. And alone. Not interested in a relationship. Not able to connect with people except in the most superficial way.

The bridesmaids took their place opposite the groomsmen, and the organ music swelled as Neely appeared at the back of the church, putting the other women out of his mind. Her ivory gown was all lace and satin, sleeveless with a deep V, and a stream of lace was attached to a band of flowers worn in her hair. She was more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen. She was the only woman he’d had any sort of relationship with in the past fourteen years, and he’d been half in love with her ever since they’d met. Not that he’d ever expected or even wanted anything to come of it. Neely belonged to Reese, heart and soul.

Lucky guy.

When she reached the front, the guests took their seats and the wedding party turned to face the minister. Brady’s one and only wedding seventeen years ago had been nothing like this. He and Sandra had gone to the county courthouse one Friday afternoon and been married by a judge in a hurry to get to his golf game. He’d worn jeans and a white shirt, and Sandra had worn a flowery dress with a big white collar edged with crimson ribbon.

Funny that he could remember that, but couldn’t quite recall her face. He could see the curly brown hair, he could even call up the memory of sliding a plain gold band on her finger, but he couldn’t see her eighteen-year-old face.

Of course, he’d spent fourteen years trying to forget everything about her. He’d been a fool to marry her. The good times hadn’t come close to balancing out the bad, and in the final months, there had been some really bad times.

Between all the people and the candles that flickered everywhere, the church was a little warm. The reception afterward wasn’t bound to be much better, since it was going to be outside and Oklahoma in August wasn’t hospitable. But for wedding cake, cold drinks and dancing, people would forget the heat.

For their friends, they would forget anything.

Finally the pastor came to the part they’d all been waiting for. “You may now kiss the bride,” he announced, and Reese took him at his word. Amid laughter and clapping, he sealed the promises he’d just made with a kiss, then, prompted by the organ music, escorted his bride to the back of the church.

Too bad Brady had been called out last night and missed the rehearsal. If he’d made it, he would have been better prepared for walking down the aisle with Hallie Madison in front of every soul he knew in Oklahoma. Not that he really needed preparation. No one would get the slightest hint from him how intimately he knew her.

Jace hooked up with Bailey and followed the bride and groom, leaving Brady and Hallie facing each other. He wasn’t sure when she’d recognized him—he hadn’t caught her looking at him when she’d come down the aisle—but obviously at some point she had. There was no surprise in her eyes—just a sheepish, faintly embarrassed look.

They met in the center of the aisle and he offered his arm. When she slipped her hand through and rested it on his forearm, they started down the aisle.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he murmured.

“I bet you thought you were never going to see me again,” she whispered while keeping her smile in place. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Who’s disappointed?” He should have known it was bound to happen. For fourteen years he’d allowed himself nothing more than one-night stands with strangers. The odds that he could continue forever without running into one of those women again had been growing slimmer. Now he just had to make the best of it. It shouldn’t be hard. Neely and Reese were leaving on their honeymoon after the reception that night, and all the Madisons would be going home the next day—Kylie back home to Texas, Bailey to Tennessee, their mother to Illinois and Hallie to…wherever.

How had he learned where home was for the rest of her family, but missed that bit about her?

“I-I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to Neely about…”

He fixed a steady gaze on her. “Do I look like the sort of man who would share the details of his sex life with anyone?”

“No,” she murmured.

They reached the back of the sanctuary, then moved down two steps into the foyer. As soon as Del and Kylie joined them, an usher closed the doors, Reese immediately kissed Neely again, and Hallie pulled away. She clasped her hands together and looked everywhere except at him. “I…uh…” An expression of great relief crossed her face when Neely joined them.

“So you two have met,” Neely said, hugging her sister before rising onto her toes to brush a kiss to Brady’s cheek. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” she asked, beaming as she wiped the lipstick from his skin. “But don’t get any ideas, Hallie. I’ve got plans for him and Kylie.”

The warning created a panicked look in Hallie’s eyes as she glanced from Neely to him to her younger sister. Brady wished he could tell her not to worry. Neely might intend to hook him up with Kylie, but he had no intention of letting her set the hook. He wasn’t interested in the baby of the Madison family. He damn sure wasn’t interested in anyone who lived in Texas.

“I’ve been fresh out of ideas of that nature for about six months now,” Hallie said, fooling her sister with her careless manner but not Brady. He wondered what had happened six months ago that had turned her off romantic entanglements and most likely put that stress in her eyes. Obviously, she’d been hurt, and more than likely he’d heard something about it from Neely. Damned if he could remember, though.

“Oh, you’ll get over it,” Neely said, then thoughtlessly added, “You always do. Brady, come on and let me introduce you to Kylie. She is such a doll.”

Brady let her pull him down the hall, where she left him while she went to retrieve Kylie from her conversation with Reese and Jace. “Such a doll” was about as accurate as a description could get. Even her voice had a little-girl quality to it. He wasn’t sure how old she was—probably somewhere between twenty-five and thirty—but she looked about sixteen. There was no way he could even think about doing anything with her without feeling as if he were committing some statutory offense. But he talked to her, and then to Bailey—or, at least, he listened to them. Like Neely, neither of them appeared to be the least bit shy.

And what about Hallie? She was hugging the wall as if she’d rather be anyplace else. Shy? Or uncomfortable because of him? There had been nothing shy about the way she’d approached him in the bar Thursday night. But then, he knew better than most that the way people behaved in bars could be very different from their usual manner. He’d broken up more than his share of bar brawls started by some normally shy woman or unassuming man.

After a few minutes, the usher opened the doors to the sanctuary again. While they’d been waiting in the foyer, the guests had left the church through a side door and moved to the pavilion in the park across the street where the reception would be held. Now the sanctuary was empty for photographs.

It seemed the picture-taking took longer than the ceremony had, but finally they were finished. He was wondering what kind of luck he would have slipping out the door and heading home when Reese clapped him on the back. “Don’t even think about it.”

“About what?” Brady asked, keeping his expression bland.

“Going home. Not before Neely gets a dance with you.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Brady lied.

“Yeah, right. I know being social isn’t your favorite thing. You’d rather be home alone watching TV with a pizza and a beer.”

Brady shrugged, then quietly said, “Well, you did it.”

Reese glanced at Neely, coming their way, and smiled a satisfied smile. “Yeah. I did. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be next.”

“No, thanks. Been there, done that.”

And had the scars to prove it.

When Neely had told her they were having their reception outside, Hallie envisioned a setting similar to the parties she’d held back home in Beverly Hills—the pool sparkling in the night, the lush gardens perfuming the air, acres of emerald-green grass and uniformed servers attentive to the guests’ every need.

The scene surrounding her was quite different. They were in a park that was basically one square block with a pavilion in the center. Lights had been strung from tree to tree and around the canopies circling the pavilion, and a band had set up on a stage nearby. The grass was parched from Oklahoma’s typical hot summer with too little rain, and the only servers were keeping the occasional fly away from the cake and the small hands out of the grown-ups’ punch.

But this party had something hers never had—a sense of joy. Real affection and friendship. A warm sense of home.

Her sister had landed herself in the midst of some very nice people. Hallie had gotten introductions to plenty of them after the cake was cut, and she thought she’d kept them pretty straight in her mind. Over the next few weeks she would have a chance to find out.

After taking a bottled water from a tub of ice near the punch table, she found a place to lean against the massive trunk of an oak tree and watched the dancing in the pavilion. A couple of friendly young men had asked her to dance, but she’d politely refused. Kylie and Bailey weren’t refusing any offers. They hadn’t missed one tune in the past half hour. They had each danced once with Brady Marshall, and so had Neely.

When Hallie had peeked around the hallway before the ceremony started and spotted him standing with Reese and his family, she had practically swallowed her tongue. She’d tried to sound casual and merely curious when she’d returned to the classroom they were using for a dressing room and asked Neely about him, but with her face flushed and her voice breathy like Kylie’s, she wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off.

Neely hadn’t told her much—just his name, that he would be the acting sheriff while she and Reese were gone and that he was a good friend. At the time Hallie had thought she was too distracted to say much else. Now she knew her sister had been saving the good stuff for Kylie.

Frankly, Hallie couldn’t see him with Kylie.

Not that she cared. She’d sworn off men for the rest of her life, except for occasional flings. She was never getting serious, never getting married and for darn sure never getting divorced again. She couldn’t survive it. And since love came with no guarantees, she wasn’t giving it another try.

Though it seemed that Neely had gotten her guarantee. The way Reese looked at her—as if she were the most important person in his life, as if he were the luckiest guy in the world to have her—was enough to make Hallie’s heart hurt. Had any man ever looked at her like that? No, not even the three she’d married.

And they’d divorced her. One because she refused to use the drugs he couldn’t live without, one because she was a drag, and Max because she wasn’t young enough. For heaven’s sake, she’d just turned thirty the very day he’d told her that!

She was certainly being a drag tonight. She was happy for Neely, truly she was, but there was a part of her that just wanted to go back to her motel and hide.

“You having a good time, baby?”

The voice was her mother’s, and Hallie had only a moment to paste on a bright smile before facing her. “Yes, Mama, I am. How about you?”

“I couldn’t be happier. Neely finally married.” Doris Irene smiled. “We’ve come to expect weddings from you, but I’d just about given up hope Neely would ever settle down.”

The muscles in Hallie’s jaw clenched. Her mother didn’t mean anything by her remark, just as Neely’s comment at the church—You’ll get over it. You always do—hadn’t been meant to hurt, but that did nothing to ease the ache in her chest. She’d always been the Madison family screwup, the one who could never do anything right. Her family joked about it and treated her failures lightly, and she smiled when they did and played along, but failing again hurt. She’d loved Max Parker with all her heart, and she’d believed he loved her, too…right up to the time she found him celebrating her birthday with the star of his most recent movie. He’d broken her heart, but because he hadn’t been the first—or even the second—her family assumed it was no big deal.

“Well,” she began when she was sure her voice would be steady, “she’s settled now. She and Reese are very happy together.”

“They sure do look it.” Doris Irene grinned slyly. “Maybe you can take some pointers from them.” Then she leaned over and kissed Hallie’s cheek. “I think I’ll go find William and see if I can get him to dance with me. I haven’t kicked up my heels in far too long. See you, baby.”

Though she tried her best not to swear, once her mother was out of sight, Hallie muttered, “Damn, damn, damn.”

“Careful there.” The words were delivered in a low, throaty, lazy drawl from behind her. “Oklahoma’s got a law on the books against swearing in public. I’d hate to have to take you away from Neely and Reese’s party in handcuffs.”

She turned to find Brady Marshall leaning one shoulder against her tree trunk. Like the other groomsmen, he’d changed out of his tuxedo, and he looked even better in his jeans and a black shirt than he had in the bar the other night. When she’d seen him sitting there alone, she’d been speechless for a moment. He was quite possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He stood six-four, was lean and hard-muscled, and everything about him that night, like tonight, had been dark—from his hair and skin to his shirt, jeans and cowboy hat, to the aura surrounding him. He’d been the epitome of tall, dark and handsome…to say nothing of dangerous.

She’d spent ten minutes at the bar, watching him, speculating about him. Why was he there, and why was he alone? Was there a Mrs. Tall, Dark and Handsome, and if so, why did she let him out of the house without her protection? Finally she’d found the courage to take him a bottle of beer, and she’d seen that not everything about him was dark. His eyes were as blue as the clearest spring sky.

He’d looked incapable of smiling, of any tender emotions at all, but later, at the motel, he’d touched her tenderly. He’d made her feel…. She tilted her head to one side, considering that sentence. No, there wasn’t anything missing. That was all she wanted to say. He’d made her feel.

Shaking off the memories, she forced her attention back to his remark. “You’re kidding, right?”

Under the neat black mustache his finely shaped mouth was unsmiling, but there was something she thought might be humor in his voice. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly hate it, but I don’t think seeing me arrest their bridesmaid is exactly the sort of memory Neely and Reese want to take away tonight.”

She made a face. “I meant about the law.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t kid about such things. It’s punishable by thirty days in jail and a fine of up to $500.” After a moment, he gestured toward the dance floor. “Why aren’t you out there with your sisters?”

“I’d rather enjoy it from back here.”

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying it much.”

Drat him. Her sisters and her mother hadn’t noticed that she was putting on an act. How had this man who didn’t know her at all guessed it? But rather than try to find a response, she turned the subject back on him. “Why aren’t you out there?”

“I ran out of Madison sisters to dance with.”

She lowered her gaze to hide the fact that she would enjoy dancing with him. She already knew, both from watching him with her sisters and from the hours she’d spent with him, that his movements were graceful, sensual and powerfully controlled. She would very much like to feel his arms around her one more time, to let the heat radiating from his body warm her, to close her eyes and breathe deeply of his purely male scent and sway slowly in time to the music.

Sure, and when the dance was over and he walked away from her, what would she want then? How would she feel?

She was tired of men walking away from her, tired of never being enough for them.

“I take it you’re not fond of weddings,” Brady remarked.

“Or too fond of them, according to my family.”

“They’ve come to expect weddings from you?”

Realizing he’d overheard her conversation with her mother, she managed a quavery, embarrassed smile. “We weren’t properly introduced, were we?” She stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Hallie Madison, Neely’s younger sister and three-time loser at the game of marriage.”

She’d meant it as a bad joke, but before she could withdraw her hand, he’d taken it, enveloping it in his. His hands had fascinated her Thursday night—large, powerful, his fingers long and narrow, capable of calming a small child, controlling a grown man or arousing a needy woman. She had wondered if his palms were callused, his caresses rough, and decided they were, then he’d proved it in her room. His touch had been enough to make a lonely woman weep.

“Three times, huh?” he murmured, still holding her hand.

“At least you kept trying. I gave up after the first one.”

A flicker of something shadowed his eyes after he’d spoken. Surprise? Uneasiness? Did he know he’d told her more than the simple fact that he’d been married and divorced—that now she knew he must have been brokenhearted over the end of his marriage? With the shortage of marriageable men, it was a fact of life that men as handsome as he, as amazingly sexy as he, didn’t remain single long, not unless the scars from their failed relationships ran too deep to heal.

“You learned from your mistake. I didn’t.” Though she would be perfectly content to stand there all night with her hand in his, she caught the looks that said people were starting to notice. Gently she tugged, and after a moment’s hesitation, he let go. “What did you think of Kylie?”

“Truthfully?” He waited for her nod before he went on.

“She’s not my type.”

“Nope, sorry, wrong answer. If Neely thinks you two are right for each other, then you are. She’s never wrong.”

Ignoring her disagreement, he pushed away from the tree. “Come and dance with me.”

A shiver skittered through Hallie, making her face warm, her palms damp and her hands unsteady. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea.” He pulled the bottle of water from her hand and set it on a nearby table, then clasped her hand in his and started for the pavilion.

The music was slow and romantic, and the lights cast flickering shadows back and forth as they swayed in the breeze. For one fearful moment, she wished she could break free and run off into the night. He was too tempting. She was too emotionally fragile. Neely honestly wasn’t ever wrong.

But, as if he sensed her skittishness, he held her hand tightly as he led the way to the middle of the dance floor. There he stopped and pulled her slowly into his arms, closer than was proper, practically as close as they’d been Thursday night.

It was an incredible place to be.

Hallie held back as much as she could. Occasionally she made eye contact with one sister or another, and once Doris Irene and her husband, William, waltzed past, and Hallie was convinced they were all wondering what Brady was doing with her instead of Kylie. When she caught a glimpse of Neely and Reese both watching them, she lowered her gaze to the center of Brady’s chest and wished once again that she was someplace else.

“Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “Surely you’re used to people looking at you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re a beautiful woman, and people tend to look at beautiful women.”

Tilting her head back, Hallie met his gaze. “Okay, I get it. Your job tonight—besides acting as a groomsman—is keeping the newly divorced bridesmaid from ruining everyone’s fun with her mood, right?”

He gazed down at her a long time. His blue eyes revealed nothing, but she had the sense that her words offended or irritated him. When he spoke, though, his tone was no different than before. “Trust me, I would be the last person in the county anyone would choose to entertain, flatter or even talk to anyone else.”

“And why is that?”

While he considered an answer, the music ended and so did the dance. He didn’t release her right away, but held her and looked at her and made her feel incredibly warm and tingly, until finally Del Barnett’s voice quieted the crowd.

“Reese wanted to sneak out of here, but Neely says she’s got three single sisters and she’s not going without throwing her bouquet. So all you unmarried ladies gather around up here, and all you single men be prepared to run.”

It seemed to Hallie that everyone was moving someplace except her and Brady. He was still just looking at her, and darned if she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his.

Abruptly he let her go. “Go on.”

“I’m not single.”

“You’re not married.”

“No, I’m divorced. There’s a difference.”

“Not enough to count. Go on, or your sisters will create a scene.”

Already she was dimly aware of Kylie and Bailey calling her name in unison. She looked at Brady, and he looked away, breaking the spell that held her. Without a word, she walked away and joined the group of women on the grass.

With her back to them, Neely gave the flowers a great toss, and they tumbled, stem over bloom, through the air straight at Hallie. She didn’t raise her hands, didn’t move, didn’t do a thing. When Kylie reached across and grabbed them before they hit the ground, Hallie looked back to where she’d left Brady.

He was gone.

He was a cold-hearted bastard.

Brady stood in the shadow of a clump of trees where no light could reach and watched as Neely and Reese said goodbye to their families. Neely hugged her mother, then her sisters, starting with Bailey and ending with Hallie. She was the only blonde in a family of brunettes, but it was more than her hair color that set her apart. She was lonely. Wounded.

And he wanted to take advantage of that.

Farewells said, Neely and Reese got into the waiting limousine, and the driver slowly pulled away. They were spending the night in Tulsa, then catching an early flight to the Caribbean. There they would be taken by boat to an isolated island where one of Reese’s friends from his pro baseball days was letting them use his beachfront estate. They weren’t planning to come back for three weeks—unless she decided just to stay forever, Neely had threatened.

As the limo disappeared from sight, the wedding guests began heading back to their dancing, visiting and celebrating. Hallie talked to her sisters for a few minutes and got hugs from both of them. Kylie tried to give her the bridal bouquet—probably with a joke about Hallie’s multiple marriages. Her family didn’t appear to have a clue how three divorces had affected her.

After refusing the flowers, Hallie left her sisters and headed toward the church. She passed within ten feet of where he stood, so close he could smell her fragrance on the warm night air. She spoke politely to guests going the other way, then crossed the street to her car, a flashy little blue convertible.

He waited until she’d driven away to move out of the shadows. His truck was parked down the block and around the corner, but he didn’t hurry. There was only one main road from Heartbreak to Buffalo Plains, and he knew where she was staying.

Plus, he needed time to talk himself out of what he wanted.

He was almost at his truck when a voice called, “Hey, Brady.”

He knew before he turned it was Jace Barnett. He was a couple of years older than Brady, Reese’s cousin and a detective with the Kansas City Police Department, and after Reese and Neely, he was the closest thing to a friend Brady had. “Jace.”

“You heading off this early? You know a few dozen of these folks will be here until the early hours of the morning—including me.”

“I’m not much on parties.”

“Reese says you’ll be acting sheriff while he’s gone.”

“Yeah.” He’d never officially held the position—Reese wasn’t in the habit of taking vacations—but he’d been in charge every other weekend for the past two years. He could handle it for three weeks. It wasn’t as if Canyon County was likely to develop a rash of crimes the minute the sheriff left the state.

“Watch out,” Jace said good-naturedly as Brady reached his truck. “Don’t let the paperwork get to you.”

Something had already gotten to him, Brady thought as he climbed in, and it wasn’t work. He waved goodbye to Jace, then headed for Main Street.

It took five miles, and passing a half dozen cars, to catch up to the convertible with California tags. He got only close enough to be sure it was Hallie’s car, then dropped back a fair distance.

He wasn’t going to follow her to the motel, and there were a dozen reasons or more why. She was his boss’s sister-in-law, and anyone knew you didn’t mess with a man’s family. He’d be better off home alone. She’d been hurt before. He would just be using her, and she’d been used enough.

When they reached the Buffalo Plains town limits, she headed into downtown, where a right turn would take her to her motel on the east side of town. After a moment’s hesitation, he took the first right, onto Cedar Street, and drove the block and a half to his house.

Until two weeks ago, he’d spent his entire six years in Buffalo Plains in a six-hundred-square-foot apartment on the west end of town and had been satisfied there—satisfaction being relative, of course. Then one day while on patrol, he’d seen an old man hammering a For Sale sign in the yard that fronted a small neat house. He’d stopped to ask him about it and had driven away a half hour later with the keys in his pocket and a sales contract pending.

It wasn’t a great house. It was sixty years old, one story, painted white with dark green trim. There was a front porch wide enough for a swing and a back stoop barely big enough for a man to stand on. Inside was a living room, a dining room and kitchen, one bedroom and bathroom, and an additional room he planned someday to incorporate into the living room. The floors were wood, with cracked and peeling linoleum in the kitchen, and the walls needed painting, the bathroom updating, the roof reshingling. He’d paid cash for it, and could have done the same for a house ten times its price, but he hadn’t wanted a bigger, nicer place.

After all, he hadn’t been buying a house but a memory.

One of the few childhood memories he recalled with fondness.

He pulled into the gravel driveway and parked next to his sheriff’s department SUV, then shut off the engine. Nights were quiet in this part of town. The lots were several acres, the houses distant from each other, and behind them was pasture. Forty acres of it had come with the house, but the old man had leased it to a neighboring rancher, and Brady had continued the lease. Someday, though, he planned to put up a barn and buy a few horses from Easy Rafferty, one of Reese’s friends over in Heartbreak who raised damn fine paints.

He went inside the dark, empty house, turned on the TV and settled on the sofa with a beer. Welcome to his usual Saturday night.

Most of the time he didn’t care how alone he was. Hell, he’d been that way so long it had come to feel natural. Growing up, he and his kid brother, Logan, had pretty much been each other’s best—and only—friends. They’d known other kids at school, of course, but they’d kept to themselves. It had seemed safer that way.

Then Logan had disappeared without a trace nearly seventeen years ago. Brady had gone to bed one night and Logan was there in the next room, and he’d awakened the next morning and his brother was gone. He’d taken his clothes and left a note, one line that had just about killed Brady.

He didn’t let himself think about Logan very often, but tonight it somehow seemed appropriate. Where was he? Had he even survived the last seventeen years? Had he managed to make himself over into someone who could live a normal life, have friends, laugh, be happy? Had he ever married, had kids? Did he ever think about looking up his older brother?

Probably no more often than Brady thought about trying to find him. He had run a nationwide driver’s license check a few years ago and come up with a number of Logan Marshalls, but none whose birth date matched his brother’s. He’d even considered hiring a private investigator, but had discarded the idea. Logan had had his reasons for taking off the way he did. The least Brady could do was respect them.

He flipped through the channels, watched the clock and told himself that, barring any emergencies, he was home for the night. Bored with television, he went in and took a shower, then went into the bedroom to get a pair of boxers. He wasn’t getting dressed, he told himself, even as he took a clean pair of Levi’s from the closet, and he repeated it as he pulled a T-shirt from the dresser drawer. He absolutely wasn’t going anywhere, he insisted as he picked up his wallet, pager and keys from the dresser, then started toward the front door.

He wasn’t going to the motel.

Wasn’t parking beside her Mercedes in the back lot.

Wasn’t climbing the stairs.

Wasn’t standing in front of Room 22.

He stood there, trying desperately to talk himself out of knocking. But damn it, being accustomed to being alone didn’t mean it didn’t eat at him sometimes. Some days the need for somebody got under his skin and damn near drove him mad until he’d satisfied it. That was what had sent him to the bar Thursday night—what had made him come back to the motel with Hallie. Usually that one night would have been enough to fill the emptiness that sometimes consumed him and would enable him to go back to his life for a few more months.

But this time, God help him, he wanted more, and Hallie Madison was the perfect person to give it. They’d already filled each other’s needs once. He liked her, and she… He didn’t know whether she liked him, but at least she wasn’t intimidated by him.

And most important of all—she was leaving town the next morning. He would probably see her again, but not until she came back to visit Neely, and that could be months—even years. By then she might not even remember his name.

Raising his hand, he hesitated, then rapped sharply on the door.

Seconds ticked past with no sound from inside the room. He wouldn’t blame her if she refused to open the door—half wished she would do exactly that so he would have no choice but to go home. But after a minute, maybe two, there was a rustle inside, then the door swung open.

She’d obviously showered since the party. Her face was free of makeup and her hair, still damp, was slicked back from her face, and damned if she didn’t look as pretty as she had all dressed up. She was wearing something thin and satiny held up by tiny straps and ending somewhere around midthigh, and she was naked underneath it. She looked sexy and innocent and vulnerable, and he knew if he touched her again, he would be damned to hell with no way to redeem himself.

Even knowing that, he reached out.

And he touched her.

Chapter 2

Hallie knew why he’d come.

It was in the hunger that made his blue gaze intense, in the tension that crackled around him and the heat where his fingers loosely held hers. She could send him away with no more than a shake of her head…or she could pull him inside and close the door.

Sending him away would be the smart choice, of course.

But in all her thirty years no one had ever described her as the smart sister.

Barely breathing, she watched him watch her. He hadn’t taken so much as a step over the threshold, and she knew he wouldn’t unless she gave him an invitation. Did she have the courage to offer that invitation?

Did she have the strength to hold it inside?

She didn’t know how long they stood there—one minute or ten—but the sound of familiar voices in the parking lot below signaled that time had run out. Her sisters, mother and stepfather were back from the party, and while Doris Irene’s room was on the ground floor, Bailey and Kylie were sharing a room down the hall and around the corner.

Send him away or let him stay?

She wanted to do the first. She needed the last.

Tightening her fingers around his, she took a step backward, then another. While her family said their good-nights downstairs, she drew Brady into the room and closed, then locked the door.

As he’d done the first time—what she’d thought would be the last time—he turned off the lights, then pulled her close. She thought of her smart, talented, capable sisters kissing their mother good-night, then coming arm-in-arm up the stairs, far too good and moral to indulge in anything so tawdry as a one- or two-night stand.

Then Brady kissed her as if she mattered, and she stopped thinking.

He aroused her expertly, stroked her, caressed her. Though she wore nothing but a simple satin shift, he took his sweet time removing it, exploring, touching, tormenting every inch of her. When she was naked and weak, when the need for him throbbed throughout her body, he clamped his mouth to hers and kissed her onto the bed before pulling away.

Her entire body was vibrating, thrumming with need. In the inky darkness, she heard his boots hit the floor, followed by the soft whoosh of his shirt falling and the rasp of his zipper. She raised up on one arm, but it was too dark to see. She could hear, though—harsh breathing, strong hands crinkling plastic as he tore open the condom wrapper. She could smell the clean, fresh scent of him as he came nearer, the faint hint of beer, the fainter essence of pure, base lust. She felt the mattress give under his weight, then the warm, satiny skin when she slid her hands to his shoulders.

Just as he’d done the other time, he grasped both of her hands in his, pinned them at her sides, then lowered his head to kiss her. Forgetting that she wanted to protest, she greedily welcomed his tongue, then, with a swallowed gasp, welcomed him into her body—every hot, silky, hard-as-rock inch of him.

For a moment he was content merely to be inside her, and she was content to feel him there again. He didn’t move, but held himself rigid, letting her body adjust to his. She sighed deep in her throat at the pure simple pleasure of it. For this brief time, she felt connected. Wanted. Even needed.

And that was all she wanted—all she’d ever wanted. Tonight the feelings didn’t even have to be real as long as she could believe in them for the moment.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Hallie,” he said, his voice little more than a growl that vibrated all the way through her. Then he began moving, slowly taking long, deep strokes, pulling out, filling her again. At the same time he lowered his head to nuzzle her breast.

She tried to free her hands, but his grip was too strong. “Please,” she began, then caught her breath in a low groan as he sucked hard at her nipple. “I—I want…”

He increased his pace, thrusting into her faster, harder, deeper, and continued to kiss and torment her breasts. She was starting to see stars, quickly building toward a release that just might leave her shattered…then put her back together again. Every time his arousal rubbed against her, every time her body clenched his, every strong pull of his mouth on her nipple….

“Let me…Brady, I want…” To capture this feeling and make it last forever. To grab hold of him and never let go. To scream. Explode. Weep.

The pressure inside her kept building, increasing with every touch, every kiss, every breath. Her muscles were taut, her nerves quivering, her breathing ragged and shallow. He pushed her until she was sure she couldn’t survive, and then he pushed her even farther, until her climax rocketed through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t control the trembling that claimed her entire body. All she could do was feel and, sweet hell, she was feeling everything. She was drowning in incredible sensations, all hot and sweat-slick and shuddering and satisfied. Oh, yes, incredibly satisfied.

It wasn’t until much, much later, after her second orgasm, when she lay quietly in Brady’s arms, that she remembered what it was, in particular, that she’d wanted—to touch him. To run her hands over his body, to make him hot and achy, to feel his strength, to cradle his hardness in her palms. To tease, play with and arouse him, the way he’d teased, played with and aroused her.

She turned so that she faced him, even though she couldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?”

His breathing was so slow and steady that she thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep. Then he exhaled loudly and asked, “What?”

“Is it everyone or just me that you don’t want touching you?” She felt the tension in his body ratchet up a notch or two before he answered.

“It would be physically impossible to touch more than we are right now.”

That was true. Her head rested on his arm, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. But that wasn’t what she meant, and she suspected he knew it. “I’m talking about with my hands. You held my wrists so I couldn’t touch you.”

“Did I?” He asked it as if he hadn’t noticed what he’d done, but she knew better than that. He was too observant, too self-aware, for that to wash.

She stared at him, a shadow among shadows. When he didn’t say anything more, she laid her hand on his ribs. Soft, warm, dark skin—she couldn’t see, but she could visualize—as smooth and silky as her own pampered skin. She slid her palm up a few inches, then down again, then he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a simple, sensual, toe-curling kiss.

Hallie had to catch her breath before she could speak. “See? You don’t like it when I touch you.”

With another heavy sigh, he released her and rolled onto his back, arms and legs open wide. “You want to touch me, go ahead.”

She considered it a moment, then in a pouty voice said, “No.”

“Come on, Hallie,” he coaxed, reaching for her hand and pulling it to his chest.

“No.”

“Okay. Then I’ll touch you.” He raised up and reached for her, then rolled back again, lifting her on top of him. She tried to wriggle away, which caused an immediate and intriguing reaction in him, so with a womanly smile, she did it again.

Since he was being so agreeable, she took him up on his offer and spent some time exploring his body. Having a man in her bed was one of the things she missed about being married—the different textures of his body, the contrasts to her own body, even the simple sound of his breathing. Even when there was no sex, there was still intimacy, and she missed that with all her heart.

By the time she’d satisfied her curiosity, she’d aroused him to the point that his breathing was rapid, his voice guttural. “No more play. Come here.”

She thought about refusing, at least for a while, but knew she didn’t have the willpower, because all that touching, kissing and caressing that had aroused him had had the same effect on her. She was hot and achy, and she needed him, please, just once more.

She knew the moment she took him inside her that neither of them were going to last long, and she was right. The duration was short, the intensity killing.

Long after it was over, she found the strength to lift herself away from him. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, then bonelessly sank down to lie beside him.

She wasn’t sure exactly when she fell asleep—right away, she thought—but it seemed like mere minutes until he was shaking her awake. “Hallie?”

“Hmm.” She blindly reached for him and realized he was dressed again. She forced her eyes open and saw that the lamp nearest the door was on and he was, indeed, dressed and ready to go. She felt a twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t going to stick around to wake up, maybe get some breakfast, maybe make love again. Next time—

She cut off that thought the instant it formed. There wasn’t likely to be a next time. She’d already gotten so much more than she’d expected when she approached him in the bar Thursday night. She should be grateful for it and not hoping for even more.

“I’ve got to get home.”

“Oh.” She raised up on one arm, then shoved her hair from her face. She imagined she looked pretty darn scary without makeup, her hair standing on end and after only a few hours sleep. “Okay.”

At least he was telling her. She’d awakened Friday morning to cold sheets and nothing to suggest that he’d even been there besides her incredible sense of satisfaction.

As she scooted to sit up with the sheet tucked under her arms, he sat down next to her. Looking seriously intense, he threaded his fingers through her hair, tilted her head back and simply looked at her. When moments passed and he didn’t say anything, she smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”

His mouth twitched as if he might smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. “It was my pleasure.”

Releasing her, he stood up and crossed to the door in three strides. He glanced back at her and finally did smile, just a little.

And then he was gone.

Sunday was just like every other Sunday in Brady’s life for the past fourteen years—long and empty. He worked his usual every-other-weekend shift, did his usual chores and still had plenty of time to brood. Every time he’d left the sheriff’s department, it had taken all the determination he could muster to stop himself from driving through the motel parking lot to see if the California Mercedes was gone.

Too bad he hadn’t had that much strength last night.

He’d never been proud of the women-and-sex aspect of his life, but this time he felt particularly despicable. If he could learn how to live without occasional sex, female companionship or human contact, he would. Hell, if he could learn to open up to a woman, he would do that, too. But life had taught him a few lessons too well ever to forget them, the first of which was that the safest way to live was alone.

Even if alone was sometimes pretty damn miserable.

So damn miserable this time that he was grateful to see Monday and what promised to be a long, busy work week roll around.

He hadn’t had any experience in law enforcement when he’d walked into the department and applied for a deputy’s job over six years ago. He’d been hired in part because the salary was so low most people couldn’t afford to work there, but also because Reese had been willing to take a chance on him. He’d been surprised by how much he liked the job and by how good he was at it. He’d advanced quickly to undersheriff, and wouldn’t likely go any higher. The only job left to aspire to was sheriff, and Reese wasn’t going anywhere. But that was all right. Work was one aspect of his life that he wouldn’t change if he could.

After a morning spent on the paperwork Jace had warned him about, he picked up his Stetson from the filing cabinet and stopped by the dispatcher’s desk. “I’m going to lunch, Wilda.”

She waved her hand idly without looking up from her magazine. She was a good dispatcher and was less likely to miss work than any other department employee besides him, but she wasn’t the friendliest of people. Some of the deputies complained, but it suited him just fine.

He left the department, located on the first floor of the Canyon County Courthouse, and stood for a moment in the shade of an old oak. Buffalo Plains was a nice town—not big enough ever to get crowded, but large enough to provide everything a person needed. If there was something you absolutely couldn’t find, Tulsa was only an hour to the east, Oklahoma City about the same distance to the southwest. In six years, he’d made fewer than a half dozen trips to Tulsa and none to OKC.

After crossing the park alongside the courthouse, he walked half a block east to the sandwich shop. Eating alone in a restaurant was one of the hardest things he’d had to learn to do after his marriage ended. Even now, it didn’t come easily. Most days he went to the Dairy King for a burger and fries, and on really slow days he’d go home. Today, though, a quick sandwich seemed best.

He got a roast beef sandwich, a bag of chips and a soft drink, then headed for an empty table. Just as he set his tray down, he happened to glance at the woman sitting by herself at the next table, and for a moment he froze.

Hallie Madison gazed back at him. After a moment, she waggled her fingers in a wave.

“What are you doing here?” he asked brusquely.

“Having lunch.”

“You were supposed to go home yesterday.”

She shook her head. “My mother and my sisters left yesterday. I’m staying awhile.”

“How long?”

Wariness slipped into her expression. “Do you want to have this conversation from over there, or would you like to join me?”

It was a toss-up, he admitted sourly. He damn sure didn’t want the other diners to listen in, but he also didn’t want to share her table, not when he wasn’t sure he could look her in the eye. But he picked up the tray and moved it to her table, then slid onto the bench opposite her. First thing he did was bump her feet, then bang his knee on the table’s center leg.

“How long?” he asked again once he was settled.

“At least three weeks. I’m overseeing the construction on Neely and Reese’s house.”

Three weeks. Damn. He never would have gone near her or her motel Saturday night if he’d known that. He’d thought she was leaving. He’d thought he wouldn’t see her again. He’d thought…

His jaw tightened. He’d thought he would take what he wanted from her, then say goodbye and forget her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“When did you ask?”

She had him there. He’d known the other Madisons were leaving Sunday, and he’d assumed she was, too. That was his mistake, not hers.

She finished the last of her chips and stuffed her trash into the bag, then set it aside and rested her arms on the tabletop. “Look, Brady, you’re apparently concerned that I might expect something from you. I don’t. What we did…that’s all it was. Two nights. Nothing more. I imagine in a town like this, it will be impossible to avoid each other entirely, but we can try. If we fail and you do run into me, don’t feel you have to acknowledge me. I don’t expect that, either.”

She looked so cool, but her hazel eyes were a little too bright, the muscle in her jaw clenched a little too tight. Picking up her purse, she slid across the seat to leave, but he extended his leg, blocking her way.

“Don’t go. I didn’t mean— I just thought—”

When he didn’t go on, she finished for him. “That you would never have to see me again. I’m not yet as experienced at one-night stands as you are, but I do understand how they work. No strings, no commitment, no nothing once the night is over.”

It was illogical as hell, but he took offense at her assumption that he had some vast experience at sleeping with strangers, and he took even more offense at her use of the word yet. She was implying that one day she would be as experienced as he was—an idea that made his gut tighten. As if it were any of his business.

“It’s just that seeing you took me by surprise.” And he didn’t like surprises—never had. Most of his security came from controlling as much of his life as possible, probably because he hadn’t had any control to speak of until after his divorce. His job wasn’t predictable, but everything else in his life was, and he liked it that way.

Hallie was still poised to leave, stopped only by his size-twelve boot blocking her exit. He wished she would relax and stop looking at him as if he were the last person she wanted to see—which was only fair, since he’d made her feel as if she were the last person he wanted to see. “Sit with me while I eat,” he said, trying to sound friendly but doubtful he succeeded. “Please.”

After a moment, she moved back to the center of the bench and laid her purse aside. She sipped from her drink, then folded her arms across her chest. “Are you aware everyone in here is watching us?”

He didn’t bother to look. He could feel the curious stares. “I imagine they’re surprised.”

“By what?”

“The fact that you’re sitting here and we’re talking.” He scraped a pile of lettuce from his sandwich, then took a bite.

“People don’t sit with you?”

“Generally not. I don’t exactly invite friendly overtures.”

“Oh, gee, now there’s a surprise,” she said with a delicate little sniff, and then she simply watched him. Figuring turnabout was fair play, he fixed his own gaze on her. Her blond hair was pulled back in a fancy braid, and she wore a sleeveless yellow sweater with white shorts and sandals. Even so casually dressed, she looked like money, and a lot of it. Her nails were manicured and painted a deep rose, and her only jewelry was a wristwatch and earrings…and a stud nestled in her navel. He hadn’t seen it—had only felt it in the dark—so he didn’t know exactly what it was.

Besides sexy.

How many other men knew that about her?

An ex-husband or two. Probably a few others. She hadn’t said he was her only one-night stand.

“Tell me about your divorce,” he said as he picked up the second half of his sandwich.

“I got the house, the Mercedes and a nice cash settlement. He kept his fabulous career and got the girlfriend and all the friends.”

What girlfriend? he wanted to ask. At the moment he couldn’t imagine the woman a man would pick over her. “I guess I made the wrong request. Tell me about the marriage.”

“Which one?”

I’m a three-time loser, she’d said at the reception Saturday night, with more than a little bitter mocking. “The most recent one.”

After a moment’s silence, she shrugged. “His name was Max Parker. He’s a film producer. We were married four years and were—I thought—happily in love. But at my birthday party last winter, I went looking for him and found him boffing the star of his last movie. He needed someone who could arouse his passion, he said—someone who was…oh, gee, how did he put it?” She pretended to think, then scowled. “Oh, yeah. Someone who wasn’t as old as me.”

He thought about the things he could say. I’m sorry. That must have hurt. The guy’s a bastard. You’re better off without him. He settled for something a little less sympathetic. “You look pretty damn good for an old broad.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, her hazel eyes opened wide. Then slowly a smile curved the corners of her mouth, and he felt the first real warmth from her since he’d left her bed before dawn Sunday. “Thank you,” she said. Uncrossing her arms from her chest, she settled more comfortably on the bench. “What about yours?”

Now that she’d relaxed, Brady grew stiff, stilled in the act of gathering the sandwich wrapper and lettuce shreds. Turnabout was fair play, remember? But weren’t there limits to how many old habits a man could be expected to break all at once? He’d been in Reese’s wedding, had attended the party afterward, had turned his one night with Hallie into two and was sitting with her now in full view of anyone who cared to look. Every one of those things was new for him.

And keeping his past in the past—and private—was old. The oldest habit he had.

But she was waiting quietly, patiently, and for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“That’s a deep, dark secret around here,” he said at last.

“How deep? How dark?”

As she’d done, he pretended to need a moment to think about it. “Well, you’re the only person in Oklahoma who even knows I was married.”

“Of course, Neely and Reese aren’t in Oklahoma right—” She broke off when he shook his head. “They don’t know?”

He shook his head again.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“That’s a good question.” She’d been looking a little blue, her mother and Neely had trampled on her feelings, and she’d looked so wounded. He’d wanted… To let her know she wasn’t the only one who’d failed? That he understood at least something of what she felt?

“What happened?”

He had never discussed his marriage or his divorce with anyone—not once in fourteen years. There had been one oblique conversation with Reese a while back, but he hadn’t said enough to give away any of the facts. There was no reason why he should break his silence now, and no reason at all why he should break it with this woman.

But when he opened his mouth to say so, the wrong words came out. “Her name was Sandra. We were married three years, until I found out she was—” How had Hallie put it? “—boffing half the guys in town.”

“So we both married people with exquisitely bad taste,” she remarked.

“Looks like.” He glanced at his watch. He got an hour for lunch, but he usually took less than half that. Today, for the first time he could recall, he wasn’t anxious to get back to work.

“Will you be staying at Neely’s apartment while they’re gone?”

“She offered, but I’d rather not. It would feel intrusive.” She fiddled with her drinking straw for a moment, then gave him a direct look. “I understand you were there the night Reese’s house got shot up.”

He nodded.

“Neely says you saved her life.”

“She’s got it backward. She and Reese saved my life.”

Hallie knew better. Neely didn’t get things turned around. She was the best darn lawyer in this part of the country, and she always had her facts straight. She hadn’t offered a lot of details about that night in June—being the oldest sister and mother hen, she felt it was her responsibility to protect the younger ones from anything that might worry them—but she’d told them enough to know it was terrifying.

Eddie Forbes, a criminal Neely had sent to prison when she was working as a prosecutor in Kansas City, had sworn revenge on her, and when he got out, he put out a contract on her life. One of the men trying to cash in on it had shot Reese, and a whole gang of them, including Forbes himself, had tracked them to Reese’s house in Heartbreak.

It was at that point Neely’s details had gotten a little fuzzy. All Hallie knew for sure was that Brady had gone to the house to help them, that he’d been willing to die to save Neely and that the house had been shot all to hell. Seven of the bad guys had died that night, including Forbes, shot by Neely herself.

Even weeks later in the middle of a hot, sunny day, the mere thought sent a shudder of revulsion through Hallie. God forbid, if she ever found herself in a similar situation, she hoped she would be as courageous as her sister.

“However it went,” she said, “you have the undying gratitude of the Madison family.”

A faint blush turned his cheeks crimson, and he shrugged awkwardly. “I was just doing my job.”

Right. And if she believed that, no doubt he’d have some fine swampland to offer, too.

Casting about for something to keep the conversation going, she seized one of the more mundane questions new acquaintances always asked. “Where are you from? Or is that another of your deep, dark secrets?”

“Not so deep or so dark, but…yeah. Only Reese knows that one.” He looked as if he wanted to drop it there, then took a breath and answered. “A dusty little town west of Dallas.”

“A Texan. Well, that explains a lot.” She softened the words with a smile. “Contrary to the opinions of every Texan I’ve ever met, being from Texas isn’t such a big deal.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. I left when I could, and I’ve never been back.”

“After the divorce?”

He nodded.

“So I take it you didn’t have any kids.”

A bitter look came across his face, and underneath the black mustache, his mouth thinned in a flat line. “No.”

“Me, neither.” That had been one of the issues in both her second and last marriages. She wanted kids—sometimes wanted them so badly her heart ached with it—and neither husband had been willing. Oh, Max had told her before the wedding sure, they would have all the babies she wanted, but after…. The time had never been right. Their lives were too busy. A baby wouldn’t fit into their lifestyle. He didn’t want the bother. Finally he’d quit making excuses and had told her straight out—no kids, not while she was married to him.

Which side of the question had Brady come down on? Had he wanted a little boy to play football with or a delicate little girl to pamper and protect? Or did he consider children a nuisance that would interfere with his own pleasures?

“What are your plans for this afternoon?” he asked.

“I’m driving over to Heartbreak to meet the contractor at the house. His name’s Dane Watson. Do you know him?”

“I know who he is. He’s a good builder. Honest. And single.”

She gave him a dry look. The only man in the entire state of Oklahoma—heck, in the entire world—whose marital status mattered to her was sitting across from her. It didn’t matter how desperate she was or how handsome and sexy he was, she would not sleep with a married man.

He checked his watch again, and Hallie politely asked, “Am I keeping you from something?”

“Nope.”

“Well…” She hoped her sigh didn’t sound as regretful to him as it did to her. “I should probably go. It’s a bit of a drive to Heartbreak.”

“Yeah, and the penalty for speeding around here can be pretty stiff.”

It was a simple observation, and she was in a sorry state when the first interpretation to pop into her mind was lascivious, if not downright dirty. Now it was her own cheeks turning pink as she stood up, then slung her purse strap over one shoulder. She reached for her trash, but he picked it up first, threw it away, then followed her out the door.

“Where are you parked?” he asked as they stood on the sidewalk under the blistering sun.

“Across from the courthouse. Where are you headed?”

“Same direction.”

She looked in store windows as they walked, but more often than not, her attention was on Brady’s reflection rather than the merchandise. “I can’t wait for the chance to go prowling through all these antique stores. I love neat old stuff.”

“Some of these places would be better labeled junk stores,” he warned.

She smiled up at him. “That’s the best kind.”

At the end of the block, they turned the corner, then stopped beside her car in the first parking space. She opened the door to let the heat radiate out, bent inside to start the engine and turn the air conditioner on high, then faced him again. “Can I say I enjoyed talking to you without scaring you into thinking I want something?”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“There’s not a man alive who can’t be flat-out terrified by the right woman.” Feeling cooler air coming out of her car, she tossed her purse into the passenger seat, then looked back at him. “Anyway, I did enjoy it, and that’s a reference only to the conversation we had today, nothing more. Like I said earlier, I don’t have any expectations.”

He studied her a moment before adjusting the cowboy hat lower over his eyes. “Maybe you should,” he said in a gravelly voice, then started off. At the edge of the street, he glanced back. “See you around.”

She watched until he’d disappeared inside the courthouse, then gave a shake of her head. She didn’t understand men, not for one minute, and she swore she was going to learn to live without them—except, of course, for the occasional temporary lover. But every feminine instinct she possessed suggested that was going to be a much harder proposition here in Buffalo Plains than it would have been in Beverly Hills.

And for that, she could thank Brady Marshall.

Climbing into her car, she backed out of the space, circled halfway around the block and headed south to Heartbreak. It was twenty miles of rolling hills and heavily wooded areas interspersed with pastures that didn’t appear to have anything left to feed the cattle and horses they held. She passed neat farmhouses, occasional trailers, more than a few shabby little places and one particularly ostentatious house just outside Heartbreak.

Heartbreak was not the town she imagined Neely spending the rest of her life in. It lacked the charm of Buffalo Plains, as well as most of the amenities. Downtown filled all of three blocks, and it was all shabby. She passed the Heartbreak Café—Café Shay, Neely called it, after its owner, Shay Rafferty. That was the place you went to find out what was going on in the town, the state and the world. Neely had also told Hallie about the doctor’s office across the street, where Heartbreak’s midwife practiced, who would someday deliver Neely’s babies, and she’d mentioned the hardware store up ahead, owned by Grace James and her husband, Ethan.

Truth was, Neely talked about the place as if she loved it and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Hallie had never loved any of the cities where she’d lived. In fact, at the moment, she had no clue where she was going to live when she left Oklahoma. She hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted out of California until last week, when she’d driven across the state line into Arizona. The terrain hadn’t changed one bit—desert was desert no matter which state it belonged to—but her outlook had. In a matter of seconds, the tension knotting her shoulders had eased, and so had the tight, panicky feeling that had settled in her chest six months earlier and never gone away. Her fingers had loosened their grip on the steering wheel, and she’d sunk a little more easily into the seat.

She’d thought then that she might never go back, not even to pack the rest of her things and sell her house.

She just didn’t have a clue where she would go.

Following the directions Neely had given her, she soon came to a mailbox marked Barnett. She turned into the gravel drive, passed through a heavy stand of blackjack oaks, then pulled into a clearing that wasn’t particularly clear.

A fresh, raw area on the right side of the drive showed where Reese’s house had stood. For the first few weeks after the assault, he and Neely had intended simply to repair, replace and clean up, then move back into the house. When they realized they kept putting off the simple jobs that would make that possible, they decided to raze it and start over from scratch.

Hallie didn’t blame them as she pulled onto the grass beside a half-dozen pickups. All the clean-ups in the world couldn’t make a person forget that people had died there. It would be too creepy to share the house with those memories.

On both sides of the house was pasture, and out back was a huge old barn. Next time she came out, she would have to bring her camera and get some shots of both the barn and the horses outside it.

Across the driveway from the old house site was the new house. Work was progressing rapidly—a good thing, since Neely had already issued invitations to everyone in both the Madison and the Barnett families for Thanksgiving dinner. Hallie found her way inside, got a wolf whistle from a carpenter and another from an electrician—so there, Max—and found Dane Watson in the master bedroom.

Good, honest and single, Brady had said. He’d forgotten to mention tall, muscular and handsome, with surfer-boy blond hair, blue eyes and the biggest dimples Hallie had seen. He looked her over with obvious appreciation, and when they shook hands, he held her hand far longer than he should have…and Hallie didn’t feel a thing. He was gorgeous, funny, charming, and made her feel like the best part of his day, and all she could think was that she liked him, but that was the extent of it.

She felt a tremendous sense of relief when she left the site two hours later. Maybe she really was building up an immunity to men. Maybe, before long, she wouldn’t pay them any more notice than she would the lovely purple-blooming crape myrtle over in the side yard or the Irish setter, gleaming deep mahogany, in the shade of a tree across the street. Pretty objects to be appreciated, then forgotten.

Unbidden, the image of Brady Marshall popped into her mind and burst her bubble. When he’d walked into the sandwich shop, she had gotten the oddest quivery sensation all through her torso—not just butterflies, but butterflies doing acrobatics. Her palms had gotten damp, and she hadn’t been able to decide between sliding onto the floor under the table or making a quick dash for the door while he was facing the counter.

Maybe she was building up an immunity to men.

But apparently Brady Marshall was the exception to the rule.

She was afraid she would have to be dead to be immune to him.

Chapter 3

By the time Brady left the courthouse Monday evening, the sun hung low in the western sky. There was little traffic and no activity as he walked to his department SUV in the lot out back. All the shops and businesses downtown were closed by six o’clock, except on Thursdays, when most stores stayed open an extra two hours. The rest of the week, any money spent in Buffalo Plains at night was spent on food, alcohol, gasoline or at the small Wal-Mart on the edge of town.

Before heading home, he drove by the county maintenance facility in the north part of town and filled up his gas tank. It wouldn’t do to get called out on an emergency in the middle of the night and find out the gas tank was empty.

That done, he started home…and made it as far as the stop-light in front of the courthouse. It was red, and he stopped, wondering idly what he could fix for dinner that wouldn’t take long, paying little attention to the music on the radio, when something—he couldn’t even say what—caught his attention and made him look to his left.

There in front of the First National Bank of Buffalo Plains, fiddling with a camera and a tripod, was Hallie Madison. I imagine in a town like this, it will be impossible to avoid each other entirely, she’d said at lunch. No kidding. He wondered why that was. In spite of the town’s size, he rarely had any problem avoiding people, so why was she any different?

Maybe because she’d been on his mind ever since he’d seen her at the wedding.

Checking the rearview mirror and finding the street clear, he backed up far enough to pull into a parking space, then climbed out. When he crossed the street, Hallie was bent slightly, making adjustments to the camera. He kept his distance and remained silent until she straightened and took a step back.

“What are you doing?”

She automatically smiled when she saw him. “Taking a picture of the courthouse in the setting sun. You’re a master at asking the obvious, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I get paid the big bucks for,” he said dryly.

“Oh, so is this an official interrogation?” She stood straighter and raised her hands in the air. “I’m not doing anything wrong… What’s your official title?”

“Undersheriff.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gee, I believe I’ll stick with deputy. I swear, Deputy Marshall— Isn’t that cute? Did you ever notice—”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get it right this time. I swear, Deputy Marshall, I’m not doing anything wrong, and I don’t have any weapons, drugs or contraband. You can search me if you like.”

One innocent, playacting sentence, and it changed the whole tenor of the evening. It was still hot and muggy, but now the air seemed to crackle all around them. Brady felt the strong pull of desire deep in his belly, as if he hadn’t just spent practically two entire nights with this woman. He was finding it difficult to breathe, or think, or to find words to give voice to—especially when the only words he wanted to say were, yes, I like.

Slowly, her gaze locked with his, she lowered her arms, then laced her fingers together. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Damn,” he murmured. “And here you got my hopes up.” And that wasn’t all.

For a moment she looked uncertain, as if she wasn’t entirely sure he was teasing—fair enough, since he wasn’t either. Then she started fussing with the camera again. “If you work this late every day, you need a raise,” she remarked, her tone a shade too cheerful.

“Every deputy in the state of Oklahoma needs a raise.”

“Not a job you’ll get rich doing, huh?”

“Not if you’re honest.”

“And you are.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if there could be no doubt.

“As the day is long.” Coming a few feet closer, he gestured toward the camera. “Isn’t it too dark to be taking pictures?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing. For a time I worked as a photographer—did portraits, weddings, publicity photos. That’s how I met Max. I did a portrait of his sister’s kids, and we became friends—sort of—and she introduced us.”

It appeared most of her friends in California had been sort-of friends, since at lunch, she said Max had gotten them all in the divorce. That couldn’t have been fun. “Then you married the big Hollywood producer and…took up a life of leisure?”

“And photography became a hobby that interfered with my obligations as Mrs. Max Parker.” She leaned back against the bank building and gazed at the courthouse. “It’s impressive, isn’t it? Looks as if it’s been there forever.”

He moved to stand a few feet from her and studied the building where he worked. It was built of native stone and stood three stories tall, with arched windows spaced equidistantly on all four sides. Carved into the stone above the main entrance was the date it was built. Eighty-two years old, he calculated, and still looking as solid as when it was new.

“What brought you to Buffalo Plains?”

With the heat seeping from the bank’s stone facade into his back, Brady slowly turned his head to look at her. “How is it Neely’s the lawyer when you’re the one full of questions?”

She laughed. “Neely’s the lawyer because she’s the smart one.”

“Uh-huh.” He’d heard that before. “And what are you?”

For a long time she continued to gaze at the courthouse, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing the building. After a while, she shook her head, making her braid swing, then laughed again, though far less convincingly this time. “I’m the screwup. The dumb one, the ditzy one, the one who doesn’t know the meaning of the word commitment.”

His jaw tightening, Brady looked away. His impulse was to disagree with her, to insist that her family didn’t see her in those terms, but he wasn’t sure he would be telling the truth.

Her eyes too bright, she bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Made you uncomfortable, didn’t I?”

“No. I was just thinking that a better label for you is probably the misunderstood one.” And he knew how it felt to be misunderstood.

Without giving her time to respond, he went on. “After the divorce, I wanted to be anywhere but Texas. First I headed out to New Mexico, then into Colorado, and about six years ago I wound up in Buffalo Plains. I got a job, I liked it and was good at it, and I stayed. It only took me eight years to find a place I could stay.”

“Sheesh, I hope I have better luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not staying in Beverly Hills. I’m going to sell the house and find someplace where I can belong. What do I need with ten acres of lawn and gardens, seven bedrooms, a dining room that seats thirty, a screening room that seats fifty and two guest houses?”

“That’s not a house. It’s a mansion.”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I never liked it anyway. Max picked it out, and his interior designer decorated it. All I got to do was live in it.”

“If you didn’t like it, why didn’t you let him have it in the divorce?” He’d been more than happy to walk away from the house he’d built for Sandra. If he’d kept it after the divorce, he would have burned it to the ground, then left the rubble there so he would never forget.

By then the sun had set enough that the streetlights were on. In their artificial glow, he could make out the sheepish expression on her face. “The bimbo wanted it, and I— She’d already taken my husband. There was no way I was going to let her have my house, too.”

“Does the bimbo have a name?” He hadn’t set foot in a movie theater in longer than he could remember, but his satellite system delivered more channels of movies than a reasonable person could watch. Since he spent the bulk of his free time alone, he watched a lot.

“Lilah Grant.”

He gave a low whistle.

“I see you’re familiar with her,” Hallie said, her voice so dry it could suck the humidity out of the air. “She wears a size two—which also happens to be her IQ, by the way—and she’s got less acting talent than that post over there, but she never met a nude scene she didn’t love. And, no, they’re not real. Those are the best triple-D breasts money can buy.”

Earlier he hadn’t been able to imagine the woman a man would pick over Hallie. Even knowing, he couldn’t see it. The starving waif look had never appealed to him, not even with the big boobs. He liked women who looked like women, who had curves where they should, who had a little softness to them.

“So did you know when you married him that he was an idiot, or did you find that out later?”

Pushing away from the wall, she disconnected the camera from the tripod, returned it to its bag, then expertly folded the tripod and slid it through a loop on the bag. When she was done, she faced him. “You’re a nice man, Brady.”

Her words struck that place deep inside him that was always frozen and hard, and made his muscles clench and tighten. “No, Hallie,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”

She shrugged as if his disagreement meant nothing. “You see yourself your way, and I’ll see you my way.” Then… “I guess I’ll head back to the motel.”

She’d gone a few yards before he could bring himself to move. “Hey, where’s your car?”

“Back at the motel. I walked.”

“Let me give you a ride.”

She turned around, her head tilted to one side. “I understand Buffalo Plains is about as safe as a town can get.”

“It is, but there’s no reason to tempt fate.” Which was exactly what he was doing. If he took her back to the motel, would he insist on seeing her to her door? Would he stop there?

He honestly didn’t know.

After a moment’s consideration, she nodded and returned to him. He automatically reached for the camera bag and was surprised by its weight. “What have you got in here?”

“Just the essentials. I’d be happy to take it back if you can’t handle it.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t forget—I’m the one with the gun and the handcuffs.”

“Yeah, and I’m the one whose favorite sister is married to your boss.”

And he kept managing to forget that.

He directed her to his truck around the corner, then put her bag in the back seat. “Have you had dinner?” he asked when he settled in the driver’s seat.

“I had a chili dog at the drive-in across the street from the motel.”

“You like to live dangerously, don’t you?”

“I’ve been doing that ever since I set foot in this town,” she said quietly.

They drove the nine blocks to the motel in silence. How many times had he gone to a motel with a woman he hardly knew? And yet it felt strange this time. Maybe because he already knew to pull around back and park next to the Mercedes.

Or maybe because this time he wanted like hell to go inside with her…but not as much as he wanted to say good-night in the parking lot.

He shut off the engine, and for the space of a few heartbeats, they both sat there. Brady was looking at the window of the room in front of them, and he could tell by nothing more than feeling that she was looking elsewhere, too.

As the cool air inside the SUV was replaced with warmer, damper air, she opened the door. He did the same. She led the way up the stairs, and he followed…but only as far as the top landing. She had covered half the twenty-foot distance to her room before realizing that he’d stopped. Turning back, she smiled uneasily. “Would you like to come in?”

“Very much.”

“But you’re not going to.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

Because it would be wrong—more so than the first time, not as much as the second, but still wrong. Because, in spite of her assurances, he wasn’t sure what her expectations were. Hell, he wasn’t sure what his expectations were. Because they were a great match for a one-night stand, but neither of them brought much hope to the success of anything more.

And because he liked her, honestly liked her, and though he didn’t know what he wanted from her, he did know one thing for sure—he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d gotten enough of that for a lifetime.

She smiled faintly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that. I’ve got plenty of answers to choose from.” Coming back, she held out her hand, and he gave her the camera bag. “Thank you for the ride home.”

He nodded, then watched until she’d unlocked her room. “Hallie?”

She glanced at him.

“I’d like to see your pictures sometime.”

“Sure.” Once again she started to go inside, and once again he stopped her.

“You want to have lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. Should I meet you at the courthouse?”

“That would be good. Around noon?”

“Okay. Good night.” She went inside and closed the door. Even from that distance, he heard the lock click.

As he started down the stairs, he swore silently. He couldn’t believe he’d found himself twenty-five feet from a bed and a beautiful and willing woman, and he was walking away. Sure, it was the safe choice, but how much was he going to hate himself a few hours from now, when he was alone in bed and unable to sleep?

Not as much as if he’d taken advantage of her again.

Hallie Madison was the most wrong person for him in all of Oklahoma. She was vulnerable and lonely and needed more than he’d ever been able to give.

But he wasn’t going to hurt her. He swore to God he wouldn’t.

He just wished he could be as sure that he wasn’t going to get hurt, either.

Hallie loved old furniture—not antiques, necessarily. Just old. Pieces that people had lived with, that showed the marks and scars of use. Anticipating lunch with Brady far more than was safe, she went downtown more than an hour early on Tuesday and spent the time wandering through antique stores on the block across from the courthouse. She’d bought a couple of pitchers in the first store—one glazed green and brown, the other beige and brown. Oklahoma-made, the elderly woman behind the counter had declared, at Frankoma Pottery over to Sapulpa.

Hallie didn’t care where they came from. She liked the lines, the colors, the weight in her hand.

Now, in the third store, she was eyeing an oak dining table. It was wide and long, big enough for six without the leaves, eight or ten with. It looked as solid in its own way as the courthouse did, as if it had already seated generations of hungry farmers and would continue to do so for generations to come. It could become her very own heirloom, passed down through the family for years to come.

Of course, first she would have to have a family, and the odds of that were somewhere between slim and none.

Still, it was a lovely piece, and came with eight equally sturdy ladder-back chairs, and it was such a tremendous change from the elegant and huge table in her dining room at home.

With a sigh, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“Having trouble deciding?” The clerk slid into a chair opposite her. “What’s the drawback? The price? The size? Afraid it won’t fit in your dining room?”

“I don’t actually have a dining room yet. Well, I do, but I’m getting ready to sell that house and everything in it.”

“Someplace around here?”

Hallie shook her head. “In California. Beverly Hills.”

“Oh.” The woman gave her an appraising look, then laughed. “Don’t worry. The price is the same no matter where you come from—well, except maybe Texas. Then we might have to add a surcharge to cover your ego.”

With a laugh, Hallie extended her hand. “I’m Hallie Madison.”

“Stella Clark.” The woman leaned across to shake hands, then sat back again. “Are you just passing through?”

“Not exactly. I’ll be here a few weeks—until my sister comes back from her honeymoon.”

“Oh, you’re Reese’s new sister-in-law. We’re all so happy to see him married. You know, his daddy and mama just got married themselves the week before his wedding.”

“Yes, Neely mentioned that.” Reese’s mother had been the love of Del Barnett’s life, but she’d never stayed around long, and every time she left him, she’d left their son behind, too. Initially, Reese had been disinclined to welcome her into the family—and considering the way she’d abandoned him, who could blame him? But he’d come around before the wedding. Almost getting killed could make a person rethink the grudges he was holding.

“So,” Stella said. “No ring on your finger. Does that mean you’re single, or are you just too liberated to wear one?”

“I’m…single.” Hallie smiled to cover her guilt. It wasn’t exactly a lie. As Brady had pointed out Saturday night, the difference between single and divorced wasn’t enough to count—at least, not always.

“Well, now, we have a fair number of single men in town—some really fine-looking ones. Let me think…”

“I appreciate it,” Hallie said quickly, “but I’m not going to be here long, and I’m really not interested in a relationship.” Except for the one she had going with Brady…sort of.

Rubbing her finger along the grain of the table, she asked, “I don’t suppose you know of any houses for rent around here, do you? Just for a month or two?”

“You staying at your sister’s apartment?”

“No, the motel. I didn’t want…” She shrugged.

Stella grinned. “After my husband died, I lived with my daughter and her husband for a while. Believe me, I understand. A body’s got to have her own space sometimes, and the right to change it even if she doesn’t. Let me see.” Pursing her lips, she tapped one finger against them for a moment. “Of course, there’s the apartments where your sister lives—”

“No vacancies.” Hallie had called that morning, when she’d decided she didn’t want to spend three weeks in a room where she couldn’t walk barefooted for fear of sticking to the carpet.

“Yeah, there usually aren’t. You know, Marlene Tucker’s mother-in-law passed on a few weeks ago. Doctor said she died of heart failure. Well, of course she did! She was a hundred and one years old! Her poor old heart just wore out. Let me call Marlene and see what they’re planning to do with her house.”

While she went to the desk in the back of the shop, Hallie began wandering around. She was looking at some serving platters that matched the pitchers she’d bought when a Greyhound bus pulled to a stop in front of the store and opened its door.

The driver got off first, followed by a passenger. Scowling as if angry with the world, the teenage girl stepped up onto the sidewalk and waited while the driver retrieved her bag from the luggage compartment—one dirty army surplus duffel bag. With a battered backpack slung over one shoulder and the duffel bag leaning against her, she took a long look around.

When she noticed Hallie in the shop window looking at her, she made an obscene gesture. Hallie was tempted to stick out her tongue, poke her thumbs in her ears and waggle her fingers at the girl, but she restrained herself. Barely.

“Lord, would you look at that?” Stella made a clucking sound.

“What about her?”

“That hair. Those clothes. All them earrings.” Then she chuckled. “I forgot I’m talking to Miss Beverly Hills. I bet you see weirdos like that all the time out there in California, don’t you?”

“There are some strange people out there.” She glanced again at the girl, who was walking away. Purple-haired, clothes that were one breath away from indecent, combat boots with a mini-skirt—that was nothing in Los Angeles.

It stood out in Buffalo Plains.

“I talked to Marlene, and she said they haven’t decided what to do with the house yet, but you’d be welcome to rent it for a while. Here’s her number. Give her a call anytime you want to go look at it.”

“Thanks, Stella. Do you happen to know where it is?”

“Oh, it’s easy to find. When you go out of town south on Main, the last street you’ll come to is Cedar, and the Tucker place is the first house on the left after that. It’s white, neat as a button—and, of course, the mailbox out front says Tucker.” With another grin, Stella planted her hands on her hips.

“So…what did you decide about that oak table?”

“Can you hold it for me?”

“Sure can.”

“Then I’ll take it. And these, too.” She picked up several platters, then followed Stella to the checkout counter. A few minutes later, she was walking out the door, her platters in a bag and a Sold sign planted in the middle of her table.

She took the bag to her car and locked it in the trunk, then checked her watch. She still had a few minutes before she was supposed to meet Brady. Time enough for a quick walk through one more store.

Then lunch. With Brady. A part of her felt almost as giddy as a teenager going on her first date, but this wasn’t a date. A date would have been dinner, picking her up at the motel, taking her back there—or to his house—when it was over.

This was just lunch. Between friends. Innocent.

Exactly what she wanted, she assured herself.

The little voice inside her head didn’t agree, whispering a childhood taunt.

Liar, liar, pants on fire….

After a morning on patrol, Brady parked in his reserved space behind the courthouse, entered through the back door, then went into the sheriff’s department and headed for his office. He was almost there when the dispatcher stopped him.

“Someone to see you, Brady.”

He glanced at the cramped space set aside for a lobby, where the dispatcher gestured, expecting to see Hallie, a few minutes early for their lunch. The only one there, though, was a teenage girl. Though there was something vaguely familiar about her, he was sure they’d never met. Purple hair was hard to forget.

So were enough holes in her ears to make the wind whistle through. There was a gold bar and chain through her right eyebrow, a stud through her nostril and another in her navel, around which a circle in what appeared to be a Celtic design was tattooed. He didn’t even want to think about where else she might be mutilated.

He backtracked a few steps in her direction. “Can I help you?” he asked brusquely.

She was sprawled on one of the molded plastic chairs, her long legs stretching halfway across the room. Her boots were clunky, black and scuffed, her skirt was too short and rode low on her hips, and her lace top had been too small a year ago. A pair of headphones dangled around her neck, she wore way too much makeup, and her expression was 100-percent whiny adolescent pout.

Her insolent gaze started at his feet and moved up. By the time it reached his face, she’d curled one lip in complete disdain. “You Brady Marshall?”

“Yes.”

“A cop. Jeez, what a loser.” She stood up, her thin body looking like a stick figure unfolding. She was about five foot ten—not a bad height for a young woman. Not a great one for a barely-a-teenager girl. “Well, there’s my stuff.” With a hand that bore rings on every finger, she pointed in the direction of a duffel bag. “Let’s get out of here.”

Clomping on the wood floor, she got as far as the door before realizing that he wasn’t following. “We-ell?”

“Who are you?”

She clomped back to stand in front of him and sneered.

“Don’t you recognize me? Why, I’m your own little girl, and I’ve come to stay with you.”

Behind the counter, a clipboard clattered to the floor, and over by the coffeemaker, someone muttered, “What the—” Brady didn’t look at either eavesdropper. He didn’t take his gaze from the girl.

He never thought of himself as a father, not even as having been a father for a few short months. Even though he’d paid child support without fail for the past fourteen years, it was testament only to how desperately he’d wanted out of the marriage. Sandra had wanted money, and he’d agreed to give it in exchange for a quick divorce and escape to go off and lick his wounds.

Even after she’d admitted to sleeping with any man who was willing.

Even after she’d taunted him with the fact that he wasn’t the father of her little girl.

Even after she’d stripped him of even the slightest hope that the baby whose birth he’d been awaiting so anxiously could possibly be his.

He studied her, trying to reconcile this tall, skinny, odd-looking child with the tiny, cuddly baby he’d fed, rocked to sleep and changed diapers for. That baby had smiled sweetly and cooed whenever she saw him, and she’d clung to his finger every time he’d held her.

This one…

This one was waiting for some sort of response from him. So was everyone else in the squad room.

He moved a few steps closer to her. “What’s your name?”

“Les Marshall.” Then she rolled her eyes as if he were making unreasonable demands. “Alessandra Leigh Marshall. Can we go now?”

See? Sandra had explained, still woozy from giving birth. Sandra, Alessandra. Her pretty little girl could be named after her and yet still have her own name. Wasn’t she clever?

Cleverer than he’d been.

He glanced around at the curious faces in the squad room. No one even tried to pretend that they weren’t openly listening, and he couldn’t blame them. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Hallie he had deep, dark secrets. He’d worked with these people for more than six years, and this was the first any of them had heard of a marriage, a divorce or Texas.

Or a daughter.

“Tell me something,” he said, gesturing from her spiked purple hair all the way down to her combat boots. “Are you making a fashion statement, or do you just enjoy making your mother squirm?”

The question took her by surprise. She blinked, then sneered, “That’s none of your business.”

Which meant she was making her mother squirm. Brady couldn’t begin to imagine how intensely Sandra hated her daughter’s look. She was the vainest, trendiest, most appearance-conscious woman he’d ever known, and it must have killed her every time Les walked into her line of sight.

Aware that everyone was still watching, he gestured toward the door. “Let’s discuss this outside.”

He hustled her out the door into the courthouse lobby, then outside. On the east side of the building, the lawn stretched across half a block, with sidewalks leading to park benches and war memorials. In cooler weather, retired old men and other folks with time on their hands often filled the benches, but thanks to the day’s heat, they were the only ones there.

He stopped in the dappled shade of a large oak. There was a breeze blowing, but all it did was rustle the leaves. It didn’t provide any cooling. “So you’re Sandra Whitfield’s daughter.”

With a put-upon sigh, she ticked off names on her fingers. “Actually, Sandra Whitfield Marshall Davis Thompson Valdez Napier. For the moment.”

So Sandra had five marriages and four divorces behind her. Of course, she wasn’t looking for a husband, a family or any of the usual stuff. She wanted money, security, an easy life. She was a beautiful woman and thought nothing of trading on her beauty to fulfill her goals. Even if it did make her little more than a very-high-priced hooker.

“And you’re my father,” Les went on. “Like it or not.”

She sounded pretty sure of herself—almost as sure as Sandra had been that he wasn’t. She’d had no doubts, and she’d left none for him.

Obviously, Sandra had lied—either to him or to Les. The question was, which one?

“Where is your mother?”

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she shrugged and leaned back against the tree. “Right after she put me on the bus to come here, she headed south of the border for her annual summer spa treatment. She won’t be back for a week…or two or three—though she promised she’d get home before school starts again. Until then, you’re stuck with me.”

Brady gazed across the park to a familiar little silver-blue convertible. For fourteen years his life had gone exactly the way he wanted it—no trouble, no entanglements, no complications—and he’d been perfectly…well, not happy, but satisfied with it. Then Hallie Madison had sat down at his table in the bar, and all his quiet loneliness and satisfaction had been shot to hell. And now this. Which gods had he pissed off lately?

“What about your stepfather?”

“Which one?”

“The current one.” His voice sounded testy, and he made a conscious effort to control it. “Is he home?”

“Yeah…but you can’t send me back there to him. Adam never lets me stay when Sandra’s out of town. He married her in spite of my presence in her life.”

“What about your grandparents?”

“You mean Jim and Rita? Your parents? You’d send me to stay with those grandparents?”

Brady’s jaw tightened until his teeth hurt. He wouldn’t let Jim and Rita Marshall have temporary custody of an angry copperhead. A copperhead’s venom had nothing on theirs.

“Then your mother’s parents.”

“He died years ago, and we don’t see Sandra’s mother. She’s poor, you know.”

Sandra had been, too, dirt poor, until she’d seduced her way into some money. And he’d made it so easy for her. She’d smiled at him, touched him, and he’d been a goner. Even when she’d told him the truth—about the baby, her affairs, her only reason for marrying him—he hadn’t wanted to believe her. He’d told himself she was lying, just trying to hurt him.

She’d succeeded, with her truths as well as her lies.

And if it turned out that her insistence that he wasn’t her baby’s father had been just one more of her lies, if she’d deliberately kept him away from his daughter for fourteen years, he swore he would make her so damn sorry she would never get over it.

“Listen—”

Les interrupted. “Sandra said you always made excuses for not ever wanting me to visit, but this time it ain’t gonna work. She’s gone, I’m here, and for a couple weeks, at least, there’s nothing you can do about it.” Her grin was mocking. “You can’t even turn me over to the cops because you are the cops.”

“I don’t even have an extra bedroom.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor. Better make some arrangements.”

Was he actually considering taking her into his home? he wondered, more than a little panicked, then answered himself immediately. What choice did he have? He was the only person in the entire state of Oklahoma with any sort of ties to her. It would only be until he could get hold of her mother or her stepfather and make arrangements to return her to Texas. Besides, if she was his daughter….

That muscle in his jaw clenched again. “How can I get in touch with Sandra?”

“You can’t. I told you, she’s on her annual keep-me-beautiful spa retreat.”

“Spas have telephones.”

She smiled her mother’s smug smile. “Not this one. No telephones, no televisions, no e-mail or faxes. Just days of pampering.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Look, it’s hot, I’m hungry, and I’d like to get cleaned up. Traveling by bus sucks big time. Let’s get outta here.”

He removed his hat and dragged his fingers through his hair, then glanced at the courthouse. Four faces hastily ducked out of sight at the sheriff’s department windows. He couldn’t even get angry with them for being curious. “I’m meeting someone for lunch. After we eat, I’ll…uh…”

He didn’t want to leave her alone for the afternoon in his house. He didn’t have much that was really private there, and the most important of those items was locked up in the gun cabinet in his bedroom. Still, he didn’t know this kid. He didn’t have a clue how much of a problem child she really was. He could come home and find the place cleaned out, trashed or burned to the ground.

The answer to this problem—possibly—came out of A Moment in Thyme across the street, stopped at the Mercedes, then crossed into the park. She smiled when she saw him, then the smile slowly faded as she noticed Les.

“Hi, Brady,” she greeted him when she reached them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all. Hallie Madison, this is Les…Marshall.”

Les gave Hallie a bored look, then grunted a greeting. Hallie looked at her, then back at him. “And Les is your…?”

He figured she was hoping he would say sister, niece or cousin. He wished he could, but truth was, he couldn’t say anything.

After a moment of awkward silence, Les sarcastically said, “He has trouble saying the word—which isn’t surprising since he hasn’t been around for fourteen years to practice. I’m his daughter, and I’ve come for a visit.”

That surprised Hallie. Her hazel eyes widened, and her delicately arched brows arched even higher. Brady had no doubt she was remembering that just twenty-four hours ago, he’d told her he didn’t have any kids. And now here one stood, in the all-too-bizarre flesh.

But almost immediately Hallie smiled, a bright practiced smile that could have fooled any one of her sisters but not him, and she offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Les.”

Grudgingly, the kid shook her hand, then pulled back right away.

“This is quite a surprise,” Hallie went on. “If you need to cancel lunch, Brady, I understand—”

“No. Les is hungry, too. There’s a place a block away called the SteakOut. We can go there.”

“A cop eating at a place called the SteakOut?” Les rolled her eyes dramatically. “How…small-town.”

Brady scowled at her, then pointed north. “It’s that way, if you don’t mind walking.”

As they started toward the intersection, he glanced at the department windows again, and saw even more faces pressed up against them. First they found out he apparently had a daughter no one knew about from a marriage no one knew about, and now he was meeting the sheriff’s new sister-in-law for lunch. He was going to be the subject of gossip so intense it would probably get back to Reese and Neely all the way down in the Caribbean.

He really did have the damnedest luck.

Chapter 4

The SteakOut was the perfect ranch-country steakhouse, Hallie thought as they followed the hostess to a table. The walls were paneled with what looked like old barn siding, and the chandeliers were made from wagon wheels. Various brands hung on the walls, along with other cowboy stuff—lassos, horseshoes and blankets, a few rodeo champion belt buckles. The food smelled wonderful, making her realize how hungry she was, but apparently it wasn’t enough to distract the other diners from them.

“Damn, all these hicks look like they’ve never seen a kid before,” Les muttered.

“More likely, they’ve never seen a kid with him—” Hallie nodded toward Brady, who looked as if he’d rather be staked to an anthill under the desert sun “—who wasn’t in handcuffs.”

And they probably hadn’t seen him in here with a woman before, either. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time he’d been in the place.

“Yeah, well, if they don’t quit staring, I’m gonna—”

“What?” Hallie asked. “Give ’em something to stare at?”

Les looked at her belligerently for a time before letting a smile slowly form. “This isn’t the worst I can get, you know.”

“I know. I was your age once, too.”

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”

Hallie returned the smile. “Not so long that I couldn’t wrestle you to the ground and tickle you till you pee your pants.”

On her left, sitting at the head of the table, Brady cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. Hallie exchanged looks with Les, then said, “I believe your father wants us to be quiet.”

“You be quiet. I gotta go to the bathroom.” Les pushed her chair back, then headed back toward the entrance.

As soon as she was gone, Hallie’s smile faded. Now that the surprise was wearing off, she knew it was silly, but she felt betrayed. She’d thought she and Brady were building some sort of friendship—thought they had some kind of connection that they lacked with most other people. He’d shared his secrets with her, for heaven’s sake.

They probably hadn’t been secrets at all. Probably everyone in town knew everything about him, and he’d just lied to her.

Lied.

The man who’d told her he was as honest as the day was long, and she’d believed him.

“Listen, Hallie…”

Jaw clamped shut, she glanced at him. She wouldn’t make it easy for him by asking questions or responding in any way. Let him get the explanation out all on his own.

“This is as big a surprise to me as anyone else.”

Her resolution to stay quiet did a quick poof! into thin air.

“You just happened to forget that your marriage to your ex-wife produced a daughter?”

His mouth thinned. “No, of course not. But…she’s not my daughter. At least, that’s what I always believed.”

“And why would you believe that? Because it was easier than being a part of her life? Because then you could go off to New Mexico and Colorado and Oklahoma and do what you wanted and never have to deal with her?”

His eyes turned cold and hard, as if they’d been chipped from a chunk of frozen sky. “I believed it because her mother swore it was true. I told you Sandra had a lot of affairs. She was convinced that one of her boyfriends was Les’s father, not me. That’s when I ended the marriage.”

“But Les uses your name. She believes you’re her father.”

“I know. Apparently, Sandra lied to one of us.” A scowl settled over his features. “I don’t think Les knows why I haven’t been around for fourteen years, and if she doesn’t, I’d rather not tell her.”

Of course not. What would it do to the mother-daughter relationship if he said, Hey, kid, you haven’t had a father in your life because your mother drove him away? Though judging from the way Les looked, Hallie wasn’t sure there was much of a mother-daughter relationship to damage.

“I didn’t lie to you, Hallie. When you asked me if I had any kids, I honestly thought the answer was no.” He reached back to rub his neck as if it ached. “Even now I don’t know…”

“But you’re going to let her stay.”

“For a while. What else can I do?”

He could put her on a southbound bus, or drag her onto an airplane, or simply call her mother and demand that she come and get her. He could even turn her over to social services. After all, a man had no obligations to his ex-wife’s child.

But if she was his child, too…

“I, uh…I can’t get off early today,” he went on, his gaze fixed somewhere around her hands, resting on the tabletop. “Reese is gone, and one of the deputies called in sick today, so we’re shorthanded. I was wondering…if maybe you could…” He drew a deep breath, then met her gaze. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

She smiled a bit. “There’s no shame in asking favors. Everyone needs help from time to time.”

“Not me.”

“Ha. You need help right now, and the reason is on her way back here.” She didn’t need to look to know that Les was returning from the bathroom. The central focus of virtually every diner’s attention was enough to tell her.

In a rush, Brady blurted out, “Will you keep an eye on her this afternoon?”

“See? That wasn’t so bad.” She watched as Les circled the next table, then pulled out her chair. “I’d be happy to.”

“Redneck goobers,” Les said as she sat down. “They should keep their looks to theirselves.”

“Aw, come on, Les,” Hallie gently chided. “If you didn’t want people to look at you, you wouldn’t dress in a manner guaranteed to make them look.”

The kid gave her a scornful look, then scanned the menu. “Jeez, did I forget to mention that I’m a vegetarian? And you bring me to a freakin’ steakhouse? Don’t you know what red meat does to your body? To say nothing of the fact that consuming animal flesh goes against the laws of nature.”

“Animals eat animals in the wild,” Brady muttered.

“Some of them even eat their young,” Hallie said with a teasing smile. “What kind of vegetarian are you? Vegan? Ovo, lacto or lacto-ovo?”

Les’s expression turned suspicious. “What do you know about vegetarians?”

“Honey, I live in California, where I used to give parties for hundreds of people with menus that allowed for every dietary restriction you could possibly think of.”

“I’m lacto-ovo. I eat ice cream. And cheese. And ranch dressing.”

“So you could have a salad, a baked potato, some veggies and dessert.”

“Yeah, I could.” Les looked from her to Brady. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Hallie looked at him, too, curious about the answer he would give.

His cheeks flushed just a little under his dark skin, and he answered with a frown, “We’re…friends.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

His flush turned to a deep crimson blush, and he opened his mouth twice without getting any words out.

“If he is,” Hallie said, “it’s none of your business. In fact, if he isn’t, it’s none of your business.”

“I bet he isn’t. Sandra says he’s dreadfully lacking in social skills. She says he never had a clue how to make a woman happy.”

And Sandra was a deceitful, scheming, lying witch, Hallie thought snidely.

The waitress took their orders while dividing her surreptitious looks between the three of them, then returned almost immediately with drinks and salads. When the silence had dragged on interminably, Hallie nudged Brady under the table, then nodded slightly toward Les.

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