Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

“Don’t forget to come by my place tomorrow,” Tag told her at the front door.

“Uh, right. What time would you like me?”

I’d like you in the morning, in the afternoon and all night long. “If you come in the afternoon you could stay for dinner and experience one of my famous barbecued burgers.”

“Stay for dinner?” Linda nervously bit down on her lower lip.

“I think you’ll like Samantha,” Tag said in a casual tone.

Linda relaxed considerably. When he’d said dinner, she had immediately envisioned a cozy dinner for two. But his little girl would be there, and he certainly wasn’t going to try anything in front of her.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “Want me to bring anything? A salad, maybe?”

“Just bring yourself.” Tag reached out and gently moved a straying tendril of her long hair from her cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone. Almost starry-eyed, Linda closed the door and made sure it was locked. Tag Kingsley was pure dynamite.

But maybe it was time she walked through a minefield.

Moon Over Montana

Jackie Merritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE MERRITT

is still writing, just not with the speed and constancy of years past. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long, warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

The students and teachers at the Rumor High School were looking forward to the end of the school year, some more than others. Art teacher Linda Fioretti was more inclined to look ahead to the new school year rather than rejoice in the completion of this year’s curriculum.

But then, Linda had only been a teacher for a short time—living in Rumor that same duration and loving her new job. Having been born and raised in the Los Angeles area, this was Linda’s first experience with the slower pace of a small town and she was amazed by how quickly she had adapted. Of course, liking the pretty little town and the people she had met created a sound foundation for contentment.

She had established a comfortable routine, Linda decided while feeding her dog one sunny Saturday morning. Did she really want almost three months of total freedom from routine? Driving around the country and setting up her easel in places that took her fancy held much appeal, granted. But recently—Rumor’s influence, undoubtedly—she’d been discovering things about herself that she hadn’t known before. Maybe she was even less like her oddball parents than she’d always believed. Considering her unusual upbringing, it was a simple matter for Linda to assume that Vandyne and Hilly Vareck, her mother and father, had absolutely no conception of the word routine, if they even knew it was part of the English language. Certainly routines weren’t something they had put into practice in her presence.

“There you are, Tippy,” Linda said as she set his bowl of dry food on the old newspaper on the floor of the tiny laundry room in her apartment. She returned to the two-stool counter in her small kitchen, sat on one and picked up her cup of coffee. She still had three weeks to prepare for the end of the school year, as well as the science fair she’d organized with the science teacher and local inventor Guy Cantrell. Plenty of time to decide how she would spend the summer.

She was just beginning to relax and read the front page of the Rumor Mill, the town’s newspaper, when someone rapped on her front door.

Tippy came tearing out of the laundry room, food forgotten, barking and sliding around corners in his haste to reach the front door and save Linda from whatever monster was daring to make noise just beyond the door.

“Tippy, calm down,” Linda said. “Sit,” she told the little white dog, which he did, but with a watchful, suspicious eye on the door.

Linda peered through the peephole and saw a man she hadn’t yet met. He looked innocent enough, not at all like the characters that had recently called on her and then practically run for the street, mumbling something about having the wrong address when she opened the door. She’d been amused the first time it happened because the man had been wearing a perfectly ghastly-looking toupee. The second time it occurred she wondered if she should alert the law about the man dressed as an overweight woman who had just knocked on her door.

But hadn’t she laughed herself silly at the way he had hastily limped away in huge high heels? Where on earth did a man find shoes like that? Anyhow, she’d decided the guy was probably the town’s one eccentric and that she really shouldn’t cause trouble for someone so obviously a cookie or two short of a full box. She certainly hadn’t felt threatened by him or his penchant for knocking on strangers’ doors, after all. At any rate, she hadn’t alerted anyone. The sheriff would probably have laughed it off anyway.

When the normal-looking man on her doorstep knocked again, Linda opened the door and said “Yes?” in a polite but questioning manner.

“I’m here.”

Another eccentric? Good grief! Linda suddenly wasn’t so polite. “So you are,” she said dryly. “Would it be too much trouble for you to explain why you’re here?”

“No trouble at all. You’re next on my list.”

How many nutcases lived in Rumor? Linda asked herself with an inner sigh. This one was awfully cute with his longish dark hair and twinkling hazel eyes. Very tall—over six feet, Linda was sure—and lanky. And he had the most incredible mouth—sensual lips—and an adorable grin. But precisely what list had he placed her on? Should she be worried?

No, she wasn’t afraid. This good-looking guy had to be a salesman. She started to shut the door. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Didn’t Heck tell you I was going to be here today to get started on the renovations to your apartment?”

Heck Sommers managed the building, the man from whom she’d rented her cozy and rather unusual two-story apartment. The two bedrooms were on the second floor. One had a tiny wood balcony, just big enough for a couple of chairs, and the other had a skylight. Linda had signed the lease immediately, envisioning warm summer evenings on that little balcony. Plus, the bedroom with the skylight made a perfect studio.

Heck had mentioned some building renovations when she’d first rented, but she’d put the whole thing from her mind. Besides, she liked her apartment just fine, and she had turned it into a cozy little home for her and Tippy.

“I don’t need you to do anything in here, but thanks,” she said, and again tried to shut the door.

“Look, my name is Tag. Call Heck for confirmation if you wish, but I have a contract to do some work in this apartment and I’m supposed to start today.”

“Good idea,” Linda snapped, getting impatient with this guy, cute or not. “And I am going to shut the door while I make that call, so let go of it!”

“Fine.” Grinning, Tag stepped back.

Linda slammed the door shut and made sure it was locked. She went to the phone and dialed Heck’s number. When he answered she got right to the point.

“This is Linda Fioretti. There’s some guy named Tag at my front door who says he has a contract to destroy all the improvements I’ve made in my apartment. Does he? Do I have to let him in?”

“Now, Linda,” Heck said in a voice that Linda found annoyingly obsequious; Heck Sommers wasn’t even slightly servile in person, and he was putting on a big act to soothe her ruffled feathers. After all, teacher or not, she was still just a woman. Sexist attitudes really fried Linda, but she let Heck finish without interruption. “Tag has a contract to do renovations to the whole building. He’s a darn good carpenter and painter, and I’m sure he isn’t going to destroy any of your improvements.” Heck was suddenly his normal gruff-speaking self. “Which, by the way, consist of what? Your lease clearly states no painting or wallpapering without owner approval.”

Oh, for crying out loud! “Believe me, I haven’t challenged or compromised the terms of the lease in any way. All I’ve done is hang a few pictures and…oh, forget it. I’ll let him in. Goodbye.”

Linda returned to the front door and jerked it open. “Come on in,” she drawled. “Make yourself at home, which for some reason I’m certain you fully intended to do.”

Tag had been told that a single lady lived in this apartment, and now that he’d seen her he deemed that information to be good news because she was just about the prettiest woman he’d ever met face-to-face. He was especially taken with her long blond hair and gorgeous green eyes, although the rest of her was just as noteworthy.

He held out his hand. “Tag Kingsley.”

Linda didn’t want to shake his hand. She touched it tentatively and said, “Linda Fioretti.” Drawing back quickly, she asked, “So what are your marching orders? How much mess am I going to have to contend with?”

Tippy yapped, which Linda knew was a bid for attention. Obviously, the little dog didn’t sense danger from Tag, and if the nice man wasn’t dangerous he was a friend.

“Tippy, Tippy,” she said with a sigh that labeled her best buddy a traitor.

Chuckling, Tag bent down and petted the dog’s head. “So you’re Tippy,” he said. “Well, maybe your mistress will let me bring you doggy treats next time I come by.”

“No, she won’t,” Linda said, getting more put out by the minute. “I would appreciate knowing what you intend doing to my apartment.”

Tag stood again. “I’m going to check the woodwork and paint in each room, for starters.” He took out a small spiral notebook and pen. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“How about Siberia?”

“Very funny.” With a crooked grin curling his lips, Tag walked away from her and went into the kitchen.

Linda stewed for a moment then followed. He had the nerve to look into her cupboards! Every one of them, even the one under the sink.

“You’re a good housekeeper,” Tag remarked, making some notes in the spiral. He went on to the adjoining laundry room, checked it out and made more notes.

Linda followed him into the living room, stood in the hall while he inspected the first-floor powder room and then up the stairs into the bedroom she used as a bedroom. Then there was the main bathroom and finally her studio.

“Hey, you’re an artist,” Tag said, visibly impressed by the canvases he could see around the room.

“Big deal,” Linda muttered.

“It is a big deal.” Tag squatted to better see the detail in a painting leaning against a wall. It depicted a crowded-street scene. “This is terrific. You didn’t use Rumor as a model for this one,” he said with a laugh.

“Of course not.”

“Is this oil or acrylic?”

“You actually know there’s a difference?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tag stood and, eyes twinkling, looked at her. “Imagine that,” he drawled good-naturedly. “So, what’s on the easel? May I take a look?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I never know if I’ll finish anything until it’s actually…finished. Some pieces start out good and then inspiration sort of dribbles away to nothing.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I’ve started dozens of projects in my shop through the years that ended up on the scrap heap. Of course, being good wood to begin with, I keep every piece. Never know when something I’m working on will require one more length of mahogany, or redwood or teak, or…well, you get my drift.”

“I’m not sure I do. What kind of projects do you work on in your shop?”

“Oh, tables and things. I’m a carpenter.”

The light dawned. “Oh, you have a carpentry shop. Then home renovation isn’t your only job.”

Tag grinned. “It’s not even my second job. I don’t consider anything I do a job.”

“But it’s how you make your living, isn’t it? What is carpentry to you if not a job?”

“A passion. After my daughter, carpentry is the most important part of my life.”

Surprisingly, Linda’s stomach sank; he was married. “You have a daughter. How old is she?”

“Five. My wife died when Samantha was still a baby.”

“Oh! I’m…very sorry.”

“Thanks.” He looked around the room. “These walls could use a coat of paint. Could you spare the room for one day? Actually, it’s a small area and I could probably do it in half a day.” He swung around to see Linda again. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one with the contract. What do you think?”

“I really hate the thought of me causing a blip in the progress of great art.”

“Oh, come on. This is hardly great art.”

“Looks pretty great to me.”

“Oh, sure, like it should be hanging in the National Gallery.”

“Maybe it should. Maybe it will. Someday.” Damn, she was pretty. How long had it been since he’d been instantly attracted to a woman? Had he ever been instantly attracted to a woman? Wasn’t this some kind of first for him? “Do you sell your paintings?”

“I’ve sold some, yes, but not since I moved to Rumor.”

“Where, then?”

“In Los Angeles. My parents are both artists, quite well-known in the L.A. area.” Linda felt her face color. Why on earth was she running off at the mouth with a man she’d just met? She never volunteered information about her past, her life-before-Rumor, so to speak. Was her divorce anyone’s business? Her unusual childhood?

“When did you move here?” Tag asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around town, and I’m sure I would have noticed.”

Linda’s pulse quickened. He was flirting with her! He’d been flirting from the moment he stepped through her door. “If you hung around the high school, you would have seen me. I teach there,” she said, cursing her inability to put an end to this question-and-answer session. Yes, she’d been as guilty of curiosity about him as he was about her, but this was all extremely foreign territory for her and it might be safer to nip it in the bud.

Tag’s face lit up. “You’re the new art teacher! I’ve heard about you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve only lived here a short while, but it didn’t take long to discover that very little goes on in Rumor that doesn’t spread with the speed of light.”

“Rumor’s a typical small town, Linda. People gossip, sure, but it’s still a great place to live.”

She actually felt a thrill go up her spine when he said her name. It occurred to her to ask him to call her Ms. Fioretti, just as she had told her students to do.

But how childish would that be? Just because she was feeling giddy over a good-looking guy, experiencing physical sensations she’d only been equipped to imagine before this, didn’t mean she should turn prim and proper and forbid him to use her given name.

“I take it you’ve never lived anywhere else?” she said, definitely not speaking her mind.

“Rumor’s always been home and probably always will be. You know, I live on this same street, other side of Main. You should drop in sometime and see what I’ve got to offer.”

“Wha—what?”

Tag chuckled. “Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I was referring to the finished pieces of furniture in my shop.”

Linda’s face was flaming. “Oh…I see. Well, are you through in here?” She began sidling toward the door.

Tag wrote something in his notebook and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “My inspection is over. Now all I need to do is discuss what needs to be done and set up a work schedule convenient to yours.”

“You need a discussion. I see. All right, let’s take care of that in the kitchen.”

“Anyplace is fine.” Tag followed her down the stairs and to the kitchen. He’d spotted the almost full pot of coffee his first time in there, and it smelled awfully good. He could ask for some, but he would rather that Linda offer it.

The newspaper and a single cup were on the counter in front of one stool, so he went to the other and waited for her to sit first.

She did, then he did. He took out his spiral again and began flipping through it. Automatically, so it seemed, Linda reached for her cup and realized the coffee in it was cold. She sighed inwardly. She couldn’t get coffee for herself without offering some to Tag.

Oh, what the hay. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, sliding from the stool. “I’m getting myself some.”

Tag smiled. “I would love some. Thanks.”

My Lord, this guy’s smile could melt solid steel! Feeling clumsy but managing to fill two cups without knocking anything over or spilling coffee, she brought them to the counter.

“There you are,” she said. “Do you need milk? I don’t have any cream. Or sugar?”

“Nope. Black is perfect. Thanks.” Tag picked up his cup and sipped. “You make good coffee.” He had the strongest feeling that Linda did everything well. It was a thought that went straight to his groin, and he instantly sent his brain in another direction.

“Um, the whole apartment could use a coat of paint,” he said. “And some of the woodwork needs refinishing. But I shouldn’t be in your hair for more than four, five days.”

“Beginning when?”

“I’d like to start today, if you can put up with me.”

“And you’d start in which room?”

Tag looked around the kitchen. “This room will take more time than any other. I’d like to get it done first.”

“You already have the paint and other materials you would need?”

“Every apartment in this building is painted the same shade of white, so I’m ready to go, yes. Unless you want a different color, which I’m sure you know has to be approved beforehand.”

“Heck was kind enough to remind me of that clause in my lease,” Linda said dryly. “I do prefer more color on certain walls, but this apartment is very small and decorator colors would have to be carefully planned so it wouldn’t appear even smaller. Maybe I’ll do something about the walls later on—with approval, of course—but for the time being white is fine.”

“You’re still not completely settled in, are you?”

“What gave you that idea?”

“The stacks of taped boxes in the closet of the room you’re using for your artwork.”

“Those boxes contain books. I don’t have anywhere to put them. I shopped for bookshelves in Billings, but this apartment doesn’t have a lot of available wall space and everything I found was too wide. Tall is fine. I can use tall, but I need some very unusual widths. Anyhow, I can’t unpack my books until I figure out what to do with them.”

“I can build bookshelves in any width,” Tag stated.

Linda slowly turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her, as well, and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. He liked her. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. What’s more, she liked him. It surprised her that she actually knew she liked him. Never before had she formed an opinion that seemed so ironclad about a man this fast. Of course, there’d only been one man in her life, the one she had married…and divorced. The word divorced went around and around in her head, and she was struck by an impulse to tell Tag about it. And about her screwball childhood, as well, her peculiar parents and the untraditional way they’d brought her up. Dragged her up was more like it, for they had unquestionably lived the typical bohemian artist’s life. They hadn’t believed in babysitters, so wherever they’d gone, so had she. She had fallen asleep on many a strange sofa back then, a tiny little girl dressed like a doll and treated as one, as well. Treated as a plaything rather than as a living, breathing child that needed regular meals and bedtimes.

But maybe another time, she told herself. Liking a man at first sight didn’t—or probably shouldn’t—include an immediate baring of one’s soul.

“If you came by the shop and saw my work for yourself, you might feel good about ordering some custom-made bookshelves from me,” Tag said quietly, though his blood had started running hot and fast in his veins. Her eyes were stunningly beautiful, the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. A man could get lost in Linda’s eyes, he thought, and wouldn’t he just love to twine his fingers into her glorious mane of hair.

“I…I suppose I could do that,” she stammered huskily. “One day when you’re there instead of here. You’d have to let me know.”

“I never work away from home on Sunday. Come by tomorrow.”

So soon? Just so she could stop looking into his eyes without making her retreat blatantly obvious, she glanced at her cup before raising it to her lips. “I might be able to do that,” she murmured.

“Are Sundays busy days for you?”

“Well, there’s church…and next week’s classes to plan…and student work to look over.”

“Yes,” Tag said solemnly. “I can see how those things could take up an entire day. But maybe you could squeeze out fifteen or twenty minutes to see me? I should say to check out my work. You wouldn’t be stopping in just to see me, after all.”

Linda cleared her throat. He was the biggest flirt she’d ever met. But he was also the nicest flirt she’d ever met. And he was so cute. For some reason, telling herself that Tag’s brand of good looks meant zilch in real-life situations wasn’t doing a bit of good—she still felt breathless sitting this close to him and listening to his line of hooey.

But that was the bottom-line problem. She liked his line of hooey.

“Will you try to make it?” Tag asked quietly, boring a hole in her with his penetrating gaze.

She flicked a glance at him and immediately looked away. “Yes, I’ll try.”

“Great!” Tag picked up his coffee and took a swallow. “So is it all right if I start working in here today?”

“How can I say no?”

“You can always say no, Linda,” Tag said softly.

A frisson of sensual awareness traveled down Linda’s spine, giving her a tiny shiver. His voice did that to her, she realized, and when he combined it with sexual innuendo, the result was even more intense. Not that she couldn’t stop this…this thing building between them from growing too huge to control. At least she was pretty certain that she could. But did she really want to stop it? She had never felt so womanly before, so warm and fuzzy and tingly because of a man. And being a voracious reader, she knew that women should feel something during lovemaking. Although she’d never told a soul, she never had.

“All right,” she said without looking directly at Tag. “You can start today.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” Getting off his stool, Tag bent over and planted a brief kiss to her right cheek.

Shocked to speechlessness—no one had ever kissed her without provocation before, and she would swear that she had not invited any such familiarity—she sat there all the while he hauled in cans of paint, brushes, rollers, a tool chest and so many other items that she stared in amazement. Her kitchen floor was practically covered with the tools of his trade.

Shaking her head over the tornado called Tag—Tag who?—that had suddenly infiltrated her comfortable little world, she got off the stool and departed the kitchen. Tippy stayed. He had to sniff everything the nice man brought into his home, after all.

Chapter Two

Linda restlessly roamed her apartment. Every few minutes she heard Tag whistle a few bars of a song. Her Saturday was ruined, as far as she was concerned. Maybe she should be able to ignore having a man in her kitchen and go about her own business, but she just couldn’t seem to relax.

Finally, deciding to get out of there for a while, she ran upstairs, changed from her slacks and blouse to fleecy gray shorts and a comfy old top, put on her walking shoes and returned to the first floor. Wishing she kept Tippy’s leash anywhere but where it was, she took a big breath and headed for the kitchen with what she hoped was a look of irrevocable indifference on her face. Every time she’d thought of Tag’s brash kiss to her cheek, she’d suffered a hot flash. She didn’t like the confusion she felt over the incident, mostly caused by the fact that she hadn’t disliked the kiss. It had been rather sweet, actually.

“Pardon the interruption,” she said as she forced herself to enter her own kitchen. “But I need to get Tippy’s leash from the laundry room.”

Tag turned and looked at her, and her determined expression completely deserted her. He had such marvelous eyes, she thought, suddenly feeling a bit weak in the knees.

“You’re not an interruption.” Tag’s features softened into what Linda perceived as just about the nicest smile she’d ever seen on a guy’s face. “Drop in anytime,” he added. “I like the company.”

He was flirting again! Linda swallowed hard. “Oh, well, I…I just need the leash…for, uh, now.”

Tag nodded. “Sure thing. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.” Stepping around drop cloths and the other things with which Tag had all but filled her small kitchen, Linda went into the laundry room and came out with the leash. Tippy perked up his ears and began dancing around.

“Looks like he knows what that means,” Tag said with a laugh.

“Yes, he always gets excited when he sees his leash.”

“That’s an associative response. You taught him that without even trying. Did you raise him from a pup?”

Linda bent over to attach the leash to Tippy’s collar. “No, I’ve only had him since my move from California about two months ago.”

“Did you get him from the local vet?”

“I guess you could say I found him.”

“Or he found you. Well, he’s a lucky pooch. Looks to me like he got himself a good home.”

“He deserves to be treated well. I don’t think he was before I found him. He was begging for scraps of food at a place in Nevada where I stopped for gas. He was filthy, dirty and a pitiful sight, but he won me over the second I saw him. I talked to the only person around, a grouchy old man running the place who said that Tippy had been hanging around for a week, bothering customers and disturbing his thriving business. Believe me, the place wasn’t thriving. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I remember thinking that a nice little dog just might do wonders for that old guy’s nasty disposition. In any case, he didn’t want him, no one had come looking for him, and he told me to take him.”

“So you adopted him on the spot.”

“I had to. Look at that adorable little face and those trusting eyes. No way could I have driven away and told myself he would be all right on his own. He was hungry and frightened, and he probably wouldn’t have lived very long if I had left him there. I gave him a bath in my motel room when I stopped that night, and…well, you can see how white his coat is.”

“All except for that little patch of black on the tip of his tail.”

“After seeing that, could I call him anything else?”

“Nope. Tippy fits him to a tee.”

Linda was suddenly embarrassed over her unnecessarily detailed story. For one thing, her rambling had kept Tag from his work much longer than an abbreviated version of the story would have. For another, it wasn’t like her to make mountains out of molehills when relating a simple incident.

“I’m going now. See you later,” she said almost sternly, although any chastisement in her voice was for herself and her ridiculous urge to impress this man.

“I’ll be here,” Tag said cheerfully.

Tippy ran ahead of her to the front door. Pondering Tag’s extraordinary effect on her, Linda took Tippy outside.

At the street she automatically went to the left. In that direction State Street led to Lake Monet. It was only about three miles away, and Linda had been smitten by the pretty little lake on her first visit. The water level was lower than normal for June, people kept telling her, as the area had had very little snow last winter, followed by pathetic little rainfalls instead of the hard, drenching rains that spring usually delivered.

But even if the water was shallow in Lake Monet, Linda saw great beauty in the bulrushes, pussy willows and lily pads along its southern curve. There were also amazing light patterns and colors in the water itself, and she understood very well why some romantic had named the small body of water after the great artist Claude Monet. Still, her thoughts weren’t on art today, or the lake, and she only walked about a quarter of a mile when she turned around and went in the opposite direction. When she came to Main Street she crossed it and kept walking. Tippy was happy. He didn’t care where they went, as long as they were outside.

Linda had driven every street in Rumor, just to acquaint herself with the town. She knew where the businesses were located, and she could put together most of the people she’d met with their homes. But until today there had been no reason even to notice the striking, lightly varnished wooden house that sat on a large lot with a number of evergreen trees. The name on the mailbox read Taggart Kingsley, and while Linda slowed her steps so she could take a really good look at his home, Tag’s last name registered. He was a Kingsley!

But he was a carpenter—such an honest, basic, simple vocation—and why would one of the incredibly wealthy Kingsleys paint and renovate apartments?

Frowning, Linda pondered that puzzle and decided it made no sense. She’d heard about the Kingsleys. They were wealthy from decades of successful cattle ranching even before they’d created MonMart, which was a huge superstore on Kingsley Avenue that sold groceries, clothing, household goods, tools, garden supplies and almost anything else a Montana resident might need. MonMart was, by all accounts, extremely profitable. Gossip had it that many more MonMart stores were planned for Montana, and some predicted that the Kingsleys wouldn’t stop until the whole country was peppered with their stores.

But that image didn’t coincide with Linda’s impression of Tag. Could he be a shirttail relative of the more ambitious Kingsleys? Should she ask around and find out?

No, Linda thought vehemently. She was not going to pry into anyone’s affairs, family or otherwise. Everyone deserved some privacy, which, she had already been warned about several times, was difficult to preserve in this small town.

After another thirty minutes of walking, Linda turned around and headed for home. When she passed Tag’s place, though, she slowed down again, and this time she spotted the building in the trees that appeared to be his shop.

She admired his yard and from her present viewpoint was able to see the swing set in back, some scattered toys and what appeared to be a sandbox—all evidence of a child. Thinking of Tag’s personal life—widowed so young and with a little daughter to raise—Linda walked on.

Past his place, she picked up her pace. Inside her front door she freed Tippy from the leash and the dog ran for the kitchen yapping a “Hi, I’m back” for his new friend’s benefit. Linda hung the leash in the foyer closet and then started up the stairs for a quick shower. She hadn’t done any running, but she had walked fast and worked up a sweat. The day was warm, bordering on hot. According to longtime residents, it was much too hot and dry for this time of year. Actually, Linda thought the weather was just about perfect, but she knew that a lot of people, including the U.S. Forest Service, were concerned about the tinder-dry conditions throughout the area.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Tag say, “Linda, a friend of yours came by. A man.”

Linda turned. “A friend? Did he give you his name?”

“No, he didn’t.”

A frown appeared between Linda’s eyebrows. “Well, did you know him? I mean, was it someone from the school?”

“I never set eyes on the guy before today, but he walked in without knocking, so I figured you must know him very well.”

Linda’s jaw dropped. “He walked in? That’s impossible. I locked the door when I left and just now unlocked it to get in.” She held up her key for him to see.

“You had to unlock the door because I locked it after that guy took off.”

“Wait a minute.” Linda went back down the stairs and confronted Tag on the same level. “Listen to me. I locked the door when I left.”

“Then that guy must have a key.”

Linda’s voice became slightly shrill. “Nobody has a key!”

“Well, he got in, and he sure as the devil didn’t announce his visit with a knock. Linda, are you saying you don’t know this guy?”

Linda was breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. Who in Rumor would just walk into her apartment? Even if the door had been left unlocked.

“What did he look like?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.

Tag frowned. Was Linda scared of someone? Scared for a reason? “Like a fish out of water, to be honest,” he said slowly, watching her closely as he spoke. “When I heard him come in I thought you were back, but then I didn’t hear Tippy and something felt off-kilter. Anyhow, I came in here to see what was going on and the look on that guy’s face when he saw me was almost funny. He mumbled something about being in the wrong apartment and took off so fast he practically left skid marks. Kind of strange, don’t you think?”

“Yes…strange,” Linda murmured thoughtfully. Was she wrong about having locked the door? Could she recall with detailed certainty stepping outside, inserting the key in the lock and turning it? Try as she might, she couldn’t. It was possible that she hadn’t locked the door.

Which didn’t explain someone off the street taking a notion to just walk in.

“Maybe you should call the sheriff and file a report,” Tag suggested.

Linda mulled that over for a moment. “I don’t know. No harm was done.”

“Meaning you’d rather not involve the law. Why not, Linda? Is it because that guy could be someone you know?”

Tag’s suspicion rubbed her wrong. If she did have a male friend with a key to her apartment, it would really be none of Taggart Kingsley’s business.

“No, not because he could be someone I know,” Linda snapped with biting sarcasm, immediately regretting her feisty comeback. She liked Tag, and she didn’t want him thinking that she was morally loose, although to be perfectly honest she wasn’t sure what she would like him to think about her.

“Look,” she said in a more normal voice, “no one has a key to this place but me, and probably Heck. Since I like my doors locked, I assumed I had locked it when I left. Obviously I hadn’t.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Tag said, still frowning.

“Was the man short, tall or somewhere in between?”

“Around five-eight, I’d have to say. Kind of short for a man.”

“Considering your own height, five foot eight probably looks short to you. What color was his hair?”

“I think his hair was dark. No, you’d better scratch that. He was wearing a stocking cap and sunglasses. I couldn’t say with any certainty what color his hair or eyes were.”

Oh my God, was that another disguise? Was today’s visitor the same guy who came to my door twice before? Did he simply walk in today because I left the apartment unlocked? Is this something I should be concerned about?

For some reason, Linda couldn’t quite believe the poor sicko, whoever he was, was someone to fear. Twice she had opened the door for him and twice he’d immediately run away. If he had meant her any harm, it would already have happened. She just had to be more careful about locking the doors and windows, although the more she thought about it, the odder it all seemed. Did he want to rob her? She had some nice things, but a robbery in broad daylight in Rumor would not go unnoticed.

“Are you positive you’ve never seen him before?” she asked.

“I know everyone in town, Linda.”

“You didn’t know me. He could have recently moved here.”

“I suppose that could be true.” He could have reminded Linda that while he hadn’t actually met her until today, he’d heard about the great new art teacher from a number of sources. Strangers normally did not go unnoticed in Rumor.

Linda squared her shoulders. “He merely walked into the wrong apartment,” she told Tag. “When he saw you he realized his error and left. Let’s both forget it.”

Tag felt uneasy about the incident, particularly Linda’s cavalier attitude toward it. “Are you sure it should be forgotten?” This time he couldn’t resist warning her. “The guy’s a stranger, Linda.”

“So am I, Tag.”

“Not the same thing. You’re new to the area, but you immediately went to work as a high-school teacher. You’re a respectable member of the community.”

“Maybe he is, too. He might be from somewhere else and is in Rumor now to visit someone.”

“Or to walk into other people’s homes just because the front door isn’t locked. Hell, Linda, I leave my doors unlocked most of the time. So do a lot of other folks around here.”

“Well, they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t! Who can tell when some awful person might decide to walk in?” She realized what she’d just said at the same moment it registered with Tag. He grinned, and she grinned. “I think I’m losing it,” she said with a shake of her head, and headed up the stairs again.

Tag watched until she reached the second floor and went into her bedroom. He wasn’t completely comfortable with her attitude toward a stranger walking into her house, but he had to admire her spunk. She wasn’t a coward, that was certain. Of course, a woman living alone didn’t dare cringe in fright at every little thing. She’d drive herself batty if every noise and shadow scared her.

He liked Linda Fioretti, he thought again. He liked her more than any woman he’d ever known on such short acquaintance. She was a pleasure to look at, intelligent, independent and talented. Yes, really talented. Her paintings were incredible. Samantha might be a good artist someday. She loved to draw and color pictures. If she had a teacher who knew art the way Linda did…?

“That’s a darn good idea,” Tag said under his breath as, whistling and, pleased with himself, he returned to the kitchen and his bucket of paint.

The sun beating through the panels of glass of the telephone booth was so unbearable that Alfred Wallinski, aka Al Wallinski, aka Al Malone, had to leave the door open while he talked. Alfred’s favorite alias was Max Malone, just because it sounded tough and together and perfect for a guy with his natural abilities. He wouldn’t waste that great name on this crappy little job, though; he was saving it for the day when he’d finally made the grade and ranked as one of Paul Fioretti’s pals. It would happen very soon, Alfred was sure, if he could just finish up in this ungodly wilderness and get back to Los Angeles.

“Paul, I got into her apartment today, but there was a guy there and I had to beat a hasty retreat.”

“You’re always beating a hasty retreat,” Paul said disgustedly. “Alfred, if you can’t handle one simple little job, why don’t you just say so? I can’t believe you’ve been in that town for weeks and still don’t have the book. What in hell’s wrong with you? Was your mother a jackass? ’Cause you sure are.”

“Ma was no jackass,” Alfred said huffily, defending his mother’s honor. “And I ain’t either. I’ll get the book. You got no idea how crappy this town is. I can’t just up and leave my motel room whenever I feel like it. Someone’s always around, and when I finally do give everyone the slip and get near her apartment, there’re people there, too. I know every bush and tree on this damn street, ’cause I’ve hidden behind every one of ’em. And before you get too mad at me, answer me this. Have you ever come face-to-face with a bull or a bear on a dark night?”

“Oh, for hell’s sake. Don’t expect me to believe bears are wandering the streets of that town. Bears live in the woods.”

“What d’ya think is all around the place? Woods, Paul. Trees by the thousands. And a bull is just as bad as a bear, anyway. I’ve seen plenty of them.”

“You’ve probably seen milk cows, you dolt.”

“Well, what about those other animals, the deer and the moose? And those owls hooting in every tree after dark? I tell you, Paul, it’d scare you, too.”

“Don’t count on it. Listen to me. You get into my ex-wife’s apartment, find that little book with the brown cover and get your butt and the journal back here. I know she still has it because she would rather burn in hell than throw out a book. She probably unpacked her zillion books without even noticing that one, so it’s on a bookshelf somewhere in that apartment. Stop your damn sniveling about bears and owls and get the job done. I’m tired of your whining. I want results, and I want them now!”

“I’ll get the job done, Paul, I swear it.”

“See that you do. The next time you call, I had better hear that the journal is in your hands!”

“It will be.”

In his office at the back of his restaurant, Fioretti’s, Paul slammed down the receiver. He never should have trusted Alfred Wallinski with this job, which was even more crucial to Paul’s good health than he’d told the little worm before sending him off to Montana. That journal contained enough information about his illegal bookmaking ring that if it ever fell into the wrong hands and Paul’s partners got wind of it, he’d be pushing up daisies faster than he could say “Alfred Wallinski.”

Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. This was the worst mess he’d ever gotten himself into. What in God’s name had made him think he had cleverly figured out the ultimate hiding place for the journal? He’d been positive that Linda had so many books she would never notice the addition of one thin, nondescript volume. And she hadn’t. But then everything had gone upside down.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Paul mumbled, recalling the day he had rushed to their house to discover strangers living there. She’d sold the house! He’d left in a daze, calling himself names, calling her names, cursing the night she’d told him that she could no longer tolerate his dishonesty, his adultery or his disgusting friends. Their marriage was over, Linda had coldly said, and then she’d asked him to move out.

He’d been shocked to near speechlessness. How had she found out those things about him? He’d always been so careful. She had no proof, he’d decided. She was just in a mood. Thinking that she would come to her senses with a little time, he had taken his clothes and left her alone to think things over.

Well, she’d meant everything she’d said, and she had rushed to Nevada for a quickie divorce. He’d been stunned to receive his copy of the divorce decree, and that was when he’d driven like a madman to what he had still considered “their” house. Linda was gone.

And so were her books.

He’d panicked. Hell, who wouldn’t have? And he’d racked his brain to come up with some guy he could trust with a life-and-death mission. It had been another blow to realize he had no real friends, no one in whom he could confide something so serious without worrying the story would be bandied about until it reached the wrong ears. And then he’d thought of Alfred Wallinski, not a friend but a guy who hung around the fringes of Paul’s crowd with a hopeful look in his eyes. He wanted to be part of the group so badly the poor slob was like a homeless puppy, doing everything he could to be noticed.

Alfred was, sadly, the best that Paul had been able to come up with, and he’d sent Alfred to the old neighborhood to ask around about Linda. To Paul’s surprise she hadn’t kept her whereabouts a secret, and Alfred had discovered in one day that she had moved to Rumor, Montana. Alfred had been so proud of the good job he’d done that he’d told Paul all about it with tears in his eyes. Paul had been touched by the man’s apparent sense of loyalty and decided on the spot that Alfred deserved a real break. “You, my friend, are going to Montana for me,” he’d said, and then watched the little guy wilt.

“I ain’t never been out of L.A.,” Alfred had said in a shaky voice.

“Hell, man, you’ll love Montana. I’d love to go there myself, but I couldn’t do what you could. Linda’s never set eyes on you. You’ll be able to get in and out of her place the first time she’s not at home.” Paul had explained what Alfred would be looking for. “You’ll be back in L.A. in a week.”

“Yeah, probably,” Alfred had said weakly.

But it wasn’t going the way it should have, the way Paul had figured it would. Thinking of Alfred’s idiotic fear of animals—probably of his own damn shadow, too, the little wimp—he slammed the top of his desk with his fist. That fool is probably hiding in his motel room instead of watching Linda’s place! This should have been over and done with weeks ago.

Paul was more right than he knew. When Alfred exited that stifling little phone booth, he hurried back to his motel room. Worried because Paul was so angry with him, he began defending himself in front of the mirror above the scarred dresser. “Yeah, Paul, it’s real easy for you to be so tough in that cushy office of yours. You have no idea what I’m facing in this burg. Sheriff’s cars everywhere, animals everywhere, that yapping little dog in your ex’s apartment, people coming and going all the time around her building. Yeah, Paul, you ain’t got a clue about what I’m going through here.

“And now there’s some guy living with her. What am I supposed to do about him, huh?”

Chapter Three

Shortly after four that afternoon Tag began packing up his tools and supplies. Linda heard what he was doing from where she sat on the living-room sofa, using the coffee table as a desk. Not that she was bogged down with teachers’ homework. There was really very little planning needed to finish out the school year; her students were mostly working toward completing projects with an eye on receiving a good grade for their efforts.

Linda, with Tippy on her heels, went to the kitchen door. “You’ve finished all the walls,” she said, amazed that he had accomplished so much.

“And the ceiling,” he said with a grin. “These cupboards could use some sanding and fresh stain, but I’ll have to check with Heck on that.”

“Well, that’s between the two of you,” Linda murmured. “The cupboards look fine to me. Oh, there are a few places that could use some touching up, but overall they’re in pretty good shape.”

“We’ll see what Heck says about it.”

“Fine. You must be very fast. I had no idea you’d do the whole kitchen in less than a full day.”

“It’s a small kitchen, Linda.” Tag smiled at her. “But I am pretty fast, all right. And good. These walls just shine, don’t they? I used semigloss in here.”

“I see you’re very modest, along with being fast and good,” she stated dryly. “But yes, the walls look wonderful. At least ten shades lighter than they were. You know, when I moved in, I washed down everything in here. The walls were sort of tacky to the touch. Not horribly dirty, but the former tenant must have done a lot of frying. Anyhow, I thought I had done a good job.”

“You did. It’s just time to rejuvenate this old building.”

“It’s not that old, is it?”

“About six, seven years, I’d guess.” Tag picked up his toolbox. “Since I won’t be here tomorrow, I’m not going to leave anything behind for you to trip over. On Monday, though, I might ask if you’d mind my leaving some of these things in an out-of-the-way place, just so I wouldn’t have to haul them back and forth.”

“Oh, sure, no problem.”

“Thanks.” Carrying some of his things, Tag approached the doorway.

Linda watched him coming toward her and felt his presence so acutely that it took her breath. No man had ever affected her in quite this way, not even the man she had married. Maybe especially not the man she had married. That had been such a dreadful mistake.

Tag stopped in front of her. This woman intrigued him like no other. He had never believed in love at first sight, and he couldn’t say it was happening to him now. But something was. Something was stirring his blood and causing images of lovemaking to overwhelm everything else in his brain.

Linda looked into his eyes for a moment, felt a feverish intensity that seemed like a warning bell, broke eye contact and stepped aside for his passage.

Without a word—or a grin—Tag went on by her and out the front door.

When he was outside, Linda sucked in a huge breath of air. “My Lord,” she whispered, wondering how a decent woman dealt with such mind-bending chemistry and kept her reputation intact. It was as though a cloud of unmanageable hormones had descended upon her apartment the second she opened her door for Tag.

Tag made another trip from the kitchen to his truck with his gear, then came back in with a tape measure.

“Show me the places you’d like to have a bookshelf,” he said.

Forcing her soaring imagination back to earth, Linda led him to the available wall space in the living room. She pointed, he measured and wrote in his spiral, then he said, “I should probably ask how many books you need to shelve.”

“You saw all those boxes in that upstairs closet, and you probably know that each tenant also has a small storage room at the front of an assigned carport parking space. Well, mine is full of books. In boxes, of course.” At his cocked eyebrow, she declared with her hands out, “What can I say? I love books.”

“In that case you’re probably going to need some shelves upstairs. If memory serves, there’s wall space in both your bedroom and studio.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She walked to the stairs.

Tag watched the way her body moved as she ascended in front of him. He was only halfway up when he told himself to cool down or the fit of his jeans would embarrass both of them.

They went to the studio first and Linda realized that she was reluctant to put anything in this room but her many art supplies. She had covered the carpet under the easel with a large piece of tightly woven outdoor carpeting, as she disliked working on plastic, canvas tarps were too cumbersome and she didn’t want to have to worry about dripping paint while she was concentrating on a creation.

“You’re a considerate tenant,” Tag said with a nod toward the easel area.

“It’s something I would do in my own home if I had to work on carpet, so why wouldn’t I do it in a rented place? The perfect floor for an artist is concrete. Someday that’s what I’ll have.”

Tag smiled. “So you can splash paint every which way?”

“Something like that. Tag, I’m going to skip this room for now. If I absolutely have to, I’ll put bookshelves in here, but I’d rather not.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t like my books spattered with paint any more than I would the carpeting.”

Tag loved her smile, even though it made his legs feel a bit wobbly. Did she know how beautiful and sexy she was? Or the kind of power a woman like her wielded over a man?

He cleared his throat. “Okay, fine, let’s check out your bedroom.”

They found two adequate areas of wall space that would nicely accommodate bookcases. After measuring and making notes, Tag shoved his spiral into his shirt pocket.

“I think that does it,” he said.

“Yes,” Linda murmured huskily, wondering why on earth she would feel giddy, awkward and almost tongue-tied just because there was a bed in the room with them. Had she ever enjoyed sex? Never! Then why keep thinking about it now? I must be losing my mind!

She hurried from the bedroom and felt Tag behind her every step of the way.

“Don’t forget to come by my place tomorrow,” Tag told her at the front door. “You won’t have any trouble finding it.”

“Uh, right. What time would you like me?”

I’d like you in the morning, in the afternoon and all night long. “If you come in the afternoon you could stay for dinner and experience one of my famous barbecued burgers.”

“Stay for dinner?” Linda nervously bit down on her lower lip.

“I think you’ll like Samantha,” Tag said in a casual tone of voice.

Linda relaxed considerably. When he said dinner, she had immediately envisioned a cozy dinner for two. But his little girl would be there, and he certainly wasn’t going to try anything in front of her.

“Yes, all right,” she said. “Want me to bring anything? A salad maybe?”

“Just bring yourself.” Tag reached out and gently moved a straying tendril of her long hair from her cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Then he was gone. Almost starry-eyed, Linda closed the door and made sure it was locked. Tag Kingsley was pure dynamite.

But maybe it was time she walked through a minefield.

Something had changed. The apartment seemed cramped. Linda felt edgy and disconnected, a form of angst that she couldn’t recall having endured before, and she’d been so sure that she had suffered it all before her move to Rumor. Apparently not. Apparently liking a guy on such short acquaintance, and then facing and even enjoying fantasylike thoughts of a physical nature—because of him—delivered its own brand of emotional conflict.

Linda tried to elevate her mood by reminding herself how dismal her love life—if one could even call her one experience with an uncaring member of the opposite sex a love life—had always been. It didn’t seem to do much good; she was still full of sighs when she was in her nightgown and ready for bed around ten that night.

The downstairs lights were off and only a bedside lamp still burned. Linda pushed back the sliding glass door and stepped out onto her tiny balcony. The night air was fresh and smelled wonderful. She went back inside, switched off the lamp, got out the shawl she often used on nights like this and draped it over her shoulders. She then returned to the balcony to sit in the dark. Tippy lay at her feet, as relaxed as any dog could be, while his mistress looked at the stars.

The Montana sky at night still amazed Linda. There were no clouds blocking the view, and the sky seemed alive with twinkling starlight. Rumor was like another world, she thought, not for the first time. She had always lived with city lights, sirens and the sound of heavy traffic. Here there was barely a sound. A car started somewhere, maybe down the street at another apartment complex, and far off in the distance a dog barked. It was all so serene, so lovely. It was also dark enough that another resident of the building, or anyone else who should happen by, would have a hard time seeing her. She liked the sensation of privacy that the darkness and the position of her balcony gave her.

Feeling her tension give way, Linda put her feet up on the second chair and got really comfortable. Her mind wandered, from Tag to her teaching job, then from the upcoming science fair to the lazy days of summer ahead. She had found peace in this small community, and she wanted to hold on to it. It was too precious a feeling to destroy with careless or shabby behavior.

Linda sucked in a quiet breath. Certainly a normal adult relationship with the man she had met today wouldn’t be in the shabby category, would it? Unless Tag had a reputation she shouldn’t get near, it wouldn’t. But in this small town where everyone knew just about everyone else, and few residents hesitated to pass on gossip, some people were under closer scrutiny than others. Teachers, for example, had to be particularly watchful of their reputations. Linda had never disagreed with that attitude, but then there’d been no reason for her even to think much about it. Certainly, she hadn’t come to Rumor with hopes of finding another husband.

“Lord love a duck,” she whispered, shocked that she would even think of such a thing. One husband had been more than enough for her. She’d been positive for a very long time—even prior to her divorce—that she could happily live out the remainder of her life as a single woman.

Until today, that is. Until meeting a good-looking guy with laughter lurking in his eyes, a mouth designed for tender, sensual kisses and just enough brashness in his personality to create sexual unrest in a woman who had not been seeking any such thing.

Linda heaved a long sigh, laid her head back, shut out the beauty of the sky by closing her eyes and let life-before-Rumor unfold in her mind.

It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t cared about her. As a child she’d been given almost anything she’d asked for; anything, that is, but hugs and time and regular meals and the kind of life that the few friends she’d had back then had lived. Their mothers and fathers had scolded and then hugged and kissed their children. No one had ever scolded Linda, because Hilly and Vandyne Vareck had believed that no one had a right to tell anyone else what to do.

Linda had been a lonely child and had discovered the magic hidden in books at an early age. The collection she had to this day included some childhood favorites, and while her parents worked on their incredible art, or attended all-night parties with their artist friends, Linda had exchanged reality for the setting in whichever book she was devouring.

In high school, Linda had kept to herself. She made top grades but her friends lived between the covers of books, and whenever she noticed couples holding hands or stealing a kiss in school, she simply told herself that she had other interests.

Then she met Paul Fioretti and his dark good looks finally broke the back of her indifference to the opposite sex. He was a sharp dresser, drove a new car, always had plenty of money to throw around and he was five years older than she had been. He had told her that his college years had been spent in the East; he had graduated from Yale, an Ivy League school, and he’d brought her to the restaurant he owned, a small but busy place that served delicious Italian food. She’d been impressed by his plans to expand to a second restaurant and then a third, and on and on until Fioretti’s became a chain. She’d also been grateful that he was a businessman and knew little or nothing about art. She had not wanted art for her own career, but her talent was inborn, apparently, and wouldn’t be ignored. She dated Paul until her college graduation, and when he proposed that same day, she agreed to marry him.

At her wedding she’d realized once again how unusual her parents were, for they hadn’t attended the ceremony. Instead, they’d sent her the deed to a very nice house in suburban Culberton as a wedding present. By then the Varecks’ eccentricities no longer hurt Linda, and she had written a lovely thank-you letter, which they never acknowledged. Paul had been openly thrilled about having a house without a mortgage, but when Linda had suggested that he, too, contact her folks to thank them, he’d hemmed and hawed and never did get around to it.

One thing about Paul that had truly pleased Linda was that he hadn’t pressured her into making love before their wedding, as she’d had some very sweet ideas about being a pure and virginal bride. Then, on their wedding night, Paul had shattered her romantic fantasies by taking her roughly and without any consideration for what she might be feeling.

That had been the first blow to the hopes she had permitted to penetrate her somewhat cynical take on life; obviously, she had been delusional for a while. That very night she had wept quietly while Paul snored beside her. Any hope she’d had for a perfect marriage was utter nonsense. As for children, the ones she would love with all her heart and soul, Paul had refused to discuss the subject. He didn’t want children.

But even with such serious flaws, Linda had tried to make her marriage work. Little by little, however, she’d had to face facts. Paul lied about everything, from serious missteps to trivial incidents that weren’t worth the effort it took to devise a lie. His lying became unbearable for a woman who valued honesty as much as Linda did. Plus, Paul’s friends were disreputable people that Linda suspected lived on the wrong side of the law, which meant that her husband was, more than likely, involved in illegal activities.

The final straw was his infidelity. After far too many years of kowtowing to an immoral, dishonest man who didn’t have a tenth of her intelligence, a man who had never given her a moment’s pleasure in bed and refused to discuss the problem with her, or even admit that there was a problem, Linda had called it quits.

One afternoon while Paul was gone—only God knew where—Linda packed his clothes and personal possessions. She didn’t throw his things into boxes, she folded everything neatly and filled every suitcase in the house. And when he got home that night, she was up and waiting for him. She told him their marriage was over and she wanted him to take his things and move out.

He had laughed at her and told her that she would come to her senses. She hadn’t cared what he thought, as long as he got out of her life. She breathed freedom again after he’d loaded his car and driven away, and it had felt absolutely wonderful. The very next day she drove to Las Vegas, rented a small apartment, moved in some of her things and saw an attorney to file for a Nevada divorce.

The end of that chapter of her life had arrived in the form of a divorce decree. She had already acquired her present teaching job and sold the house, which had remained in her maiden name because Paul never got around to changing that, either—and within two days, she was on her way to Rumor, Montana.

And here I intend to stay. Linda opened her eyes and felt unusually emotional. The beauty of the vast velvety sky with millions upon millions of sparkling stars touched her soul. Why on earth was she ruining her mellow mood by thinking about Paul?

Of course, her mood wasn’t entirely mellow. There was Tag now, an intrusion on her peace, to be sure, but was that all bad? He was so darn attractive with his grin and open personality. She would be willing to bet that Tag Kingsley had very few, if any, secrets.

And he was a carpenter. Could any other job suit her better?

Deep into her own thoughts, Linda barely heard the snapping twig. Still, it brought her out of her reverie and back to the small piece of earth she inhabited. The yard around the building was dark. Over by the connected row of carports, one of which contained her SUV, were two lights, one attached to the roof on each end of the structure. A few windows in various apartments threw light. Her place was not one of them; she sat in total darkness.

But there it was again! Someone was stealthily walking near the building. Linda noticed Tippy’s head rising from his front paws; he had heard—or smelled—whoever was creeping around out there. The little dog growled low in his throat, and Linda laid her hand on him to keep him from throwing a barking fit and waking up everyone in the building.

She sat without moving, one hand on Tippy’s head, the other at her own throat, which seemed to be the place where her heart had leaped and was now pounding a breath-stealing cadence. For moments she sat frozen in that position, then became angry, mostly with herself. She was not and never had been a woman to freeze in fear. Whoever was out there probably had a perfect right to be.

But then she heard a discordant scratchy sound that was absolutely foreign to anything she’d noticed before. Something wasn’t right, and whatever was going on seemed to be occurring in the vicinity of her front door!

“What in the world?” she mumbled. At the same moment, Tippy eluded her calming touch, jumped up and began barking at the sliding door. “Hush,” she said sharply. Tippy stopped barking, but he whined and scratched at the glass door. “What is it, Tippy?” she whispered. Was someone who didn’t live in the building attempting a burglary this very moment? Maybe trying to get into her apartment?

“You’re not getting away with it, buster,” she muttered as she hurriedly went inside and, without turning on any lights, made her way through her bedroom and down the stairs. Tippy raced ahead of her and began barking furiously. This time Linda didn’t hush him, and when she reached the door herself, she quickly snapped on the outside light and peered through the peephole. She saw nothing. Anger filled her. Just because whoever had been snooping around had been fast enough to elude her light didn’t mean he hadn’t been out there. Should she phone the sheriff’s department and make a report?

Frowning, Linda pondered the situation. Was tonight’s intruder connected in some way to the parade of weirdos who had been knocking on her door in broad daylight, one of whom had walked in without knocking while she’d been gone today? She’d been so sure she had locked the door, she always did, but how else could he have gotten in?

Oh my goodness, is he clever enough to pick locks? Had he come back after dark to walk in again?

But at night she secured the dead bolt and the security chain on the door. Was he good enough to get past those additional precautions? If she had been asleep and he’d gotten in…? Linda shuddered a moment, then got hold of herself and thought, For pity’s sake, Tippy would have thrown a fit and woke not only me but the neighbors, as well!

If a guy was haunting her for some unimaginable reason, he must be incredibly stupid to keep overlooking a live-in burglar alarm like Tippy.

Incredibly stupid or incredibly desperate.

Desperate to do what? Slowly Linda climbed the stairs. What did she have that a man she’d never met could want so badly that he kept returning and risking his own life, liberty and pursuit of happiness to get hold of? Oddly enough, she sensed no threat to herself. Both times that she had opened the door to the person in those pathetically comical disguises, all he’d done was get out of her face as quickly as was humanly possible. Maybe she should have called the law this afternoon and again tonight, but to tell them what? That someone had walked into the wrong apartment today and then tonight she had heard strange noises?

“Not unless you want it getting around town that the new art teacher is a hysterical female,” she drawled disgustedly. She was not a hysterical female, not now, not ever and, with everything so quiet, the noises she’d heard—or thought she’d heard—could have come from a block away. “Get a grip, lady,” she told herself. After locking the sliding door and pulling the drape, Linda crawled into bed. Tippy settled down on the small rug at the foot of her bed. All was quiet again, and, ordinarily, Linda fell asleep within minutes of retiring. Tonight she stared into the dark for a long time.

Whether she had imagined an intruder or someone had actually been sneaking around the building, the incident had left a mark. Linda hated admitting it, but the marvelous peace she had found in Montana seemed to be slipping away.

But that elusive—and possibly imagined—intruder wasn’t the only Montana male chipping away at her peace of mind. Turning to her side, Linda let Tag overwhelm her thoughts. There was a raw sexuality between them that she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just Tag’s adorable grin and twinkling eyes drawing her in, there was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that teased and taunted and dared her to be a real woman.

Sighing softly, she admitted that she wanted to be a real woman. She wanted to explore her sensual side, which had certainly not been tapped or touched by Paul. It seemed almost impossible that she had stayed in a loveless marriage for so long. She had wasted years on a man who hadn’t given a damn that she never derived any pleasure from their lovemaking. And worse than that sin, he had refused to let her have children.

A tear spilled from Linda’s eye and dribbled down her temple to her pillow. There was no question about it: the peace she’d found—or believed she had found—in Montana was definitely ebbing.

Her last thoughts before sleep were as far from her intruder as they could be. They were about Tag. He was a carpenter with a child. He was handsome and sexy and funny and sweet.

And he just might be her perfect match.

In room six of the State Street Motel, Alfred lay facedown on his bed and wept with his fingers digging into the pillow. He hated the town of Rumor with every fiber of his being. He hated Montana with its wild animals—those horrid cows and horses included. He hated the hootie owls that scared the stuffing out of him every time they let out one of their bone-chilling cries. This place wasn’t fit for civilized human beings, and why in hell would Paul’s ex-wife move to such a godforsaken speck on the map? It was no damn wonder Paul had broken up with the bitch. She must have a screw loose or something.

When she had turned on that porch light tonight, he’d nearly passed out. He’d gotten away only because self-preservation had taken over and caused his legs to run without a conscious, direct order from his brain.

Alfred pounded the pillow in frustration. Tonight he had failed again, and he’d been so sure, when he’d spotted her dark apartment, that she had gone out. But being the pro that he was, he had cautiously checked each side of her end of the building before trying her door. He hadn’t heard even one yap from that crappy mutt of hers, which had reinforced his happy opinion about the apartment being empty. What did she do, sit in the dark and hope some poor unsuspecting stranger tried to get in?

“Eeee,” Alfred moaned. His stomach was killing him. Rumor was giving him an ulcer. He longed for the lively streets of his old neighborhood in L.A. He ached for noise, for traffic and lights and people, for favorite hangouts with loud music and even louder patrons. The only place that he dared enter to get a beer was the dive next door, the Beauties and the Beat strip joint, and being Saturday night, there was plenty of noise coming from it. But he was afraid to show his face in there too often for fear that someone would start asking questions, especially when there were so many cars in the parking lot. No telling who was in there tonight.

He wept fresh tears. He couldn’t go home without that stupid book. Paul would probably kick his butt clear around the block, and he’d be laughed out of the neighborhood.

But couldn’t fate give him just one tiny break and put him near that apartment when that woman and her dog were both gone somewhere? Damn! How much more could he take?

Chapter Four

A car horn tooted. Linda checked the rearview mirror to see who was behind her. Recognizing her colleague, Guy Cantrell, she pulled over. He parked his car behind hers, got out and came up to her window.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning, Linda. I was heading for the high school when I saw you. Did I call you this morning?”

Linda smiled. Guy was a sweet man, nice-looking with dark hair and blue eyes, and extremely intelligent, but sometimes he reminded her of the proverbial absentminded professor.

“No, were you intending to call me?” she said.

“Oh, I remember now. I started to call and something interrupted my good intentions. What was it?” Guy narrowed his eyes for a second, then shook his head. “Couldn’t have been very important. Anyhow, I was only going to tell you that I needed to start figuring out where each of the fair’s entrants should be placed in the gymnasium. Would you have the time to join me? You have such a good eye for layout, and I really would like some artistic symmetry in this year’s event.”

“If you want artistic symmetry, then that’s what you shall have. I’m on my way home from church, Guy. I need to change clothes, but then I’ll go to the school. Shouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes. Thirty, at most.”

“Thanks, Linda. See you at the gym.”

Linda drove off thinking of her promise to Tag. But she hadn’t planned to go to his place until midafternoon—probably around three—so she could take her time at the school. There’d been so much talk among students and teachers alike about the science fair, that Linda had become quite excited about her part in it. Actually, the upcoming event had her thinking about something similar for art students. Those with a little talent and a lot of hope would benefit greatly from community recognition.

But that would have to wait until next year, although it certainly was food for thought during the summer months ahead.

Driving west on Main Street, Linda felt the heat of the sun and switched on the air conditioner. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it got in inland California, but no one could call it cool in Rumor today. Linda glanced up at the brilliant, blue, cloudless sky. People were worried about the hot, dry conditions, but the area was so lovely to Linda’s eyes that she wondered if they weren’t worried over nothing.

But what about the low water level in Lake Monet? And the yellow, crisp grass? The people who are worried have lived here much longer than I have.

Linda laughed at her one-sided conversation. She’d talked to herself in California, too, because she had spent almost as much time alone during her marriage as she did now.

“Oh, well,” she said under her breath, eluding another trip down memory lane like the one she had taken last night.

But last night had been pretty weird, what with outside noises causing her imagination to run wild. And then there were those thoughts about wanting to be a real woman. Good grief, if she wasn’t real now, what was she? Funny how different things looked under a bright sun.

Linda parked in her assigned space and walked from the carport to the apartment building. This complex was especially attractive because of the huge pine trees on the property. Also, Heck kept the lawn watered and neatly trimmed, which created a pleasing sense of being surrounded by cool greenery.

Halfway between the carport and the building, Linda caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head in that direction and saw only large pines. Either her eyes were playing tricks on her or one of the neighborhood kids was. She smiled and continued on to her front door.

Lurking behind one of those pines, Alfred was close to hyperventilating. Making sure that he stayed concealed by the girth of the tree, he raised his arm and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He hadn’t been able to get near her apartment because that miserable dog inside had barked louder than a foghorn without stopping for air until Alfred had sidled away. His hope now was that she would take that little yapper for a long walk.

Linda went in and greeted Tippy with a smile and a pat on the head. He ran around in circles for a minute to show how happy he was to see her, then followed her up the stairs and settled down on his rug.

She took off her dress and pulled on pale green slacks and a blouse. She was ready to go in minutes and Tippy followed her back to the first floor, where she took time to check his water dish. She had walked and fed him before church and he didn’t act as if he needed to go outside again, so she refreshed his water, patted his head and said, “So long, slugger. I have to leave again for a while. Keep the bad guys at bay, all right?”

That was what she usually said to her adorable pooch before leaving him alone in the apartment, and she had always considered her request to be rather funny. Tippy wasn’t much bigger than a large cat and she couldn’t imagine his keeping anything at bay. Actually, his ferocity, although he did have a loud bark, would probably earn nothing more than a dirty look from a cat.

Alfred spotted Linda leaving again—without Tippy—and muttered some choice curses under his breath. The trouble with apartment buildings—especially this one—was that the units were too close together. If that woman didn’t have a dog, he would have gotten into her unit on his first try, found the stupid book that Paul wanted so badly and already be back in Los Angeles. Oh, how he wished he were back in Los Angeles!

A groan accompanied Alfred’s burst of self-pity. He was not a violent man. He might despise Linda Fioretti and her dog—and blame them for his misery in this awful place—but he could barely make himself step on spiders. And Paul had made it clear that his ex-wife was not to be harmed in any way. Alfred recalled feeling very hurt that Paul would think it necessary to say such a thing to him.

But he really should not have let it injure his feelings, because Paul and his circle of friends—the exact group that Alfred wanted so much to be an important part of—only knew Al Wallinski as a tough guy. Alfred’s chest expanded a bit at that thought. He liked Paul thinking of him as tough, and when this job in Montana was finally accomplished and Alfred returned to California, Paul would probably praise him to high heaven and invite him to Fioretti’s for a meal with his closest pals.

Daydreaming about future glory was Alfred’s favorite pastime. But it occurred to him that he had better stop wasting time and make a move.

But what move would that be? People were coming and going around the apartment building. Five or six kids in bathing suits had started running through a sprinkler not far from Linda’s front door. And if he dared get near her door, that rotten dog of hers would make so much noise someone would probably call the cops.

Discouraged and hot, Alfred made his way from tree to tree until he reached the huge bank of bushes and shrubs at the back of the lot. Cautiously he crawled in among the leaves and scratchy limbs. When he came to the piece of bare ground that he’d been using off and on to conceal himself and still keep an eye on Linda’s apartment, he lay down and made sure he could see through the dense foliage.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but lying in that cool place, with the laughter of children at play and the soothing, repetitious sound of the sprinkler spraying water on grass and small people alike, Alfred’s eyes got heavy. He was snoring in five minutes.

There were three cars and two bicycles parked near the entrance to the high school’s gymnasium. Linda parked her SUV at the end of the line, got out and went into the gym. Spotting Guy at the far end of the room, she started toward him. A youthful male voice stopped her. “Hi, Ms. Fioretti.”

Linda turned to see Michael Cantrell, dressed, as usual, in baggy jeans and a huge shirt. His baseball cap was stuffed into a pocket of his pants, and Linda knew that when he put it on again, its visor would be shading the back of his neck instead of his eyes.

“Hello, Michael.” Linda smiled. “I hear you’re entering a project in the fair.”

Michael grinned. “Sure am.”

“That’s wonderful. What’s it all about?”

“Uh, I want it to be a surprise, Ms. Fioretti.”

Linda smiled again at the fourteen-year-old. He was tall and lanky with the angular build of a boy growing so fast his flesh couldn’t keep up with his bones. Like his father, Max, and his uncle Guy, Michael had dark hair and blue eyes. The Cantrell brothers were handsome men and Linda could see the same good looks developing in Michael.

Plus, he was smart. His grades were phenomenal. He was taking advanced courses in science and math because he was too far beyond the normal ninth-grade level.

The first time Linda had met Michael she had wished he were interested in art so he would be in one of her classes. But he was a scientist, like his uncle Guy, and Linda had heard from several sources, Guy himself, for one, that Michael spent a lot of time in Guy’s home, getting involved in his uncle’s inventions and ideas. Linda thought it wonderful training for a young man so taken with science to have someone like Guy in his family.

All the while, she had been very curious about the project Michael would bring to this year’s science fair.

“You’re not even giving out hints?” she asked teasingly. Michael’s cheeks got red, and she knew that she had put him on the spot. “I’m only kidding, Michael. You have every right to keep your project a secret.”

“Uh, thanks, Ms. Fioretti.”

“Well, I should get to work. See you later, Michael.” Linda left the boy and headed toward Guy.

“I want tuna fish,” Samantha Kingsley declared emphatically.

“You always want tuna fish,” Tag responded. He’d been looking for something to fix for their lunch, and obligingly he got out a can of tuna. It was healthy food and Samantha loved it. He didn’t love it, but since they were going to have hamburgers for dinner, a tuna sandwich for lunch wouldn’t kill him. “Get the bread while I mix this stuff,” he said.

Samantha could barely reach the bread box, and Tag had to force himself to stand by and let her do it without his help. The hardest part of parenting, he was beginning to realize, was giving your child room to grow and do things for herself. Sammy was five years old and a tiny little thing, so adorable that Tag’s heart melted every time he looked at her. She had light brown hair with wispy curls that touched her shoulders and big hazel eyes; she had his eyes, Tag knew, same color, same shape. But Sammy’s eyes contained something that his did not: sadness. She had still been an infant when her mother died, and while Tag knew Sammy loved him with all of her little heart, she wished that she had a mommy. Other kids did. Why didn’t she? Even though Tag answered every question Sammy asked about her mother, he knew his answers didn’t quite fill the void in his daughter’s world.

“No mustard, Daddy,” Samantha said.

Tag chuckled. He had merely moved the container of mustard to reach the jar of mayonnaise. Sammy’s sharp eyes missed very little.

“Aw, heck, I thought you’d like some mustard in your tuna today,” he said.

Samantha giggled. “You’re teasing me.”

When the sandwiches were made, he put them on paper plates, along with a few potato chips and a slice of dill pickle, and brought them to the table.

Samantha scrambled up into her chair while Tag poured two glasses of milk.

“Mmm, good,” Samantha said after her first bite.

“Simply delicious,” Tag said dryly after his first bite. “Hey, small fry, we might have a guest for dinner today.”

“Who?”

“A very nice lady I met yesterday. I’m painting her apartment. Her name is Linda Fioretti, and she’s a teacher at the high school.”

“Okay.” Samantha took a drink of her milk.

“I think we’ll have barbecued burgers. What do you think?”

“Does she like burgers?”

“Everyone likes burgers. Don’t they?”

Samantha shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Maybe I should go to the store and buy some warthog. Maybe she would like barbecued warthog better than a burger.”

Samantha giggled a second time. “You’re teasing me again.”

Tag grinned. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself. That’s ’cause you’re so cute when you giggle.”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re funny.”

“So it’s all right with you if we have a lady over for dinner?”

Samantha nodded and took another bite of sandwich. “We should have ice cream for dessert,” she said with her mouth full.

“You are absolutely right. Which flavor goes with barbecued burgers?”

“Strawberry.”

It was Samantha’s favorite. “Yes, I believe you are right again. Strawberry it will be. We’ll go to the store after lunch, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tag hadn’t expected any other answer.

Linda returned home around two. She walked from carport to apartment building humming under her breath. After much discussion and thought, the final layout for the fair was planned in a way that gave each entrant equal visibility, or as close to equal as Linda had been able to make it. She was satisfied with the results of her labor, and so was Guy. He had thanked her profusely before they went their separate ways.

Unlocking her apartment door, she smiled because she could hear Tippy dancing around on the other side.

Alfred woke up, realized that Linda was home again and at the same moment saw the snake. It was a tiny thing, a little tan garter snake that began slithering away the second the huge beast in the bushes opened its eyes. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Alfred jumped straight up and plowed a new trail through the bushes.

At her door, Linda heard the screams, looked for their source and saw a grown man running from the bushes at the back of the lot. She realized after a second that he was shouting, “Snake! Snake!”

“What kind of snake?” she called, but the guy was still running and apparently didn’t hear her. The kids playing nearby came up to her.

“Who’s that guy?” one boy asked.

“I don’t know, but he’s yelling something about a snake.” Linda began frowning. There was something familiar about the screaming runner.

“Let’s go find it!” the boy said, and the children all ran to the bank of bushes to search for the snake.

“Be careful,” Linda called to them. “It could be a rattler.”

It wasn’t. The kids were disappointed. “It’s just an old garter snake,” the apparent leader of the group said as they left the poor snake to its own devices. “And it’s not even a big one.”

Forgetting snake, bushes, frightened running man and everything else about the incident, the kids went back to their games.

Linda stepped into her apartment and absentmindedly greeted Tippy the way she usually did. But her thoughts were on the grown man who had been so frightened by a little garter snake that he’d run off shrieking like a wild person. Had he been in the bushes? They were dense and scratchy and even the neighborhood children walked around them. Why on earth would a grown-up do something that children sensibly avoided? And he was familiar, although she couldn’t say with absolute certainty that he was the same man who had knocked twice on her door and then run off when she opened it. Was he also the one who had walked into her apartment yesterday? And the person who had done some sneaking around the building last night? What in heaven’s name was going on? Did he just haunt this apartment building or was he doing the same to the other apartment complexes on the street?

Linda had been planning to wear her green slacks and blouse when she went to Tag’s house, but they had gotten a bit soiled at the gym, so she went upstairs—with Tippy following, of course—to change clothes once again.

Pondering the ambiguities of a strange man hanging around the neighborhood—was he dangerous or merely simpleminded?—Linda took a quick shower. Without giving much thought to what might be appropriate clothing for a visit to a man’s carpentry shop—and perhaps for eating a burger with him and his daughter—she pulled on a full-skirted, Hawaiian-print sundress. With sandals on her feet, she brushed her long hair and fluffed it around her face. A little lipstick and a little blusher finished the job. She was ready to leave again.

But first she would take Tippy for a short walk. He probably had to go outside by now.

It was Alfred’s big chance. The kids had either gone indoors or to the other side of the building. Linda, with Tippy on his leash, left the apartment and walked down the street.

But Alfred was already in his motel room, still feeling all creepy crawly because of that horrifying snake.

“My God, my God,” he groaned hoarsely every time he thought of how close to a painful death he had come today. He had to get hold of that book and out of Montana before he lost his mind.

Or his life!

In good weather Tag worked in his shop with the door open so he could keep an eye on Samantha playing in the backyard. During winter months he brought her inside to the corner playroom he’d built expressly for her use. She was rarely out of his sight, although he had come to rely on Rumor Rugrats, the preschool and nursery started by Susannah McCord, his soon-to-be sister-in-law. She and Russell, Tag’s oldest brother, were presently in China. After a lavish party to announce their engagement, they had traveled to the country to finalize the adoption of a young Chinese girl. When they returned with their daughter, they would be married.

Today Sammy wasn’t Tag’s only concern. He kept looking at his driveway and at the street, watching for Linda. She would come, wouldn’t she? Darn, he should have set a time for her arrival. He could have asked, “What time is best for you tomorrow?” He could have said, “I’m going to be on pins and needles all day until you get there.” He could have said, “I’m not sure what to call this feeling I have for you, but it already seems to be a permanent part of the man I am.”

Tag shook his head wryly. He should not have said anything more than he had. He had invited Linda to look at his work and have an informal meal with him and Sammy. Anything else would have been overkill, possibly a turnoff for a woman with Linda’s intelligence. She had said yes, that she would come by, and he should stop acting like a lovesick half-wit and believe she kept her promises.

His current project was a headboard for Samantha’s new bed. About a month ago Tag had decided she was ready for a full-size mattress, and the little girl loved the grown-up bed he had bought for her. But he hadn’t purchased a headboard. That, he would build himself. It was reaching the finishing stages, and today he worked on smoothing the wood with fine sandpaper until it felt like satin to his fingertips.

This kind of work was perfect for a man with a lot on his mind. Linda was at the center of his thoughts, but why wouldn’t she be when she was the first woman he’d met since Mel’s death who reminded him that he was still young, still virile and living like a monk?

Tag had grown up in the loving, wealthy household of the Kingsley family, and from an early age he hadn’t wanted to get involved in the family business, which included the MonMart chain of retail outlets and a large cattle and horse ranch. Carpentry was his passion, and around the time he’d broken the news of his career choice to his father, he’d also learned his high school sweetheart, Melanie, was pregnant.

To support his burgeoning family, Tag studied carpentry as an apprentice and took any job he could find. He’d known early on what was important in life—his daughter Samantha, his wife Mel and his work.

Unfortunately, Mel’s substance abuse problem, which had begun in high school worsened, and she died of a drug overdose. Tag felt as if he’d failed both Mel and his precious daughter. He’d lived in a cloud of despair ever since.

Meeting Linda seemed to have parted the clouds and let the sun in. Small wonder he was excited about her coming by today, he thought.

When he heard a car pull into the driveway, his heart skipped a beat. Dusting his hands with a clean cloth, he stepped out of his shop. Samantha immediately left her toys and went to stand by her daddy.

Linda got out of her SUV and sent a smile to father and daughter. “Hello,” she called.

“Hello,” Tag said, and taking Samantha’s little hand in his began walking toward the incredible woman in the brightly colored dress who had not only kept her promise to come by but had arrived looking ravishingly beautiful. Every feeling that had been born yesterday intensified in Tag’s system. He knew pretty much what to call that burning ache: he was falling very hard, very fast for Linda, and God help him if she didn’t feel the same about him.

She walked toward him and Sammy as they walked toward her. Linda’s gaze darted from Tag to his daughter and back again. His child was beautiful and so was he. A choking sensation rose in Linda’s throat; something serious was happening to her, something that she was afraid to label or even attempt to understand.

“Thanks for coming,” Tag said. “This is Samantha…or Sammy. Samantha, this is Ms. Fioretti.”

Linda bent over to be closer to the beautiful little girl. “Hello, Samantha,” she said softly.

“Hello,” the child said shyly.

The feelings flooding Linda’s system almost brought tears to her eyes. This child touched her soul, and if love at first sight was more than just a dream devised by romantics, then it had just struck her straight in the heart.

“I would like it if you called me Linda,” she said.

“Okay.”

Linda straightened and deliberately looked beyond Tag and Sammy, as she feared her eyes might be just a little too shiny.

“You have a very nice place,” she said. Then she spotted the sign above the wide door of the carpentry shop. “Carpenter for Rent,” she read aloud. Smiling again, she looked at Tag. “Are you really for rent?”

“For the right person, any time of the day or night,” he said softly.

A tingling thrill went up Linda’s spine. He meant her, she realized. He meant that she was the right person and that he was available if she wanted him.

“Sammy, I’m going to show Linda the shop. She’s interested in some bookcases. I’d like you to go back to your dolls for a while, sweetheart. We’ll take care of business first, then we’ll make those burgers.”

Tag had spoken to his daughter, but his eyes were saying a thousand other things to Linda. What was so unusual about this exchange was that she couldn’t seem to break eye contact with him, although, in all honesty, she wondered if she really wanted to. The air seemed electrically charged. With each breath she took, the stirring sensations in the pit of her stomach became more pronounced.

“Okay, Daddy.” Sammy smiled shyly at Linda, then turned and ran off to her sandbox.

“Tag, she’s wonderful,” Linda said in a voice made husky by emotion. “You’re very fortunate to have her.”

“I know.” The pupils of his eyes became darker. “You’re so beautiful you take my breath.”

She felt her face color. “Maybe…maybe we should…I mean, maybe you should show me your shop.”

“Did I embarrass you? That wasn’t my intention. You are beautiful, Linda. I thought so yesterday, and seeing you again….” Tag stopped and bit down on his lower lip for a second. There was a slight frown between his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never met anyone like you before. Probably because there is no one else like you.”

Linda studied his face, looking for a lie, searching for something that would scare her off. All she saw was intense admiration and the open, honest expression of a man saying what was in his heart. Her own feelings swelled and turned into words.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, either,” she whispered.

Tag looked into her eyes for a long, sexually charged moment then took her hand. “Let’s go to the shop.”

Linda felt dazed. His hand around hers was big and warm and felt like a connection to life itself, to all of the things she had never experienced. She was real and Tag was real, and what was happening between them was more real than the building they entered together.

Inside, virtually alone with him—although Sammy was only about twenty feet away from the opened door of the shop—she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and saw Tag watching the perfectly natural gesture with yearning eyes.

She gently disengaged her hand from his and began looking around. There were all sorts of tools and workbenches, and she saw a headboard on one of them and then a child’s play area in the far corner.

“For Samantha,” she said quietly. “You’re a protective father.”

“Comparable to a she-bear with cubs,” Tag said with a slight grin.

“It’s very clean in here. I think I expected sawdust…and… Oh, there’s the furniture you’ve finished.” She left him to walk over to an elegant dining table with a Sold sign on it. “You actually built this?” she asked in amazement.

Tag nodded. “Sure did.”

“You’re not just an ordinary carpenter, you’re a craftsman, an artist.” Linda moved to some chairs and then a coffee table. “Oh, these are all wonderful.”

“Glad you like them. What I like is you.”

Linda sucked in a startled breath.

Tag moved directly in front of her and put his hands on her waist. “I don’t need a year to decide on whether or not yesterday was a red-letter day, Linda. I knew it only minutes after meeting you. And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t say things like that to every woman I meet. You can ask anyone in this town and they’ll all inform you that I’m pretty much a loner. Once in a great while I go down to Joe’s Bar and have a beer or two. That’s about the extent of my social life.”

Linda probed the depths of his eyes. “Tag, you must have had women friends along the way,” she said softly. “You’ve been widowed for five years. Men don’t live without female companionship for that long a time.”

“I’ll tell you about every woman I ever knew if you want me to. Do you?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“I don’t want to hear about the men in your past, either.”

“But there weren’t any. Other than my husband.”

“Linda, Linda,” he whispered. “Do you realize what’s happening here?”

She knew he was going to kiss her. His face came closer to hers, and she almost felt his lips on hers.

But then they both heard Samantha calling. “Daddy? Where are you, Daddy?”

They quickly broke apart. “There you are,” Samantha said, and smiled when she saw her daddy.

Tag went to his daughter and picked her up. “Let’s go make those burgers, okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she replied happily.

Chapter Five

Linda loved Tag’s house. Modern-rustic, she called it—only in her own mind while wondering if there was any such thing. But what else would one call a house with every modern convenience that had the feel of a cozy cabin? In particular she loved the childish drawings—held in place by fruit and vegetable magnets—covering the door of the refrigerator. It was clear that Tag was a loving father to his little daughter.

The floor plan of the house was simple and sensible and would accommodate a larger family than Tag’s, all very impressive, but what delighted Linda most was the craftsmanship that Tag had lavished on his home. He was indeed a master carpenter, and Linda confidently ordered two bookcases with dimensions to fit the now vacant wall space in her compact living room. She looked forward to the day she could start unpacking her books, and she told Tag she would order three more bookcases for her bedroom if the first two were well-done.

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