“How do you see me?”

Jeff swished a carrot into the pepper dip and tasted it. “Spicy and delicious,” he murmured. He was pretty sure he was playing with fire. Ask him if he cared.

For months—years—he’d been cautious about involvement. Suddenly he wanted closeness…intimacy…touching…

“Don’t,” Caileen said hoarsely.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like I’m Red Riding Hood and you’re the wolf.”

Her husky laughter was shaky, and he was pretty sure she knew exactly what he was thinking. He took a long drink of sangria. It didn’t cool his fevered thoughts one degree.

“That’s what I feel,” he admitted, then laughed again. If he could joke about it, he could control the impulse.

Maybe.

When she looked directly into his eyes, he was pretty sure he couldn’t….

Dear Reader,

My family jokes that they can always tell where I’ve been because my next books are located there. Okay, I confess—I went to the Grand Canyon last year, also Monument Valley, Four Corners, Mesa Verde, Chaco Canyon and the high desert region. My husband, two grandsons, Shasta, our dog, and I camped along the way, sleeping in a tent and cooking over a campfire, feeling like real pioneers. When I wrote the Seven Devils series I knew I had to do the stories of the three runaways in Trevor and Lyric’s book. The stories of those orphans, all grown up, the wounded vet who took them in (and whose heart is as big as the western sky) and the awesome landscape of our western deserts came together for me during that trip.

Best,

Laurie Paige

Second-Time Lucky

Laurie Paige

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURIE PAIGE

“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from Romantic Times BOOKclub for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list. Recently resettled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will send her on.

This book is for Ryan, Kevin and Shasta, three great

traveling companions. Thanks for the s’mores when

dinner over the campfire turned into a disaster.

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 One

Jefferson Aquilon manhandled the crate into place beside the cabinet, took a deep breath and wondered, for the hundredth time in the past hour, if he was doing the right thing.

Actually, it was a bit late to be thinking like that. Everything he owned had been moved—lock, stock, barrels and sculptures—from Boise to this small ranch near the county seat of Council, Idaho. All his hopes and plans hinged on making it in this new place.

Worry hit him like a sluice of icy water from a mountain spring. He’d made the move for the orphans in his care. Eighteen-year-old Jeremy, who’d taken on a man’s responsibility while still a boy, was his nephew. Thirteen-year-old Tony, who’d almost forgotten how to laugh, and Krista, who was ten going on thirty, weren’t blood relatives, but they were his second brother’s stepchildren, and Jeff was their only surviving relative.

Both his brothers had died young. Lincoln, father of Jeremy and the oldest of the three Aquilon boys, had had a heart attack at thirty-nine. That had been a shocker.

Six months before that, Washington, the middle son, had rolled his truck on an icy road one night and was dead by the time he was found and brought to the hospital. He’d married Tony’s and Krista’s mom when the kids were still toddlers. Although no adoption records had been found, the two children had taken his last name.

Jeff grimaced. Around the same time, he’d lost his left foot to a land mine while on a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

Life had continued to hand the Aquilons a raw deal. Nearly two years ago, the do-gooders at the Family Services Agency had taken the younger children away from him, saying his two-bedroom trailer wasn’t big enough, and put them in foster care.

The foster father had beaten the children until they’d come to Jeremy for help. The three had run away and hidden in the Lost Valley area until found last fall by the Dalton family, who had a ranch there.

Jeff clenched his hands into fists as anger buzzed through every nerve. He forced himself to relax and unpack the crate of woodworking tools.

Things were working out, he assured himself. While his family name may not have been enough to convince the juvenile court judge that the orphans would be fine in his care, the Dalton name had. A First Family of Idaho and all that, they’d come through for him and the kids and for that he was grateful.

Moreover, one of the Dalton wives was manager of a private charitable foundation. She’d convinced the directors to supply the down payment for the modern ranch-style home with a bedroom for each child—as Family Services insisted they must have—and that, along with the money he’d saved while in the army, had enabled the move.

Due to high demand for land in the city, he’d sold his place in Boise for top dollar and bought sixty acres adjoining the highway that led to one of the prime vacation spots in the area. The Daltons had helped pack and load his household goods onto a rented truck. They had also repaired the old barn on the property, making it into a shop for his salvage-and-recycle operation, which earned him a living, and his sculptures, which didn’t.

So, here he and his little improvised family were, less than a year after the custody hearing, settling into their new home, the kids enrolled in the local school system and the spring season—it was the last day of March—erupting into daffodils and birdsong.

His heart rate went up while an odd emotion skittered around inside him. He paused while unloading a box of old estate ogees he’d recently purchased and analyzed the feeling. Surprise caused a smile to tug at his lips.

Hope. Anticipation. An expectation that everything, at last, would be right with their world.

And what planet would that paradise be on? the doubting part of him inquired.

Something his mother had once said while she’d hidden him and his two brothers from their father, who’d been in a drunken rage at the time, came to mind.

“Shh,” she’d murmured at their whimpers. “Someday you’ll grow up and make your own life, one that will be much better than what your father and I have given you.”

Going outside to retrieve another box, Jeff squinted into the bright afternoon sunlight while recalling his determination to make a decent life for himself. He’d finished high school and joined the army, becoming a Ranger. However, nothing had turned out quite as planned.

A car turned into the lane leading to his place, interrupting the relentless flow of memories. A woman was at the wheel. Putting aside the lingering worries, he left the workshop and started for the house as the woman parked and headed for the front door.

She stopped on the new sidewalk made of rosy-toned pavers and lined with flowers planted by the kids, surveying the place as if thinking of buying it.

Wariness caused him to pause.

Her attire was all business, but there was something youthful, even graceful about the way she stooped to sniff a particularly aromatic rose.

He assumed she was there on business, probably referred by one of the local building contractors or interior designers who used his salvage services, but for an instant he wished she were there for him.

He frowned at the odd sensation and attributed it to spring fever or whatever had caused the mixed emotions of the morning. “Hello,” he called.

She straightened and pivoted toward him. She was older than he’d first thought. Probably around his age, he decided as he came closer, noting the faint lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes.

“You looking for someone?” he asked politely.

She removed her sunglasses and looked at him. Her eyes were light green with gold flecks in the center. For a strange second, he felt as if she were gazing into his soul…and wasn’t impressed by what she saw.

Caileen Peters glanced at her notebook. “Jefferson Aquilon?” She gazed at the man who approached her with only a hint of a limp. He matched the description given to her.

Except the file hadn’t mentioned he was a man straight out of a Brontë novel—dark and brooding, wary and watchful, interesting as only a mature man could be—one who was experienced and confident of his place in the world.

An odd shiver danced over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her arms and scalp.

Get a grip, she advised, reining in her imagination and concentrating on the business at hand. She raised her eyebrows as the silence spun out between them. In Family Services parlance, this was known as “taking charge.”

“You found him,” he said, a question in his eyes and no smile of welcome on his angular, attractive face.

He was a bit over six feet, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. The laugh lines radiating from his eyes nicely balanced the frown line across his forehead.

He had dark hair, a shade between brown and black, and his eyes were so dark they, too, appeared black. Looking into them was like staring at a blank wall. There was a closed aspect to him, as if he didn’t allow anyone into his inner thoughts.

He was a year older than her own forty years—forty years!—and a veteran who’d had his foot blown off by a land mine while in Afghanistan. He’d also had some problems with the people at Family Services down in Boise last year, so she hesitated in telling him the purpose of her visit. No one liked to be poked and pried at by strangers.

“You have the advantage,” he finally said. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

She introduced herself and added, “I work for the county. Family Services.”

His frown line deepened. “What do you want?”

A new life might be nice. “I’ve been assigned to this case. Now that you’ve completed your move,” she added when he didn’t respond.

“I thought we already had a case worker.”

“Not in this county. I’ve spoken to the counselor in Boise and to Lyric Dalton up here, so I think I have a pretty good idea of your situation.”

“Do you now?”

The tone was more than a little cynical, with an undercoating of sarcasm and suspicion. Exactly like most of her clients at the first meeting, only more so.

Her counterpart in Boise, Mrs. Greyling, had been a tired, bitter woman who should have retired before she reached burnout. She’d been instrumental in removing the children from this man’s care and had been humiliated when they ran away from the foster home she’d recommended.

Caileen smiled at the man who’d taken the orphans in. That the children had asked to stay with him was in his favor, and Lyric had assured her he was a truly caring person. His present attitude wouldn’t influence her impression of him. Only time would do that, and she would have lots of time to get to know him and his family well.

Well, maybe not. She’d turned forty last week. Her daughter had informed her she was middle-aged and didn’t understand anything about the younger generation.

“I’m so glad your place here is finished,” she said, focusing on the silent man. “The children have settled very well into school and the community, from all reports.”

“So you’ve checked them out and now you’ve come to do the same with me,” he stated.

She held her smile in place. “Yes. I need to see the house, if you don’t mind.”

“Would it do any good if I did?” His unexpected smile was heavy with irony, but it did nice things for his face.

Not believing in evading the issue, she said, “Not if you want to keep the children.”

He took one step and was in her face. “Let’s get one thing clear from the beginning. Those kids have been pushed around enough. The judge said they could live with me and this is where they will stay.”

“I think that would be best, too,” she said in the calmest voice she could muster. She inhaled deeply.

A scent like wild thyme and balsam filled her, along with the clean odor of sweat and soap and aftershave lotion. The pure male aroma did something to her insides, and for a moment, she remembered being young and in love.

She sucked in a harsh breath and brought herself back to the present.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his chocolate eyes narrowing as he studied her.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Moving on, she mentally made notes on the flowers, the neatly mown grass on each side of the walkway, the rocks used to outline and separate each space. Beyond the small lawn, the ground was mulched or graveled for low maintenance and conservative water use.

From the files, she knew he was a sculptor as well as a salvage expert. Feeling they needed to find neutral ground, she asked, “Did you do those?” and pointed to a birdbath covered in bright ceramic pieces that held two sculptures made of copper wire. One was a bird perched on the edge of the basin and the other was a dog with its front paws on the opposite side while it peered at the bird.

His gaze followed hers, and he nodded.

The pleasing diorama was centered in a circle of river gravel. A wooden bench nestled close by under a copse of silver birch trees. The sky formed a perfect backdrop of blue with a few puffy white clouds to add contrast.

She wondered what it would be like to sit there on a warm summer evening and watch the stars come out.

“If we could go inside?” she suggested, shaking off the spurious notion.

He nodded and led the way to the front door, opening it and gesturing for her to go in first. She stepped into the modest home and stopped abruptly, unprepared for the lovely welcoming decor of the room, the warmth that seemed to reach out and grab her heart.

His hands settled on her shoulders as he came to a halt after almost crashing into her. Through her somber business suit, her skin prickled with awareness of his body so close behind her. She moved forward, away from him and his disturbing masculinity.

“This is charming,” she told him sincerely.

His smile returned, a real one. “Krista was in charge of the decorating. She consulted with the Dalton wives.”

Caileen ignored a flash of envy for the women he’d mentioned. Years ago, when she’d started on her career, the Dalton case history had been presented to her as a most successful blending of families. This achievement represented the paradigm she was to aspire to in her cases.

The former Dalton orphans were all happily married now, their families integrated into one ideal whole.

However, one needed ideal material to work with in order to perform miracles. She was willing to settle for a functional arrangement. Turning over a page in her notebook, she noted the cleanliness of the home, the comfortable furniture and the evidence of age-appropriate games and books as well as a television.

A vase of golden daffodils adorned the dining table and potted plants filled the kitchen windowsills and various corners of the large, open living area. The walls were painted a soft golden yellow with a sienna glaze that added texture. Other colors—yellow, green and pink—had been chosen to complement the braided oval rug that artfully defined the seating area of the large living room.

A copper sculpture of a mailbox in front of a farmhouse decorated one wall. Charcoal drawings of each of the children hung on another. The drawings were caricatures that were funny and tender at the same time. She noticed the initials on the drawings were the same as his.

“Is that your work?” she asked, realizing his talents were much greater than indicated in the case study folder.

Builders and interior designers depended on him in their remodeling efforts, she’d learned. He bought old furniture, even houses, and reclaimed the useable features such as mantels, lintels, doorknobs and decorative moldings.

While investigating his character, she’d made a point of checking out two of his metal sculptures in Boise, each a featured item in the front yards of very expensive homes. The reports hadn’t mentioned his additional artistic abilities, such as the drawings.

“Yes.”

The answer was grudgingly given. She didn’t write this observation down. “They’re quite good. Children need to see pictures of themselves. It gives them a feeling of worth and self-confidence, of being important to others.”

When he said nothing, she continued on the tour.

In each of the bedrooms there was a desk and bookcase. Each desk had a dictionary on it. The bookcases were filled with reference books and novels that reflected the personal tastes of the occupants. She noted this with approval.

“Excellent,” she said, giving him a nod and closing the notebook when she finished the inspection.

His chest lifted as if he took a deep breath of relief. It was the only sign he’d displayed of being apprehensive about her visit. “The last room is down this way.”

She followed him to the opposite side of the house, although there was really no need to see his quarters.

But she was curious.

The bedroom was large and rather narrow. A king-size bed occupied one end. There were tables and lamps handily located on each side of it. An alcove with an easy chair, a rocker and a bookcase invited one to linger and read. A large bathroom was next to that. The color scheme was a soft, smoky blue with touches of tan and mauve.

Envy ran through her like a summer heat wave.

“Your home is lovely,” she managed to say. “It will be a wonderful place for children to grow up.”

“If the adults make it that way,” he said, qualifying her impulsive statement. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Her surprise must have showed.

“I want to ask you some questions,” he added.

“Coffee would be fine.”

Once they were seated at the dining room table, each with a steaming cup of fresh coffee, he gazed out the window as a nippy March breeze stirred the daffodils.

“How long do you have to check me out before you decide the kids are okay here?”

“Foster children are under the care of the state and county until they’re adults.”

“Eighteen or twenty-one?”

“Eighteen.”

The frown line indented across his forehead. “So you’ll be keeping an eye on us for several years.”

“Until Krista is eighteen.”

“Seven years and one day,” he said. “Could they be taken away at any time if you give the word?”

“Not quite as easily as that,” she told him. “I would have to be able to show cause.”

“What would that be?”

She wondered what he was getting at. “Physical abuse—”

“Like the beatings that made Tony and Krista run away from the other foster home?”

Caileen reached across the table and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m terribly sorry for that. We really do try very hard to prevent such things.”

He stared at her hand until she withdrew it, then peered into her eyes. “What else?”

“Mental abuse,” she continued. “Alcohol abuse. One of the most common causes for removal in foster families is spending the allowance for the children’s food and clothing on personal items.”

“That won’t be a problem here.”

“I didn’t think it would. Another thing the courts frown upon is lack of supervision.”

“I see.” He gazed out the window again. Caileen sipped her coffee, which was surprisingly good, and waited for his next question.

“Was Krista physically abused?” he asked. “Apart from the beatings?”

Caileen shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”

“She seems afraid of me sometimes. She doesn’t like it when both the boys are out at one time.”

“That could be separation anxiety,” Caileen said after considering the facts. “She depended solely on Jeremy and Tony for her safety during the time they were hiding out. It can be frightening to need another that much, to know that without them, she might have to return to foster care and face the same situation again but alone this time.”

“Why wouldn’t she come to me? I’ve never hurt them.”

“Perhaps she isn’t sure you really want her.” Caileen glanced at her watch. She’d been there nearly an hour and still had two other homes to visit. Rising, she gathered her purse and notebook. “I think we should give her time to realize that her life isn’t going to suddenly change again.”

“She needs to regain her trust in people,” he concluded, the cynical note back.

“Yes. Don’t rush her. Just be available if she wants to talk. Stories can help children open up. I have some good books that would be right for Krista. I’ll see that you get them. You might read a chapter to her each night. Oh, and have her read one to you. That helps enormously with reading skills, we’ve found.”

“Okay. When can I get the books?”

Clearly he wasn’t one to waste time. “I’ll bring them over tomorrow.” She checked her day planner. “Around noon. That’s the only time I have free.”

“Fine. At noon then.”

He strode toward the front door, the interview over as far as he was concerned. She found herself as much amused by his manner as touched by his obvious concern for the orphans in his care.

“Mr. Aquilon—”

“Jeff,” he corrected. “Since we’re on day one of a seven-year relationship, we may as well be on a first-name basis.”

“Jeff,” she acknowledged. “I want you to know we’re on the same side where the children are concerned.”

He looked as if he might dispute that, then he nodded, so solemnly it touched something deep inside her that hadn’t been disturbed in a long, long time.

A few minutes later, giving one last wave over her shoulder as he watched her departure, she turned onto the main road and headed for her office.

Her conclusions would be fairly easy to write up. The home was perfectly acceptable. The man was…

She considered several adjectives as she wound her way down the tree-lined country highway. Strong. Cynical. Self-contained. Kind. Caring. Responsible.

If her husband had been like Jefferson Aquilon, maybe they would still be together. Maybe life would have been easier for their daughter if she’d had a father who could have stuck it out during the hard times.

Instead, Brendon, her twenty-six-year-old surfer hero, had run out after five years of married bliss. Not that things had been much fun the last four of those years. With a child had come responsibility. Zia had needed a home, not a van, to live in. She’d needed medical treatment for her asthma.

The family had needed steady income, more than Caileen could provide from her nursing assistant salary while she tried to pursue her degree in counseling. Her parents, furious with her marriage, hadn’t offered help before or after the divorce.

Unfortunately, she now knew exactly how they’d felt. Experience was a great teacher. Putting thoughts of the past on hold, she finished her afternoon appointments and went home.

The two-bedroom town house was cold when she let herself inside. Her daughter wouldn’t be home for another hour or so due to a late afternoon class. She turned up the thermostat, changed to a pair of old sweats and ate leftovers and a salad for dinner.

Later, over a cup of hot tea, she pondered the visit to the Aquilon place.

Jeff’s many talents had surprised her. Obviously he was more than a glorified junk dealer. After the visit, she’d had to revise her opinion of him.

Not that she hadn’t been prepared for him to be a nice person. Lyric Dalton had assured her he was. But he was much more than the surface evaluation written up in the case notes by the former counselor.

For one thing, he hadn’t mentioned losing his foot in service to his country. He seemed to have adjusted quite well to the prosthesis that had replaced his left foot. Some people would have tried to engage her sympathy on that score, but he hadn’t. Although he had a slight limp, he didn’t let the disability interfere with his work as far as she could see.

Her impression was that he took life as it came and dealt with each issue head-on. His concern and questions had all been focused on the orphans in his care.

After having the two younger children taken from him for no good reason—in his estimation, at any rate—he had a right to be cynical and distrusting of her department. Most people were.

Welcome to the club, she should have told him.

Her mother and grandmother had been social workers. Like them, she’d gone into it wanting to help families—especially those with children—make it. Lately she’d wondered if the emotional toll was worth it.

She sighed and listened to the wind in the cottonwoods outside the two-family house she’d bought twelve years ago in order to provide a stable home for her daughter. The rent from the other half had paid for braces and the trendy—but pricey—clothing all teenagers thought they couldn’t live without.

Her handsome, perfectly built, young husband had left their cozy nest when his daughter was four. Zia had never had a clue about the daily struggle to pay the babysitter, her college tuition and all that was needed to keep body and soul together during the three years that followed. Caileen hadn’t wanted her to.

She’d lived in university housing and arranged a babysitting co-op with other student mothers. She’d worked afternoons in the psychology department and weekends as a dishwasher at a restaurant where they’d let her bring her child. She’d found she could survive with a heart that felt as if it had been trampled in the dust and left for dead.

With her master’s degree and a job offer from the local Family Services office, she’d moved to Council, bought the two-family home and settled into the hectic routine known as her life.

She hoped, for Jeff Aquilon’s sake, he had an easier time rearing his three kids than she was having raising her one. Speaking of which, where was Zia?

With Sammy Steele—she answered her own question. Her beautiful, precious child was in love…with a young man who bore all the charming but unreliable traits of her handsome, laughing father.

How could Caileen protect vulnerable, headstrong Zia from the temptation of a boy who promised the moon and stars, but delivered only heartbreak?

Ah, well, a parent could only do so much without alienating her child. Unfortunately, she’d already crossed that nebulous line. She sighed. When she’d been nineteen and madly in love, no one had told her how difficult it was to be a parent.

Not that she would have listened at that age. She mentally winced, realizing her child was as blindly trusting in the future as she’d once been. How did one learn to choose wisely?

She still wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question, so how could she expect nineteen-year-old Zia to do better? After all, she was supposed to be the expert on family problems and solutions.

Right. As soon as she found a reliable crystal ball, she’d solve the problems of the world.

Chapter Two

“We passed our first inspection today,” Jeff told the other members of his household that evening. “I think.”

“Ah, the Family Services witch was here,” Jeremy wisely concluded. “Did she arrive on her broomstick?”

Tony and Krista grinned at the eighteen-year-old’s insouciant remarks.

Jeff did, too. “Nah, they use cars nowadays. It’s part of their disguise. She approved of the house.” He directed a glance at Krista. “She especially liked the way it’s decorated. I told her you did most of it.”

Krista, shy about any kind of praise, blushed and immediately concentrated on her task of setting the table.

When dinner was ready, Jeff paused before taking his seat. “Tonight we celebrate two special events. First, we pay homage to Anthony, who has reached the distinguished age of fourteen.”

Jeremy and Krista cheered and clapped.

“And Krista,” Jeff continued, “our own special princess, who will be eleven tomorrow.”

Krista had taken a lot of teasing over the years about being an April Fool’s baby. She’d asked if she could have her birthday dinner when her brother had his. Tony, good-natured and protective, had okayed the idea.

While Jeff and Tony applauded and offered compliments to Krista, Jeremy brought in the cake Jeff had baked and hidden in the pantry until it was time for it to serve as the centerpiece during the meal.

After eating grilled chicken and roasted vegetables, Jeff and Jeremy lit candles and sang the birthday song. Tony and Krista blew out the candles, then Krista cut the cake.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Jeff said. His smile belied his words as he removed two boxes from behind the sofa and handed them to the birthday honorees.

Jeremy pretended he couldn’t remember where he’d secreted his gifts. He looked behind chairs and in cabinets to no avail.

“In the hall closet,” Krista finally told him, somewhat exasperated by his memory loss.

Jeff hid a grin.

Jeremy snapped his fingers. “That’s right!”

Krista and Tony rolled their eyes, then smothered their laughter behind their hands when their foster cousin returned with two packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“I couldn’t find the gift paper,” he explained.

“It’s stored in your closet,” Jeff said.

“Well, no wonder I couldn’t find it. I never look in the closet.”

That brought more smothered chortles from the younger two. Jeff experienced a return of the odd emotion from earlier in the day, the feeling that they had turned a corner and all would be well with them. If the Family Services people would leave them in peace.

While the kids opened their gifts—a mobile DVD/CD player with headphones from Jeff and three DVDs featuring current music idols from Jeremy for Krista, for Tony, the new sneakers he’d wanted, plus a pedometer to measure his track workouts from Jeremy and books for both of them—Jeff analyzed the visit from Caileen Peters.

Something about her had haunted the remainder of his afternoon. From the moment she’d arrived, he’d noticed things about her.

For instance, she’d liked the flowers he and the kids had planted. She’d been very complimentary of the house and the kids’ bedrooms. That had been a relief.

On a different level, he’d noticed the way she moved, the way she’d inhaled the spring air while she’d admired the garden. He’d liked her calm manner and her smile.

And her hair. The way it gleamed with golden highlights in the sun, like sparks from metal when he was welding. The way the breeze had caused the strands to lift and dance over each other. The way she’d brushed it away from her mouth.

Her lips. Soft-looking. Unintentionally kissable.

The fullness of her breasts that the stern business attire hadn’t been able to hide.

He hadn’t had time to notice a woman in months, maybe years. After a long bout with pain and physical therapy and adjusting to the prosthetic foot, he’d retired from the army with his twenty years in. The pension, plus the disability pay, had helped finance the start of his business.

Next, the three youngsters had moved in with him for six months before the younger two had been taken away. Four months later, all three had disappeared.

The caseworker had given him a lot of grief over that, as if he’d been the one who’d put them in that miserable excuse of a foster home.

That brought his thoughts back to Caileen Peters. At least she didn’t seem to be an ogre like the other woman had been. She’d seemed genuine in her concern for the children.

An unexpected stirring in his blood startled him. Man, he must be getting desperate if he was hung up on a damn social worker!

Krista came to him, interrupting the ridiculous ideas running through his head. She kissed him on the cheek in her sweet, shy manner. “Thank you for the present, Uncle Jeff.”

“Wow, I must be a prince,” he said, clutching his chest. “I just got kissed by a princess.”

“Sorry, Uncle,” Jeremy wisecracked. “Go look in the mirror. You’re still a frog.”

Krista scowled. “He is not a frog! He’s the most wonderful person in all the world!”

“The princess has spoken,” Jeff told his smart-mouth nephew, “and you, Sir Lout, may clean up the dishes.”

“The Knights of the Round Table didn’t do dishes,” Jeremy grumbled, then chuckled as he gathered the used plates. The other two helped.

Jeff crossed his prosthetic foot over his right leg and rubbed his left knee. He was tired from the unusually hard day of unpacking and storing his tools and salvaged treasures, but it was a good kind of tired.

A sense of well-being poured over him like a gentle rain. It didn’t get any better than this.

Caileen thought the day couldn’t get any worse than it already was. She’d started out on a sour note, arguing with her daughter about a weekend trip with her boyfriend. Then she’d had a flat tire on the way to the office. The judge in juvenile court had spoken sharply to her for not having all the facts on a case she’d just been given two days ago.

Happy April Fool’s Day.

She should have stayed in bed and called the office and told them she was sick. That’s what she’d felt like doing every day of late. However, she’d never allowed herself to wallow in self-indulgence, so her attendance record had been perfect over the past five years. Where was her gold star?

Ah, well, one day at a time and don’t take anything too seriously. That was her philosophy. Too bad she couldn’t live up to its simplicity.

Turning onto the lane leading to the Aquilon place, she frowned at the pleasant homestead, unreasonably irritated by the flowers, the artfully placed benches and copper sculptures dotted around the landscape.

After parking in the shadow of a cedar tree, she sat there for a minute, aware that the appearance of the place was that of an ideal home. She’d once thought with enough hard work on her part she could make life fit a perfect pattern. Events had taught her it couldn’t be done.

In spite of her stoic acceptance of reality, she felt a twinge of longing for things to somehow be different and one of sadness because they weren’t.

The front door opened and Jeff Aquilon appeared on the rose-bordered deck that served as a porch and defined the entrance to the house. It was warm today and he was dressed in lightweight cargo pants. A tool belt clung to his narrow waist, a hammer dangling from a hoop on it.

Today he looked younger and more relaxed than yesterday. His manner was rather more welcoming. Had she not known he had a prosthetic foot, she probably couldn’t have detected it in the way he moved.

A quizzical glance from him prodded her into remembering why she was here. She picked up the three books, exited the car and went to the porch. “Hello. I remembered the books.” She held them out to him, stopping at the limestone slab that served as a step onto the deck.

His hand brushed hers as he accepted the books. Tingles reverberated along her fingers and up her arm. She drew back in shock while alarm bells went off in her mind.

“Lunch is ready,” he announced, holding the door open.

She stood there as if rooted to the spot. “I, uh, didn’t expect anything. You don’t have to feed me.”

“You’re using your lunch hour to bring the books out. That’s a twenty-minute drive each way. The least I can do is offer you a meal. If that’s allowed?”

“Well, yes. I mean, of course it is. There’s no rule against eating…”

Listening to her flustered statements, she gave a mental groan at how inane she sounded.

“That’s a relief to know,” he murmured sardonically.

That brought her back to an even keel. She stepped into the house, her senses filling with the spicy scent of his aftershave as she passed him, then with the mouth-watering aroma of a hot meal. The table, she saw, was already set with large bowls on striped placemats. A ceramic casserole was in the center on a polished marble lazy Susan.

“It’s beef stew,” he said, laying the books on a sideboard and placing the tool belt beside them.

Not at all sure this was wise, she took a seat. “The books are stories of children who have all the cards stacked against them, but they make it anyway,” she said, keeping the reason for her visit strictly official.

“Kids like to see how others manage in bad situations, I suppose.” He served her from the casserole first and placed a basket of hot fry bread, wrapped in a tea towel, close at hand. A bowl of mixed fruit was at each place.

“This looks wonderful. A well-balanced meal,” she told him in approval. “Lots of fruit and vegetables.”

His slight smile caused her throat to tighten. “I’ve read all the articles on nutrition in the paper, so I’m trying to do a good job for the kids. This was to impress you with my skills.”

Surprised at the admission, she laughed. “I am impressed, I assure you.”

“Good.”

He settled in his chair and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Every time she glanced up, her eyes met his. She wondered what he was thinking…if he approved of her soft pink spring outfit…what he expected from a woman in a personal relationship…why no woman had snagged him long ago….

“Everything is delicious. Did you make the fry bread from scratch?” she asked, desperate to divert her thoughts from this strange pattern.

He shook his head. “My mother used to cook it for my brothers and me. She used boxed biscuit mix. She said that was cheating, but she wouldn’t tell if we wouldn’t. It was our family secret.”

“That’s a good bonding device.”

The dark eyebrows rose in question.

“Having a fun secret to share as a family,” she explained. “Your mother had good parenting instincts.”

She knew his mother had died several years ago from a rare form of cancer and his father of liver malfunction associated with alcohol when the three boys had been teenagers.

Her own parents, she mused, were alive and well, both now retired and living in Arizona. Her father had been an accountant. They’d never been very close as a family.

She thought of all the times she could have used their help while raising Zia and finishing the work for her counseling degree. But she’d been too proud to ask and they’d been too rigid to volunteer.

Her host’s manner seemed introspective as he gazed out the window for a moment. “She loved us. I think she would have given her life to protect us boys.”

At his tone she again felt that odd stab of envy, as if his life had been richer than hers. She mentally sighed in disgust with herself. She was so dissatisfied of late.

Was this the fabled midlife crisis?

“I know the feeling,” she said, thinking of her daughter and how to pry her away from Sammy Steele.

“How?” he asked. He glanced at her ringless hand. “Do you have children?”

“Yes. A daughter. She’s nineteen.”

When she didn’t add more, he asked, “Is there a father in the picture?”

She nodded stiffly, still feeling the sting of her poor choice in a mate. “We divorced when she was four. I thought we needed a house and steady income. He liked living in a van and surfing the best waves from California to Florida and all beaches between.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“Do you ever hear from him?”

“Zia does. He drops by occasionally and sends cards at Christmas and her birthday.”

“You sound surprised.”

“That he’d remember? I used to be. In some ways, he’s actually a good father. He cares for her. In his own way.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the surfing?”

While his tone was ironic, his smile was real. She smiled, too. “He still surfs, but he owns a construction firm, too. He’s been married three times.”

“You’ve never tried it again?”

“No,” she said quite forcefully. “Once was enough.”

It occurred to her that she’d shared more of herself with this man than with anyone in a long time. She clamped her lips together and reminded herself that she was the counselor and he was the patient.

Well, not really, but he was part of the case that was now under her cognizance. She must maintain the proper professional distance.

“Would you like more stew?” he asked.

Staring at her bowl, she realized she’d eaten all of the delicious meal. “No, thank you. Everything was very good. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a treat.”

“I hope you saved room for birthday cake. We had a joint celebration for Tony and Krista last night.”

The cake was a little lopsided. Crumbs marred the smooth surface of the creamy icing. Four slices were missing, and she could see that it was chocolate inside.

If it had been any more wonderful, she might have burst into tears.

“We prefer chocolate to any other flavor,” he said.

“So do I. I may be a chocoholic.”

He laughed at that, a rich sound that rolled over her with the sudden pleasure of bells heard in the distance on a Sunday morning in late spring. She could have fallen in love with him for his laugh alone.

After eating the delicious cake, which he admitted he’d made from a mix, she went over the story lines in the books she’d brought and suggested the reading order.

“Strength must come from within,” she concluded, “but humans are clan animals. We need others. I think Krista has a good basis in life. She was secure in her mother’s love and that of your brother. From the children’s accounts, he was a good father to them.”

“He didn’t like being tied down. As a family, they moved around a lot until his wife grew tired of it and decided to stay in one spot.”

“Was that when they divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Then both your brothers died.”

He nodded. “Within six months of each other and shortly before I stepped on a mine in a field that was supposed to have been cleared. It was sort of freakish—as if the fates were determined to wipe out the whole family.”

“Sometimes it seems like that,” she murmured. “My records don’t indicate a marriage for you.”

“No. I got the classic Dear John letter when I was in the army.”

“I’m sorry.”

His smile was unexpected. “Don’t be. Oddly, after I got over the wound to my pride, I realized I didn’t really miss her. It was having someone waiting that I missed.”

Caileen thought this over. “You didn’t love her.”

He shrugged. “I suppose not. Not enough for a lasting marriage, I realized later.”

“You were wise to recognize it in time,” she said.

“Well, she was the one who broke it off. I was merely relieved.”

They laughed together. It was the nicest sound.

“I’m going,” Zia said in her defiant voice.

“What about the term paper you’re supposed to turn in next week?” Caileen asked, keeping her tone level when she really wanted to shout and forbid her daughter to go off for a weekend camping trip with the love of her life.

Zia gave her an irritated grimace. “I hate doing term papers. I should have bought one on the Internet.”

Caileen gave a gasp of shock. “That would be cheating.”

“Mother, you are such a Puritan.”

“Maybe so, but you have a whole summer coming up—”

“That’s months away!”

“Two months isn’t a lifetime.”

“Living here feels like it,” Zia grumbled, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough that Caileen could have ignored the statement.

“When you can make it on your own, you’re free to do so,” she told her daughter, wishing Zia hadn’t inherited her stubborn genes.

Zia looked mulish, but said, “I’ll just go for tonight and come back in the morning and finish the stupid paper.”

“That sounds like a reasonable plan.”

Zia flounced down the hall to her room. Caileen ate her dinner and took the plate to the kitchen. Zia had already stowed her used dishes in the dishwasher.

A neat house was one thing Caileen insisted on. Decent grades were another. Money for tuition was too hard to come by to be wasted.

For a second, she wondered if her daughter saw her as unyielding, the way she viewed her parents. While she tried to be tolerant and understanding, there was a point within herself that couldn’t be breached.

“I’m ready. Sammy will be here any moment.”

Caileen turned from the kitchen window and smiled at her daughter, who had a backpack slung over one shoulder. “What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

Zia sighed. Loudly. “By noon.”

“Great. You can have the car to go to the library. I’m going to work in the yard.”

“You should hire someone to do the mowing. I know, we’re saving for a new roof,” Zia added glumly before Caileen could remind the girl of the harsh reality.

The doorbell rang.

“There’s Sammy. See you tomorrow,” Zia sang out and dashed for the door, the backpack swinging jauntily against her hip. “Uh, Mom, I think it’s someone for you,” she called a few seconds later.

Caileen went into the living room. Jeff Aquilon stood on the porch. “Hello,” she said, flustered at seeing him.

He held up the books. “Krista finished these. I thought I would return them since I was in town.”

Zia stepped back so he could enter. The room seemed much smaller with his presence. Noting the questions in her daughter’s eyes, Caileen introduced the two.

“Mr. Aquilon is the guardian of two of my clients. Zia is my daughter,” she explained to him.

“Call me Jeff,” he said, shaking hands with the girl.

“Thank you,” Zia said. Her smile was quick and dazzling. “There’s a guy in my four o’clock history class at the university whose name is Aquilon.”

“That would be my nephew, Jeremy,” Jeff said, returning the smile. “He’s finishing his senior year in high school, plus taking some college courses. He missed a year, so he’s in a hurry to make it up.”

“I see. Please, won’t you have a seat?”

He glanced at Caileen. She indicated the easy chair and took her place at the end of the sofa.

Zia glanced out the door. “Here’s Sammy. I have to run. Nice meeting you, Jeff.”

With another one of her dazzling smiles, she was out the door and off on her grand adventure. Silence prevailed.

“Did Krista enjoy the stories?” Caileen asked.

“She did. I wondered if you could recommend others. Perhaps longer books. She went through those in two nights and could have done it in one if Wednesday hadn’t been a school night.”

“She has a high reading score, more than two grades above the fifth-grade level. I should have remembered that.”

“Is she gifted? Is that the word the academics use nowadays?”

“Yes, it is.” She stared at him while she considered.

He wore dark slacks and a white shirt, the cuffs rolled up on his arms. The collar was open, revealing a white T-shirt. He looked fit and strong.

Forcing herself to look away, she told him, “I’ll have to check her record, but I think she missed the standard tests for the gifted program last year.”

“Can she take them now?”

Caileen shook her head. “It’s only given once a year and only to fourth graders in elementary school.”

He gave an exasperated snort. “Bureaucracy.”

“You can have her tested, but you’ll have to pay the costs. I can give you the names of the approved testing services so you can consult with them.”

“Good. What do you think of the gifted program in the local school system?”

“Zia loved the field trips and advanced experiments they did, but some teachers just gave extra work to those in the program. The kids didn’t think that was fair.”

He grimaced. “Busywork. I’d hate that, too.” He paused, then added on a thoughtful note, “Your daughter is quite beautiful.” His gaze ran over her as if wondering where the beauty came from.

Caileen nodded. “She looks exactly like her father. Blond, curly hair. Blue eyes. Same shape face. The same tall, slender body. The energy. I always felt as if I were in a mysterious force field when I was with him. When things were good between us.” She winced internally at the last phrase. She hadn’t meant to say that at all.

“Things do change,” he said casually.

“Yes. Sometimes I wish she could have stayed Krista’s age.”

“But kids grow up.”

“And have minds of their own.” She managed a smile.

Then, to her amazement, her eyes misted over as worry over her child assailed her. She blinked rapidly and got the errant tears under control as Jeff prepared to leave.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get home. Friday is Tony’s night to cook dinner. It’s always grilled hamburgers. Krista got after him about the fat content of the potato chips we used to have with them so we’re having lime gelatin with pineapple chunks and grated carrots and grapes instead.” He grinned somewhat wryly as he described the meal.

“That’s nice,” she said. Her voice wobbled.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded and burst into tears.

Chapter Three

Jeff reacted without thinking. He went to Caileen, sat beside her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders while she sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just…overwhelmed right now.”

“That’s okay.” He tried to think of a word that might apply to her problems, whatever they were. “Life seems unfair at times, but things have a way of working out.” There, that sounded vaguely wise. And, he hoped, comforting.

“For better or for worse?” she questioned with more than an edge of bitterness.

The phrase from the traditional marriage vows gave him a clue. “Have you recently broken off with someone?”

“No!”

She was so adamant he believed her at once. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he shut up. When she rested partly against him and partly against the sofa back, he found he liked the weight of her body on his.

When she turned toward him, he could feel the pressure of her breast against his side, and the warmth of her leg against his. She laid her right arm across his lap while she slid the other between his back and the sofa.

His libido sprang to hot, hard and instant attention.

He tried to suck in his stomach so she wouldn’t feel the pulsating ridge if she moved her arm just a fraction of an inch. Unfortunately he could only withdraw so far.

She sighed and leaned more into him. He knew the moment she became aware of his predicament.

Neither moved for a stunned moment, then she tilted her head against his shoulder, her eyes searching his as if bent on finding some great truth he was determined to hide.

He observed her, too. Her lips looked soft, full and inviting. They trembled with each breath. Her nose was pink on the tip, her eyes were red-rimmed and shimmering with unshed tears, and the moisture-laden lashes attractively outlined her eyes.

The color of her irises reminded him of the aqua green depths of the sea around the Caribbean islands he’d once explored while taking a special course in strategic sea tactics as a Ranger.

Her skin was smooth as he traced the tracks of the tears and dried them gently with his fingers. He ran one finger along her lips, which were soft to the touch and also vulnerable with the sorrow she evidently felt.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, his voice going deep and husky as the internal hunger increased.

“Zia.”

“Kids and parents often have differences.”

She nodded against his shoulder and sighed again. Her breath softly penetrated his shirt, bringing a flush to his skin and yearning throughout his body. He wanted to search that full, mobile mouth with his own, to find the sweetness he instinctively knew was there, waiting for him to taste.

Everything about her shouted woman to his starved senses. He shook his head slightly. Damn, but he must be on the verge of stark raving lunacy.

“Uh, Mrs. Peters…Caileen,” he began, then stopped, not knowing where to go from there.

She tilted her head back again to gaze at him.

The movement cut right through the tether he’d managed to rope around his personal needs over the past months. He grabbed at the fraying ends of his control, but it was no use. Without thinking further, he bent his head and kissed her…and kissed her…and kissed her…

The touch of their lips, the pressure of their bodies against each other and the sheer pleasure in the embrace hit him on several levels at once. Excitement buzzed through his head, making his mind hazy, yet an odd sense of contentment settled like a blanket around his shoulders, shutting out the wintry chill of loneliness he hadn’t known he had.

As he’d suspected—she was a tempting woman.

Caileen wasn’t sure why she wasn’t pulling back in shock and indignation at their mutual passion.

The feelings flooding through her combined bliss with anticipation, warmth with contentment and an excitement she hadn’t experienced in a long time, nothing even close to shock and indignation.

“Ages,” she murmured when his lips moved from her mouth to her ear, then down her jaw and to her throat. “It’s been ages since I’ve felt this.”

“Me, too,” he admitted in a low growly tone that sent ripples along every nerve.

He stroked her back with gentle, soothing caresses, his touch at once tender and passionate and masterful. His eyes were dark and sexy and inviting. She wanted to dive right into those exciting depths and never come up.

“This is so odd,” she told him. “It isn’t like me at all.” She sounded very uncertain. It occurred to her that maybe this moment was more closely linked to her true self than any other occurrence during the past few years.

Cupping her face in his hands, he peered into her eyes. “What are you like?” he asked.

“I’m very serious,” she explained. “I consider every aspect of a situation. I—I don’t go off the deep end like this. I’m not sure what we’re doing…”

His chuckle was wry, as if he laughed at all human foibles, not just theirs. “Comforting each other, I think.”

Put that way, it didn’t sound so awful. Everyone could use a little compassion at times.

She inhaled sharply when his lips sought hers again. She felt his tongue sweep over her lips and opened her mouth so they could explore each other more thoroughly.

It was the nicest sensation, a soft, moist coming together that seemed just right for this moment in time…a time out of time, really.

When she raised her arm to stroke his chest through the smooth cotton of his shirt, he shifted them so that he leaned into the corner of the sofa and she rested across his lap. The change in position gave them more intimate access to each other. She liked that.

As they kissed, she explored the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his biceps. When she caressed along his torso, his muscles tensed so that she felt the ripple effect of his toned abs.

“You’re strong,” she said when they came up for breath, as if she’d just discovered this enchanting fact.

“It’s my work,” he murmured, placing tiny kisses all over her face. “And the sculptures. They’re heavy.”

“They’re lovely.” She kissed the heavily beating pulse in his throat. “I saw the statue of the maiden and the swan you made for the fountain in town. It was beautiful.”

“Leda and the Swan, from Greek mythology. Did you know the swan was Zeus in disguise?”

“No.”

“He changed form so he could seduce her.”

Caileen drew back enough to gaze into his eyes. “Is that what you’re doing to me?”

He shook his head, his gaze lambent, his smile oddly gentle. “I wouldn’t try to trick a woman.”

“Ah, an honest man.”

“I hope so.” His manner was rueful.

His voice dropped an octave, becoming deep and riveting with a rich sexual nuance. With something like shock, and yet she wasn’t altogether surprised, she responded to him with a need so strong she wondered why she hadn’t been aware of it in the past.

Because she hadn’t met this man before now?

A shaky sigh escaped her as she gave herself to the passion and the moment, knowing this was insane, knowing tomorrow would bring regret—knowing and not caring.

Jeff forced himself from the honey of her mouth and gazed into her eyes. The irises were huge, indicative of the passion that raged between them. He knew his were the same.

He also knew she wasn’t ready to follow the desire to its logical conclusion. He wasn’t sure he was, either. To get involved with the person who had ultimate control over his life with the children was just plain stupid.

Reluctantly he let the blood cool between them until they could both think clearly once more. When she sat up, her manner reflected the confusion and dismay she felt at their indiscretion.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so very sorry…”

He forced a smile. “I think that’s where we were when this all started.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and serious, as if she were in shock that she could have acted so wantonly. For some reason, that made him angry.

“Don’t worry about it,” he advised. “Even the coolest head can become overheated in the right circumstances.”

“I’m not supposed to lose control,” she said. “I’m supposed to take charge.”

He rose, figuring he’d outstayed his welcome by a wide margin. “Look, this wasn’t a very good start to what promises to be a long relationship. Call it an aberration of the moment. Anyway, let’s put it behind us. Okay?”

She had to think this over for a long time, it seemed to him. “Yes. You’re right,” she said. “It was my fault. I’ve been worried…. But that isn’t your problem.” She shook her head slightly as if getting her mind on track once more. “Let me get those books.”

He was almost angry again at her evident relief at getting back to business. She hurried over to a tall bookcase and removed three volumes. “Has Krista read any of the Anne of Green Gables books?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well, try these. I’ll write down some titles next week. You can take her to the library and get her a card so she can check them out on her own. That would be a good thing—”

She stopped abruptly. Her eyes went to the sofa behind him. He wondered if she was thinking their kisses had been a good thing. As far as he was concerned, they had been.

Damn good. And damn stupid on his part.

It was obvious by the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes that she felt the same. He heaved a weary sigh and bid her good night.

After taking the books and leaving the house, he drove home deep in thought. He couldn’t alienate the tempting social worker. She was far too important in the life of his newly acquired family.

He realized he’d never considered that she might have worries of her own. He could sympathize with her concern over her daughter. It was far easier to tell others how to manage their affairs than figure out how to handle your own problems.

The evening had slipped into dusk by the time he arrived at the house. The lights inside beckoned him.

Going to the door, he saw the kids were in the living room, all with books in their hands, their faces identical expressions of concentration.

A surge of warmth hit his heart as he went inside.

He had to be careful, he realized. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize their right to live here, such as make a fool of himself over their counselor.

Caution was called for. He was good at strategy, he reminded himself sternly, and the best strategy was to keep his distance and maintain a grip on his libido.

Saturday morning, Caileen carried her coffee outside and sat under the vine-covered arbor. The sun was up, and the day was supposed to be warm. She basked in the peace and quiet. Her tenants—a young couple, both teachers—on the other side of the house usually slept late on the weekends, so she had the place to herself.

As soon as the neighbors were stirring, she would get the grass mowed and do some pruning of shrubs. She’d written up the reports she’d scheduled to do that morning, so she was caught up.

She’d also come to terms with her illogical behavior with Jeff. Worry. That’s what it was. The passion had been a release of her pent-up fears.

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

Around midnight she’d taken the old adage to heart and decided to forgive the loss of control that led to her inappropriate actions of the previous evening. Besides, going over and over the event hadn’t solved a thing.

Next, she’d determined to get some sleep. Amazingly, she’d fallen into bed and into a restful slumber. Although it was early, she felt as if she’d slept a solid eight hours and was ready for the new day.

An hour later, she pushed the reel-type mower through the grass and finished the backyard in record time. After mowing the tiny patch of lawn in front of the duplex, she worked the rest of the morning on pruning bushes and removing the mulch from flower beds so the sun could warm the ground and wake the plants from their winter’s rest.

At noon, she showered and put on fresh slacks and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then ate a sandwich, again choosing to sit on the back porch.

Around the neighborhood, families worked on flower beds, washed cars or chatted over the low fences between yards. Caileen inhaled the wonderful aroma of fresh-cut grass and that of baking bread. Her neighbor two doors down loved to cook and favored everyone with the delicious results.

Caileen glanced at her watch. It was after one. Ignoring the faint maternal prod of concern, she decided to go to the grocery store while she still had the car.

After checking supplies and making a list, she drove to the supermarket and did the weekly shopping. She wondered how Tony’s hamburgers and gelatin side dish had been received by Jeff and the other two.

In line at the checkout counter, she realized she was smiling as she thought of them. She touched her lips as if to be sure the smile was real. It was.

When it was her turn, she stacked the groceries on the moving belt and ran her credit card through the machine while Thelma, who’d worked there for the twelve years she’d lived in town, scanned the items. She was signing the credit slip when an ambulance rushed by, its siren warning others to clear a path. She and the clerk glanced up.

“I hope no one was injured in an accident.” Thelma frowned and shook her head. “My grandson got arrested for drag racing last weekend. My son is thinking about grounding him for life.”

“Teenagers can be reckless,” Caileen agreed.

“Ah, well, they grow out of it.”

Thelma finished bagging the groceries and loaded them onto the cart. Caileen left the store, her gaze going toward the street and the small hospital that served the community.

At the emergency portico, she saw the paramedics lift out a gurney and wheel it inside. The sunlight reflected from the plastic IV bag that dangled above the patient.

On the way home, she found herself dwelling on the scene and realized it was worry over her daughter that troubled her. After all, a trip to the hospital could be a joyous occasion—for instance, the birth of a child.

She remembered how frightened she’d been on the way to the hospital to have her baby. She’d been not quite twenty-one years old and alone. Brendon had gotten a job at a construction site that summer and was working long hours.

At home, she stored the food, her mind still on the past. As inexperienced parents, she and her husband had been terrified of the tiny child now in their keeping, but they’d both fallen in love with her.

Caileen finished her task, then paused and considered those long-ago days and two months of fatigue before Zia had slept the night through. Brendon had been good about helping then. When had things gone wrong for them?

When she’d wanted a stable home and a steady source of income. When she’d decided it was time for them—both of them—to grow up.

Maybe she’d expected too much.

Before she could dwell on this, the telephone rang. She grabbed the wall phone at the end of the counter. “Hello?”

Expecting her daughter’s voice, she was surprised when a masculine voice inquired, “Mrs. Peters?”

“Yes?”

“This is Sammy. Uh, Zia’s been hurt.”

“Hurt? How? Where is she?”

“At the hospital. You’d better come down. She asked for you before she, uh, passed out.”

Caileen wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she refrained. “I’ll be right there,” she promised and hung up.

Grabbing her purse, she dug out the keys while she ran to the car. On the road, she wouldn’t let herself go more than ten miles over the speed limit even though she wanted to floor the pedal. She parked at the curb near the emergency room and dashed inside.

“I’m Caileen Peters,” she told the woman behind the admitting desk. “My daughter, Zia, was brought in a short time ago?” Her voice trailed upward into a question.

“Mmm, Peters, yes. The surgeon is with her. I have some forms for you to sign.”

“What happened?” Caileen demanded, ignoring the forms as panic rose inside her. “Why is she in surgery?”

“A car accident,” the woman said sympathetically. “Your daughter is doing fine. Her blood pressure stabilized shortly after the ambulance crew put the IV in. The floor nurse will be with you in a minute. She’ll give you a full report.”

Caileen digested the information while a hundred questions whirled through her mind.

The woman held out a pen. “Fill out the form and sign at the bottom. Do you have insurance?”

“Yes, through the county. I’m with Family Services.”

Her hand trembling slightly, Caileen signed the papers. When she was finished, a nurse told her Zia was in surgery to repair a torn blood vessel. “But what happened?” she asked. “How did she get injured?”

“A piece of metal hit her in the neck, causing a jagged edge to nick an artery,” the nurse said gently. “Your daughter was lucky that no other damage was done. Here’s the waiting room. The surgeon will see you when he’s finished. Your daughter’s friend is here, too.”

Caileen went into the quiet, tastefully furnished room. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air. “Sammy,” she said, spotting the handsome young man sitting in a kitchen chair at a table. “What happened?”

He avoided her eyes. “There was an accident.”

“In your pickup?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Two of the guys were, uh, sort of racing. They sideswiped each other and a piece of chrome flew off and hit Zia on the side of her neck.”

“Drag racing?” Caileen asked, recalling the grocery clerk’s remarks.

Sammy nodded. “A lot of people use the old back road, the one near the campground, to check out their engines. We were standing beside the road, watching.”

Caileen suppressed the anger his words caused. Now wasn’t the time to accuse him of putting her child in danger. Zia had gone of her own accord. “What happened after the injury?”

“She was bleeding a lot,” he said, gesturing helplessly. “I held a handkerchief against the wound while someone called the ambulance on a cell phone.”

Caileen stared at his hands as he clasped them and leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. He had large hands, a man’s hands, but his expression was that of a boy who’d been caught in some mischief. He was twenty-one, an adult by law. She sighed and poured a cup of coffee, then took a seat opposite him.

Another person came into the room. She glanced up and her eyes met those of Jeff Aquilon. She stared at him.

He nodded, walked over to the counter and got a cup of coffee, then stopped by the table. “May I join you?” he asked.

“Yes. What are you doing here?” She realized how rude that sounded. “Is everything all right?”

“With my family, yes. The hospital called and asked if Jeremy and I could give blood. We’re both O negative.”

“Universal donors,” Sammy said.

“Zia is A negative,” Caileen said, trying to put all these facts together into a whole.

“I understand she was injured in a car accident,” Jeff said. His gaze settled on Sammy. “You should know better than to bring women along when you’re doing something stupid.”

Caileen was surprised when Sammy’s ears and face reddened. “We always have meets on the weekends. No one ever got injured before,” he said defensively.

“Yeah,” Jeff said in an unforgiving tone. “There’s always a first time, and then you learn.”

“You gave blood for Zia?” Caileen asked, interrupting the other two.

The dark eyes flicked to her. “Yes.”

“Your nephew is giving blood, too?”

“Yes.”

A rush of gratitude flowed through her. “Thank you,” she said. “That was kind of you. And your nephew.”

He shrugged. “We’re on a special call list with the hospital. Blood supplies are low due to lack of donors.” Again his hard gaze settled on the younger man. “You should persuade your friends to come down and give blood. That way, you can make up in part for the harm you’ve caused.”

Sammy swallowed, his throat working as though he’d bitten off a large bite and was having trouble getting it down. “I will,” he said hoarsely.

Caileen felt sorry for him. He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

“And you can apologize to her mother.”

Caileen didn’t know what to say as Sammy apologized for putting her daughter in danger. “Thank you,” she finally murmured when Sammy stopped his faltering apology. “However, Zia is an adult. I suppose she chose to be there.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jeff spoke before Sammy could. “Even an independent woman trusts her boyfriend to take care of her. Right?” He narrowed his eyes and stared at Sammy.

“Yes, sir.”

Caileen almost expected Sammy to stand at attention and salute. The tense little scene was interrupted by the arrival of Jeff’s nephew. He walked into the room with a bandage around his elbow.

“Sit here,” his uncle advised. “You want some juice? The nurse said there was plenty in the fridge.”

Jeremy took the chair. “Please.” He looked Sammy over. “You the guy who took her to the illegal drag race?”

That he didn’t think much of the other young man was clear. Sammy nodded, looking miserable. Caileen kept her mouth shut.

“Are you Zia’s mother?” he asked after thanking his uncle for a box of orange juice. He stuck a straw in it and took a long drink.

“Yes, I am,” Caileen answered. She studied Jeff and Jeremy, noting how alike they were with their dark, dark eyes, thick, brown-black hair and serious air. “You have a class with her at college, I understand.”

Jeremy smiled. It did wonders for his face, just the way Jeff’s smiles lit up his countenance, she noticed.

“Yeah. She’s one smart kid.”

Caileen smiled and agreed. It was amusing to hear this young man call her daughter a kid. From her info on the family, she knew Jeremy was three months younger than Zia.

However, he seemed older, Caileen acknowledged. He’d taken on the responsibility of protecting his younger cousins—step-cousins actually—last year and had cared for them with no outside help for months.

She glanced at Jeff, who silently observed the exchange. He was a person who didn’t duck his responsibility to his family, either. Like uncle, like nephew?

For a second, she wished her child would find someone like Jeremy to date. And for a second longer, she wished she’d found someone like Jeff when she was nineteen and idealistic…

The doctor came in just then. “Mrs. Peters?”

She stood. “Yes?”

A large warm hand found hers. She glanced at Jeff, who’d also risen and was standing beside her. She stared at the surgeon in dread.

“Zia is fine. She’s weak from the loss of blood, but she’s young and healthy. She’ll be ready to go home in the morning. I don’t expect any complications.”

Caileen nodded. She realized she was squeezing the life out of Jeff’s hand and let go, embarrassed at clinging to him as if she were one of those neurotic TV mothers.

The doctor glanced at Sammy. “There’s a policeman in the lobby wanting a statement from you.”

Going pale, Sammy rose and hurried down the corridor to the main lobby.

“Thanks to both of you for coming in,” the doctor continued, his eyes on Jeff and Jeremy.

“It was no trouble,” Jeff assured him.

“Yeah, but next time tell the nurse not to use that rusty needle,” Jeremy quipped, giving his bandaged arm a pained glance.

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