In All That His Brother Had Told Her About Jackson, He’d Never Mentioned That He Was So Damn Good-looking.

Not the smooth good looks of a catalog model. But the rough-around-the-edges kind that made Annie’s breath catch in her throat and set her pulse racing. His rain-soaked thick black hair was smoothed back from his forehead, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, lean cheeks, a square jaw and a blunt chin.

He badly needed a shave, Annie noticed, and his thin white shirt was soaked through, clinging to the lines of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. And yes, damp, bedraggled and mud splattered, he was still the most attractive man who had crossed her path in ages. But she pulled her gaze away with conscious effort.

Get a grip, girl, she coached herself. This guy’s the enemy.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, the ultimate treat for Valentine’s Day—we promise you will find six passionate, powerful and provocative romances every month! And here’s what you can indulge yourself with this February….

The fabulous Peggy Moreland brings you February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, The Way to a Rancher’s Heart. You’ll be enticed by this gruff widowed rancher who must let down his guard for the sake of a younger woman.

The exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with World’s Most Eligible Texan by Sara Orwig. A world-weary diplomat finds love—and fatherhood—after making a Plain Jane schoolteacher pregnant with his child.

Kathryn Jensen’s The American Earl is an office romance featuring the son of a British earl who falls for his American employee. In Overnight Cinderella by Katherine Garbera, an ugly-duckling heroine transforms herself into a swan to win the love of an alpha male. Kate Little tells the story of a wealthy bachelor captivated by the woman he was trying to protect his younger brother from in The Millionaire Takes a Bride. And Kristi Gold offers His Sheltering Arms, in which a macho ex-cop finds love with the woman he protects.

Make this Valentine’s Day extra-special by spoiling yourself with all six of these alluring Desire titles!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Millionaire Takes a Bride
Kate Little

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE LITTLE

claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

One

Someone was banging on the door. Banging hard enough to rattle the hinges. The fact registered dimly on Georgia Price’s sleep-fogged brain.

As if this place needs any help falling apart at the seams, thank you very much, was her first waking thought. Then she sat up, swung her legs to the floor and brushed a careless hand through her sleep-tousled hair.

The banging persisted. “All right, all right. Keep your shirt on, pal,” Georgia muttered. She pulled on a sapphire-blue silk robe and clicked on the lamp near the landing before descending the stairs.

No hurry, she thought. She was certain of the identity of her caller, though they had never before met.

The flash of light within had obviously given her visitor encouragement, and he immediately called out on the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there, Will. Open up, blast you. I’m not leaving here until you open this door, do you hear me…?”

The tone was deep, booming—and belligerent. Just what Georgia had expected, although she hadn’t counted on Jackson Bradshaw arriving in the pitch-black middle of the night. Her sister’s fiancé, Will Bradshaw, had described his older brother, Jackson, as an extremely stubborn man, and Georgia fully expected a difficult encounter. But to descend upon her at this hour in the middle of a rainstorm, Georgia found positively…berserk.

While Will had warned her about Jackson, Georgia had believed he’d been exaggerating. Well, he wasn’t, she decided as the door banging and off-color expletives hit new heights.

She vaguely wondered if he would get violent—especially if he learned how he’d been tricked by the three of them—her, Faith and Will. The little scheme had been Will’s plan. With Faith’s help, the young lovers had persuaded Georgia to help them escape the wrath of Will’s overbearing, overprotective brother.

Maybe she was foolish to answer the door at all, she thought. Most folks she knew in the small town of Sweetwater, Texas, would greet a stranger at this hour with a handy household shotgun.

But Georgia was not the type to own a gun. She wouldn’t even allow her son, Noah, to play with water pistols. Besides, she was betting Jackson Bradshaw’s bark was far worse than his bite. Okay, so he was a high-powered, corporate attorney from New York City, no less. The man would naturally be on the argumentative side, she reasoned. But hadn’t Will promised that Jackson wasn’t so bad…once you got to know him?

Right now, shouting himself hoarse on the other side of her door, he sounded like her worst nightmare.

“And I’ll stay out here all night if I have to…” the angry voice continued.

It was a miracle that the noise hadn’t disturbed Noah, she realized. But her son had always been such a good sleeper, a trait Georgia had been especially thankful for as a single parent.

“Well, I guess it’s show time,” she murmured to herself at the bottom of the steps. She took a deep breath, then tightened the sash on her robe before she swung open the door.

His face veiled in shadows, Jackson Bradshaw met her carefully composed expression with a dark, searing stare.

“You sure took your time answering the damn door, lady. Is this a taste of the Texas hospitality I’ve heard so much about?”

“Speaking of time—do you have any idea of the hour, Mr—?”

“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know who I am, Georgia Price,” he cut in. His eyes narrowed to dark slits. “If there’s one thing that gets under my skin, its pretense—especially when it’s dished out by a woman.”

“I’m sure that any number of things get under your skin, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied with a small smile.

“And I’m sure my brother’s told you all about me by now, Ms. Price.”

“Only the low points,” she replied with a grin.

“Cute. I’ll have to remember that.”

He smiled, as well, folding his arms across his broad chest and leaning into the light. He took a long, appraising look at her, and Georgia had her first good look at him as well. Even, white teeth flashed against tanned skin. Deep lines bracketed his wide, sensual mouth, and small attractive creases appeared at the corners of his dark eyes. The transformation was mesmerizing. Dangerously so, she realized.

“Well…aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked finally.

Georgia had plenty of practice facing down intimidating men, but the moment her gaze locked with her adversary’s, she felt an egg-sized lump lodge in her throat.

“Of course, come in,” she replied in a shaky voice.

As he stepped into the foyer, she silently scolded herself for letting his looks affect her. But then again, she’d been taken by surprise.

In all that Will had said about his brother, he’d never mentioned that Jackson was so damn good-looking. Not the polished and predictable looks of a catalogue model, but the rough-around-the-edges kind, that made Georgia’s breath catch in her throat and set her pulse racing. As she busied herself, latching the door, she secretly watched him stroll into the living room. Black as a raven’s wing, his rain-soaked hair was smoothed back from his forehead, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, lean cheeks, a square jaw and a blunt chin.

He badly needed a shave, she noticed, and his thin white shirt was wet through, clinging to the lines of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. A colorful silk tie—the expensive designer type—hung undone from his collar. Probably ruined, she reflected. Though she was sure with his money he’d never miss it.

Damp, bedraggled and mud splattered, he was still the most attractive man who had crossed her path in ages. But she pulled her gaze away with conscious effort.

Get a grip, gal, she coached herself. This guy’s the enemy.

Besides, his personality clearly negated the attractive packaging. He was her adversary, and she had to play her part. Wonderful Will—who might even be her brother-in-law by now, if all had gone as planned—and her own beloved sister, Faith, were counting on her. She had to ignore Jackson Bradshaw’s good looks and remind herself that he was bent on destroying her sister’s precious chance for happiness with the man she loved.

And for no justifiable reason, as far as Georgia could see.

Will had told her a story about Jackson’s past, how he’d been spurned in his early twenties by his first love, a young woman he hoped to marry. But as the story went, Jackson’s father did not approve of the girl. Convinced she was only after the Bradshaw fortune, he met with her secretly, persuaded her to break off with Jackson and paid her a large lump sum to disappear. Coupled with the early loss of their mother, Will claimed the experience had burned his brother so badly he’d never again trust a woman in a romantic relationship. And unfortunately, not only were any women he met suspect, but women that Will met, as well.

Well, it was a sad story, indeed, Georgia reflected as she walked toward Jackson. But we all have sad stories to tell, she thought. She knew that only too well. One bad experience was no excuse to ruin other people’s lives.

He faced her squarely as she stood in the arched entrance way to the room. “All right, where is he?”

“I have no idea who you’re speaking about,” Georgia claimed with a wide-eyed stare.

“Of course you do, damn it! Don’t give me those big eyes and fluttering lashes. I’m immune to your charms, Ms. Price, plentiful as they may be,” he promised her. “I flew two thousand miles from New York, drove three hours from the airport to this god-forsaken nowhereville, got lost five times on the road and walked the last mile in the pouring rain!” His voice had started off at a reasonable tone, but rose with each breath so that his speech now crescendoed at shouting level, his face an angry scowl. “Now, you tell Will to get out here this instant! I’m tired of playing games.”

Georgia stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then she laughed, politely covering her mouth with her hand. Perhaps it was a nervous reaction to his tirade. Or some defensive reflex meant to show him she was not cowed by his anger.

But it really was funny if you thought about it, she realized. Jackson Bradshaw was truly a man on a mission. You could see it from the obsessed gleam in his coal-black eyes. He truly believed he’d arrived just in the nick of time to prevent her from marrying Will Bradshaw. Who he also believed was cowering in some dark corner of her house.

“I don’t appreciate your amusement at my expense, Ms. Price,” he said sternly.

“Please, call me Georgia,” she suggested politely. “We are on shouting terms and all.”

“All right, Georgia,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Now you are either going to tell Will to come out and face the music, or I’ll search this place from cellar to attic.”

“Help yourself.” She waved her arm airily. “But it won’t do you any good. Will isn’t here.”

He quickly glanced around the room, as if expecting his brother to step out from behind the couch or a curtain. Then he looked back at Georgia, glaring at her, obviously considering his next move.

“Maybe that is true,” he said finally, rubbing his jaw with hand. “I doubt that even my brother would stay in hiding this long while his fair damsel faced the dragon alone.”

Georgia watched him as he paced around the room, peered out the window at the wretched weather and then dropped the curtain back in place. Gee, she’d never been called a fair damsel before. It was a little corny…but cute.

“So, why isn’t he here?” Jackson persisted. “Are you two superstitious? No letting the groom view the bride before she walks down the aisle and all that?”

“I’m not the least bit superstitious,” she said honestly. “But Will is. Funny thing for a scientist, isn’t it?”

“Very amusing,” he replied blandly. “Where is he? You might as well tell me now and save us both a lot of trouble,” he warned.

“I don’t know,” she answered simply. When he stared at her in disbelief, she shrugged. “Honestly.”

He started to say something, then pursed his lips and sighed. She wondered if he was giving up or just getting a second wind.

She watched him warily as he gazed around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. She saw his expression turn to an appraising, scornful look. It was a look that spoke volumes to Georgia—he was wealthy and a snob. He’d never known anything but the very best life had to offer—raised on a huge estate in Connecticut, a Park Avenue apartment, private schools and Ivy League colleges, etcetera. She on the other hand, was raised in a backwater town just like Sweetwater, had left home pregnant and unwed at age seventeen and barely finished high school.

After years of scraping by at menial jobs, she had her own home and business now, an achievement that she was proud of.

But still, while Georgia had always found her home quite comfortable and had decorated it to her taste, she could understand how it must look to a man of his reputed wealth. She gazed around as he did, seeing the place from his eyes. The swayback couch, of 1890s vintage, was actually valuable—if she ever had the extra money to refinish the wood trim and repair the tear in the burgundy satin upholstery that was now cleverly camouflaged by a hand-knit afghan. The rocker, with its careworn velvet cushions, was in need of repair as well. She’d nursed Noah in that rocker, it held such fond memories.

The Oriental-style area rug that covered the polished wood floor had seen better days. But Georgia had other, more pressing financial priorities at the moment than finding a replacement. Paying the utilities bills, for instance. Besides, she was waiting for a suitable rug to pass through her hands at her shop. How could she force herself to pay retail prices, when sooner or later she’d come across the perfect replacement for free?

“You collect antiques, I see,” he said finally.

“Some pieces are antiques. Some are just…old,” she admitted. “I got most of the things through my business. I have a shop in town,” she explained. “It’s sort of a combination thrift store, antique and vintage clothes shop. We sell all kinds of things.”

“Yes, I know all about it. Georgia’s Attic,” he replied, in a smug, know-it-all tone.

“Yes, that’s right,” she answered, lifting her chin. At five-nine, Georgia was tall for a woman. But he was at least six foot two or three she guessed, and when he glared down at her she felt almost…petite. A feeling she did not often experience in the company of a man.

He stalked around her living room like a disgruntled tiger, practically growling under his breath. He picked up a china dish off the end table and checked the imprint on the bottom. It was Limoges, a discontinued pattern. Despite the hairline crack in the finish, it was worth something, especially to a collector.

“Nice,” he noted as he carefully set it down again. “From your shop as well?”

“That’s right.”

“I imagine you don’t make much profit, if you take home all the best pieces for yourself.”

“I do all right,” she bristled. The nerve of the man. As if it was any of his business how much profit she made.

He laughed, a cold, hard sound that contradicted her claim.

“I’ve already told you once. Don’t lie to me. I know very well what kind of trade Georgia’s Attic does—or doesn’t do.”

“Do you?” she challenged.

“Down to the last dollar. I’ve done some research, you see. Your profit margin is not very…impressive.”

Georgia felt herself flush red with anger to the roots of her hair. She didn’t make much money from her shop, it was true. But she did have her writing. It had been just a hobby for years, but if her publisher was right, she might be making more money than she’d ever dreamed with her second mystery novel, which was just about to hit the bookstores and had already received several good reviews.

But perhaps Mr. Know-It-All’s investigation had missed that fact, since she wrote under a pseudonym. Despite Will’s warnings that his brother would pull out all the stops, the very idea that he had investigated her—spied on her—made her blood boil.

“You’re the last person on earth I’m interested in impressing, Mr. Bradshaw,” she replied smoothly.

“But just so your facts are straight, you can note that I have other sources of income.”

“I’ll bet,” he said in a harsh, accusing tone. “Like my brother, for instance?” he added harshly. “Well, as of tonight, you can strike Will Bradshaw from your balance sheet. You’ll have to find some other wealthy boyfriend to set you up in the affluent style to which you obviously aspire. Clearly, your tastes exceed your income, Ms. Price.”

Georgia stared at him, too shocked to speak.

“Of course, with your looks, it shouldn’t be too hard to find another rich sap,” he added before she could reply. “With that face—and body to match— I’m not surprised you had a guy like Will twisted around your little finger.” His hot, appraising glance swept down her thinly clad figure, making her feel practically undressed.

While she knew she was decently covered, she instinctively clutched at the neckline of her robe. Then she turned on him, her temper exploding.

“You have some unbelievable nerve! Waking me up in the middle of the night. Raving like a madman. Coming into my home and insulting me in this outrageous manner!”

She knew she was only playing a part, but how dare he accuse her—accuse any woman he’d barely met five minutes ago—of trading money for romantic favors. Besides, if Will wanted to give his girlfriends gifts, even if those gifts included money, it was hardly his older brother’s business.

“Yes, play the part of the outraged maiden, why don’t you? The sensitive, innocent flower, trampled and slandered by a brute. An absolute beast,” he added in a mocking tone. “Have I bruised your tender sensibilities so harshly, Ms. Price? Well, let me put it to you another way then. As far as I can see, you are—as they’d say in the good old days—a fortune hunter, madam. Plain and simple, one who is after my brother’s money. If you think you’re going to marry him, think again,” he shouted at her.

“I’m sure you’re the one who needs to think again, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied, echoing his cutting tone. “Your brother is an intelligent, responsible adult who can and will choose who he wishes to marry. And without your grandiose, overbearing interference or approval, I might add.”

“You will not marry him,” Jackson Bradshaw countered. He stared at her from across the room, where he stood silhouetted against the long frame window. He was an intimidating man, some part of her brain noted. Intimidating, infuriating—and even now—disturbingly attractive.

She felt right now as if she despised him—not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her sister, as well. Will had been right. Dear gentle Faith would never have been able to stand up to this man. Georgia, who considered herself far tougher, knew she was having a time of it herself. How dare he judge her on such thin evidence—her worn-out couch and fledgling business. She couldn’t abide people who tallied up a person’s worth in such a superficial, materialistic way.

But at the same time that she despised him, some powerful undercurrent of attraction, compelling and electric, arced between them. It was a force that tugged at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he slowly moved toward her, across the dimly lit room.

Finally he stood before her. Inches away. She thought to step back, but her legs felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was stare up at him, studying the hard lines of his too handsome face, his large, dark eyes, his wide, soft mouth….

“Go ahead. Just try to deny it,” he challenged her.

“Deny what?” she asked, genuinely confused. Her thoughts had wandered. His nearness had totally distracted her, short-circuited her rational mind.

“Deny that you plan to marry my brother,” he insisted. “Tomorrow, in fact, at the First Church.”

“I have no intention now, nor have I ever wished to marry your brother,” she answered honestly. Though she could not deny that for the purposes of throwing Jackson Bradshaw’s private investigators on the wrong scent, she, Will and Faith had done all they could to create a convincing, false trail, including taking out a marriage license in town and printing a phony engagement announcement in the local paper. All in the hopes of luring Jackson to Texas while Will and Faith were off to some mystery location, tying the knot.

“Don’t lie to me—” he replied in a low, threatening tone.

He moved even closer and Georgia tipped her head back to look up at him.

“I know,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve been warned. You can’t stand pretense—especially from a female.”

He didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare down at her, a grim, unreadable expression on his face. Deep in his eyes she saw a flash of fire—was it anger? Or desire?

When she felt his large hands grip her upper arms she wasn’t surprised. His hold was firm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through her robe. She had the sense that if she struggled against him, his grip would tighten. But somehow the thought didn’t scare her.

“I can’t see you with my brother,” he said in a low, intimate tone that made her heartbeat race. “You’re not his type. Not at all.”

“Oh, really?” Georgia replied, vaguely amused. “Am I too tall do you think? Too…brash?”

“You’re a handful. The kind who needs a stronger man than my brother at the helm, I’ll tell you that much.”

“But we’ve only met, what…? Ten minutes ago? How could you have any idea what type I am?” Georgia insisted.

“Oh, but I do,” he assured her in a deep, quiet voice. “I know all about you, Georgia Price. All I need to know. Believe me,” he promised.

Had he pulled her imperceptibly closer? Georgia couldn’t be sure. Yet she was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.

She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and suddenly looked away. She felt in over her head. Way over her head.

“Are you blushing?” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hmm, you are. How charming,” he said sweetly. “Didn’t take you for the blushing type. Or is this some further performance? Hoping to find my sympathetic side?”

“Your…sympathetic side?” she stammered.

“You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.

“Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”

Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.

Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.

It was shocking.

It was wonderful.

It was a pure revelation.

Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.

Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.

Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?

Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.

“Mommy?”

Noah. He’d woken up.

Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”

He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”

Georgia wondered for a moment if she should tell one of the little white lies that help adults survive parenthood, for she could make Noah believe all he had heard was the TV. Then she thought best not to, realizing that Noah could easily get out of bed again and see Jackson Bradshaw.

With a hand on Noah’s shoulder she gently guided him back toward his bedroom. “Mommy has a visitor. But he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”

“A visitor?” Noah sounded confused. And rightly so. Georgia rarely dated and never had men over for the night, out of consideration for her son. “Who’s here?”

“Just a man who got lost in the rain on the road,” she said. The explanation satisfied her as it wasn’t a total fabrication, from what Jackson had told her of his journey. “His car broke down near our house and he needs to call up for a ride to town.”

There, that should appease even Noah’s eight-year-old, insatiable mind, she decided.

She flipped back the comforter on Noah’s bed. “Okay, back to bed now.”

“How is this man going to get a ride to town?” Noah protested as he climbed back under his quilt imprinted with the infamous Curious George. “He’ll never get a ride into town in the middle of the night, Mom,” Noah assured her.

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

As she descended the stairs again, she realized that Noah was correct, as usual. The only way Jackson Bradshaw could get back to town at this hour was if she packed up Noah and drove him or lent him her vehicle. She guessed the time to be close to 2:00 a.m., and neither solution seemed appealing.

When Georgia entered the living room, Jackson was standing at the far end, gazing out at the rain again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned to look at her with a bland, distant expression, and it was as if their intimate encounter had never happened.

Just as well, Georgia decided. She was quite happy to skip any commentary or analysis. The moment had seemed like a dream, a wild fantasy. She couldn’t begin to understand her reaction to him—no less explain it.

“Is your boy all right?” he asked politely.

“He’s fine,” she assured him.

“I’m sorry I woke him. I hope he wasn’t scared, hearing a strange voice in the house in the middle of the night.”

His consideration for Noah surprised her. Was it an act, designed to put her off guard? Had that impetuous kiss been a ploy, as well? she suddenly wondered.

“I explained that your car got stuck on the road and you walked here for help. He said he didn’t think you’d be able to get a ride back to town tonight.”

“From the looks of your town, I suspect he’s right. If I’d sneezed while driving down Main Street, I might have missed it.”

“It’s not quite that dinky,” Georgia protested. “But Sweetwater doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour taxi service. We don’t have any taxi service at all, actually,” she admitted.

“And I suppose that, even if I could find a ride somehow, there probably aren’t any motels around here, are there?”

“Sure, there’s a motel,” she replied agreeably. “The E-Z Rest. About thirty-five miles north on Route 6. The truckers seem to like it.”

She tried to picture Jackson Bradshaw spending a night at the E-Z Rest. The image made her secretly smile. Well, it certainly was not the Ritz….

“I might have guessed,” he replied in a grim, resigned tone. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, maybe you could kindly lend me an umbrella, then. It looks as if it’s still raining a bit, and I do have a rather long walk back to my car.”

“Your car? I thought you said your car wasn’t working.”

“That’s correct. And the rental agency can’t get a replacement out here until sometime late tomorrow. And that’s only if the rain stops.”

“Well then, why, may I ask, are going back out to your car? If you’ve left any valuables there, you needn’t worry. This area may be a backwater, but we are just about crime free.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Ms. Price. At least I won’t fear for my life, sleeping out on the roadside. Do you have an extra umbrella or not?” he queried.

She suddenly understood. The poor man. He thought she was going to toss him back into the rain and make him sleep in his car. As if she could treat her worst enemy in that fashion. She almost wanted to laugh, but restrained herself.

“Don’t be silly. You needn’t sleep in your car. You can stay here, on the sofa.” As if on cue they both glanced over at her old couch. The lumps looked even larger than usual to Georgia and she had no doubt that his feet would hang well over the edge. She might feel sorry for him…if he wasn’t such a bullheaded pain in the neck. Besides, it certainly beat his alternatives. After the way he’d insulted her tonight—all in the name of his “quest”—he was lucky she’d allowed him to stay at all.

He must have been thinking the same. “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. All things considered.”

“Yes. All things considered, it is, isn’t it?” She brushed by and headed up the stairs to get some bedding. Then she remembered that his clothes were probably still wet and would be horribly uncomfortable. “Would you like a dry T-shirt or something?” she asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.

“Uh…sure. That would be excellent,” he replied, seeming surprised at her thoughtfulness. “That is, if you can find one that will fit me.”

“I think I can dig up something,” Georgia replied as she continued up the stairs. She had some super-large T-shirts on hand that she used for cover-ups while exercising or when she took Noah to the town pool. One of them should be large enough to fit her unexpected houseguest, she thought. There might even be some baggy sweatpants around, too.

She gathered the necessary bedding, clean towels, some toiletry items she thought he’d find useful and also a large black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. She returned with her armload to find Jackson in the rocking chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.

He was breathing heavily—practically snoring, she noted. But in sleep, his stern expression had relaxed, displaying his appealing features to full advantage. He’d opened his shirt to the waist, and Georgia felt herself blushing as she surveyed the contours of his muscular chest, covered with whorls of dark hair down to his flat belly.

Easy girl, she coached herself, as she pulled her gaze away. She released a small, quiet sigh, dumped her burden on the armchair, then quickly made up the bed.

She left the towels and other necessities on the end table, then stood next to Jackson. He was sleeping so deeply, she wondered if she should wake him. Then she thought she should, since she knew he’d wake up with a permanent dent in his back if he spent the rest of the night in that rocker, which certainly would not improve his cranky disposition.

She leaned over him. “Jackson?” she called quietly.

He didn’t open his eyes immediately, though she did notice a small smile shape his lips and guessed he had heard her.

“Come on, Jackson. Time for bed,” she called again, leaning closer.

“Georgia…” he murmured. She liked the way he said her name. As if he’d been calling to her in a dream. But when he added, “Yes…let’s get to bed, honey…” She straightened to her full height.

He suddenly blinked, coughed and stared up at her, his relaxed, soft smile replaced by a guarded look. “Guess I fell asleep,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hand.

“Guess so,” she agreed. “The couch is ready, and there are a few things you might need on the end table. The bathroom is that way, just go left at the kitchen.”

“Left at the kitchen,” he repeated groggily. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Thanks again for the bunk…. No need to tuck me in,” he teased.

“That’s a relief,” she replied under her breath. She turned on her heel and started for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” he echoed ominously. He got up from the rocker and stretched his long arms and legs. “Your wedding day. Of course, maybe my arrival on the scene has put a damper on the plans? Either way, I’ll guarantee you that you won’t be rid of me until I find my brother. I’ll camp out in your living room if I have to.”

“What a thought,” Georgia replied. She met his determined gaze, then looked away. Oh, dear. He was back on that again, was he? She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep up the charade.

She was suddenly tempted to admit all, then decided to leave her confessions for the bold light of day. There was no predicting how he might react. He might take off in the dead of night, still determined to hunt Will and Faith down.

No, let him stay right here in her living room, where she could keep her eye on him. And let him believe that she was the hopeful bride.

After all, Georgia reasoned, a man like Jackson Bradshaw deserved at least one torturous night on her sofa for trying to prevent her dear sister’s wedding.

Two

When Georgia came down the next morning, the couch was empty, the bedding neatly folded. The bathroom door was shut, and she heard the shower running. She had dressed in jeans and a dark-blue T-shirt after a quick shower upstairs. Her short honey-blond hair was damp and curling from the humidity. She hardly looked like a woman who planned to be married shortly, she reflected. Of course, try to tell Jackson Bradshaw that. His suspicious mind would reason that she was merely trying to trick him and perhaps had a wedding gown on underneath her outfit.

Never one to wear much makeup, she had taken the time to cover the dark shadows under her eyes with a dab of concealer and slap on a bit of lip gloss. She needed a little boost to her self-confidence this morning in order to take on the “dragon” again.

She swiftly got the coffee maker started and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast from the refrigerator. She was a good cook—a great cook, some said—and she now strategized that Jackson Bradshaw’s temperament might be improved by a tasty meal.

She imagined that he hadn’t eaten during his long, arduous journey last night and would appreciate a good breakfast—crisp bacon, blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. And even if the good food didn’t mollify his contentious personality, the distraction of chewing and swallowing would at least slow down his interrogation.

For Georgia fully expected another interrogation this morning regarding the whereabouts of Will Bradshaw. Or perhaps Jackson thought all he had to do was hang around Georgia in order to catch the slippery groom?

She didn’t want him hanging around here all day, she reflected as she whipped the pancake batter with nervous energy. Something about the man positively…unnerved her. It wasn’t just his difficult personality. That she could deal with. If only he was short, paunchy, balding…why, she’d have no problem at all dealing with him. But no, he had to be so…so…outrageously attractive it made her brain blow a fuse when he so much as smiled at her. Thank goodness he was such a sourpuss he rarely did.

She lowered the heat under a skillet of simmering bacon and sliced some fruit into a colorful bowl.

No, she hadn’t been attracted to a man in such a way in a long, long time. It would have been funny actually, if it wasn’t so annoyingly perverse, that of all the men she’d met lately, she should have such a reaction to this one.

“Just my luck,” Georgia reflected wryly as she tested the griddle.

“What’s your luck?” a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Georgia looked up, trying to hide her surprise. “Umm…just talking to myself about the weather. It’s still pouring out.”

“Yes, I noticed…. Though they say rain is good luck on a wedding day,” he added pointedly.

“Oh, yes. My wedding. I nearly forgot,” she replied dryly. She lightly slapped her forehead. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Not at all,” he replied politely.

She finally lifted her head and took a good look at him.

If he’d looked good last night in damp, rumpled clothes and a day’s growth of beard, he looked even better now. Fresh from the shower, he wore the borrowed black T-shirt that was attractively form-fitting and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his slim hips. He’d obviously used the little plastic razor she’d found and had only nicked himself once, on the chin, she noticed. Her hands itched to test the smoothness of his lean cheeks.

She abruptly turned back to her cooking. “Help yourself to coffee. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Smells good in here.” He poured himself a mug of coffee. “I never have time for a real breakfast.”

“Well, this is a real one, a high-cholesterol special. I hope you’re not a health food freak or anything like that?”

“Even if I was, right now I could eat anything you put in front of me.”

She laughed. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Once I transferred from that back-breaking sofa to the floor.”

“Yes, I imagine the floor would have been more comfortable after all,” she agreed, the corner of her mouth itching to smile.

He leaned on the counter and sipped his coffee, watching her. The thoughtful expression on his face unnerved her. She wished he would go and sit at the table or something, but she didn’t want to ask him outright. His nearness made her self-conscious, and she focused on the pancakes. She didn’t want them to get overcooked and tough. She tested the edge of one with the spatula, then flipped it expertly.

“You do that very well,” he observed.

“I was a cook in a diner once,” she confided, “one of my many employment experiences. But you probably know all about the exciting chapter of my life from your…research?” she prodded him.

“My research?” His cheeks looked a bit flushed under his bronzed complexion. “Oh, yes, I do remember reading that,” he admitted. “It’s hard work for a woman, cooking in a diner,” he added thoughtfully.

“It’s hard for anyone,” she corrected. “But the lady who owned the place was a good sort. She let me take Noah along sometimes when I couldn’t get a sitter.”

“You took your baby to work with you?” he asked in disbelief. “Was that…safe for him?”

“He was fine. I’d set him up on the counter in his little infant seat. All the waitresses took turns holding him and playing with him. They made such a fuss over him, they spoiled him silly. You’d think he had about ten grandmas.”

She turned and looked at him. She and this man were obviously from different worlds—different planets, in fact. Clearly, he’d never known what it meant to struggle to pay the bills, pay the rent, stretch every dollar to the end of the month. There was no way to explain that reality to him. She would be wasting her breath even trying.

“It was either take him…or get fired,” she added. “And I needed my paycheck.”

“I understand,” he said thoughtfully.

“No, I don’t think you do,” she replied. Someone like Jackson Bradshaw could research someone like her for ages, and though they might get the facts in black-and-white, they’d never understand the whole story, she reflected.

The kitchen suddenly felt small, his presence distracting her. Disturbing her. The sound of the rain steadily beating on the windowpanes made the room feel close and airless.

She suddenly thought about the way he’d kissed her—and the way she’d reacted to him. Neither of them had spoken about it afterward, and she certainly wasn’t about to start the morning off on that topic. When she’d thought it over later, she wondered if he was perhaps testing her. Trying to see if she’d be faithful to his brother or willing to flirt with any guy who crossed her path. Yet his kiss had been so intense, so passionate, it was hard to believe it had been merely a test.

What did it matter? she finally decided. It had been a fluke. An aberration. It wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t allow it. He was a totally condescending snob, anyway. How could she ever be attracted to a man like him?

“Can I help in some way? Set the table perhaps?” he offered politely.

“Thanks, would you? The plates are in that cupboard and the silverware in this drawer,” she directed him. “Why don’t you turn on the radio so we can hear the weather report?” she added.

The lively chatter of a local morning radio show helped ease the tension in the room, Georgia thought. But the news was not good. “And the record rainfall is expected to continue throughout the day, folks, with flooding reported on Route 6, west and north of town, and most of the side roads washed out. In other words it’s a great day to stay indoors if you can. Unless you’re a duck,” there was a loud quacking sound accompanied by the announcer’s chuckle. “And if you do go out today, don’t forget those hip waders. We’ve got mud out there up to our dang eyebrows, don’t we, Wally?” he asked his partner.

“Up to the old…wazoo, buddy boy,” Wally rejoined. There was a funny, twanging noise—a mouth harp, probably—that made Georgia smile. “Look for a break in the clouds sometime tomorrow afternoon, friends.”

“Can’t they just give a blasted forecast, without the comedy?” Jackson scowled, his expression darkening. “I don’t suppose the rental car company can even get a tow truck out here in this weather, much less a replacement car.”

Georgia glanced over at him as she set a platter of golden pancakes on the table. “I’d doubt it.”

From the looks of things, she was going to be up to her old wazoo with Jackson Bradshaw for the rest of the day, short of some miraculous break in the weather. The twist of his fine lips told her he was thinking the same.

“Blueberry pancakes! Cool! And it’s not even Sunday!” Noah’s chipper voice broke the heavy silence as he raced into the kitchen and headed for the table. But suddenly noticing the stranger in the room, his sneakered feet skidded to a halt near his mother.

“Noah, this is the man I told you about, the one that got stuck on the road last night. His name is Jackson.”

Georgia carefully omitted adding Jackson’s last name. Noah was so bright, he’d surely make the connection between Will—who he’d recently started addressing as Uncle Will—and his older brother. One slip from Noah, and her charade would be blown. Could she possibly keep this farce afloat until the rain let up?

“How do you do?” Jackson said politely. “You must be Noah.” He held his hand out to Noah, and they shook in a manly fashion.

“How d’ ya do,” Noah echoed, puffing himself up to his full height.

During encounters like this one she was always amazed to see how much her boy had matured. He’d always been a good kid, never causing her much trouble. But it was clear to her lately that his baby days were well and truly over. At times like this he seemed to be a little man. His eyeglasses which he’d needed since age four—with their owlish, tortoise-shell frames—also added to the impression. His remarkable intelligence made him seem older than most children his age.

Teachers had told her that Noah was more than simply intelligent, he was actually gifted. He’d skipped second grade and might skip fourth, too. But he was still a bit bored with school. Unfortunately, there weren’t any special programs in their small public school system for gifted children, and Georgia couldn’t afford a private school.

She hoped that later, when Noah was older, she could somehow provide the type of educational environment that would challenge and nurture his intellectual potential. But for now she did what she could by buying him books, educational toys and encouraging his varied interests. This summer he was going to spend two weeks at a special science camp, and she had nearly saved enough to buy him a computer for Christmas. Will was going to help her choose something suitable. While Faith and Will were visiting, Noah and Will had struck up a great rapport. Noah was fascinated with stories of Will’s scientific research, and Georgia thought her son’s new uncle was going to be a wonderful influence.

She wondered now about Jackson. What kind of influence, if any, would he have on Noah? For, in fact, though he had no idea of it, they were all related now by Faith and Will’s secret marriage.

Georgia brought the rest of the food to the table. She sat at one end of the small table, and Jackson sat at the other. Noah sat between them. Everyone was quiet for a while as they fixed their plates and began eating.

“Is a tow truck coming to pull your car out of the mud?” Noah asked, chewing a slice of bacon.

“I hope so,” Jackson answered. “I haven’t made any calls yet.”

“The storm front isn’t expected to pass this area until late tonight. A front of cooler, drier air is moving south, through the midwestern states, at about twenty miles per hour,” Noah explained in a patient tone to the adults. “It could reach us tonight. Or could be stalled out by another low pressure system coming in from the Gulf region,” he warned.

Jackson stared at the boy, wide-eyed, a forkful of pancakes held halfway between his plate and mouth. “You don’t say.”

“Noah is very interested in the weather,” Georgia explained. “He has a weather-band radio up in his room.”

“Can I watch the tow truck when it comes, Mom?” Noah asked, suddenly sounding his age again. “Please?” he wheedled.

“We’ll see,” Georgia replied.

“I bet they’ll send a flatbed,” Noah said with anticipation.

“They’d better send a tugboat,” Jackson replied glumly as he glanced out the window. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Great pancakes, by the way,” he added to Georgia.

“Thanks,” Georgia replied. Was her cooking softening him up, she wondered? He hadn’t mentioned Will or her so-called wedding plans in—what was it?—an entire ten minutes.

“I bet Will can eat a dozen of these,” Jackson said with a challenging look at Georgia. “He always had a thing for blueberry pancakes.”

Noah’s face brightened. “Do you know my uncle Will?”

“Don’t be silly, Noah,” Georgia said nervously. “How could he know Uncle Will? He means…someone else.”

She glanced back at Jackson and felt her throat get tight.

It was too late. The damage had been done. His tense, alert expression was that of a lion who had just caught the scent of his prey.

“You have an uncle Will, do you?” he asked Noah in a light, conversational tone. “That’s funny. I have a brother with the same name.”

“What a coincidence,” Georgia said, interrupting. She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “More pancakes anyone? Bacon? Orange juice?”

“I’ll have another pancake, please,” Noah said.

Jackson glared at her. He turned his attention back to his breakfast, obviously debating the ethics of prodding her son for information.

“When you’re done with your breakfast, I want you to go straight upstairs and…clean up your room,” Georgia said firmly to Noah.

“But my room is totally neat,” Noah protested. “You made me pick up yesterday, Mom, before I got my allowance. Don’t you remember?”

“How about that hamster cage?” Georgia persisted. “I think Harry needs his cage cleaned.”

“But, Mom…” Noah complained as he swallowed the last of his breakfast.

“Don’t argue with your mother, son,” Jackson said firmly.

His deep, commanding voice surprised both Georgia and Noah. They both stared over at him. Georgia didn’t know whether to thank him—or tell him he had no right to interfere with her parenting.

Noah glanced over at Jackson, then seemed resigned to obeying. “Okay, okay.” He got up from his chair and took his plate to the sink. “I guess Harry’s cage could use a cleanup.”

Georgia felt relieved as she watched her son leave the kitchen. As if she’d averted a near disaster.

But the feeling of impending doom was on her again when Jackson suddenly rose from his chair with a warm smile. “Hey, Noah. I’d love to see your room,” he said brightly. “Can I help with the hamster?”

“Uh…sure,” Noah replied. He glanced at Georgia as if checking for her approval, but Georgia was too shocked to object.

So he interpreted her momentary silence as an okay. “Harry is unique,” he eagerly explained to Jackson. “He only has three legs, but it doesn’t bother him any. He runs on his wheel and everything. I also have a hermit crab and a newt,” he said proudly.

“You don’t say?” Jackson replied.

“Uncle Will says the next time he comes, he’s going to bring me real rat. A white one.”

“A white rat, eh?” Jackson leaned back in his chair, clearly fascinated by this turn in the conversation. “Now, whatever made your uncle think of bringing you a rat for a pet?”

“He’s a scientist. An ornithologist. That means he studies birds. He specializes in birds that live near the ocean,” Noah explained. “But they use white rats a lot at the university where he teaches. In the laboratory…for experiments and stuff.”

“Oh, your uncle is an ornithologist,” Jackson repeated quietly. “Very impressive. And there’s another coincidence. My brother Will is a marine ornithologist, too.”

His tone brought to mind the rumble of distant thunder, Georgia thought. But Noah didn’t seem to notice and prattled on.

“Aunt Faith says once she had a white rat as a pet, and Mommy thought the tail was creepy. She screamed every time my aunt brought it anywhere near her.”

“Aunt Faith?” Jackson’s voice rose on a puzzled note and Georgia’s heart skipped a beat. Here it comes, she thought, bracing herself. “Who is Aunt Faith?” Jackson asked patiently.

“My mom’s sister,” Noah replied, as if everyone knew that.

“She and Uncle Will stayed here for a few weeks, then they left to get ma—”

“Jackson?” Georgia cut in. “I think we need to talk for a moment. Before you check out Noah’s menagerie, I mean.”

This had gone far enough, Georgia decided. She wasn’t going to sit back and watch Noah get stuck in the middle of this totally adult mess. If anyone was going to tell Jackson the truth, it was up to her.

“If you say so, Georgia,” he replied. He turned to her, and she could see that he knew she was ready to tell all. He practically rubbed his hands together in anticipation, she noticed.

But before he moved in for the kill, he thoughtfully turned to Noah. “Why don’t you start on Harry’s cage? I’ll be up in a minute,” he promised. He reached out and ruffled Noah’s dirty-blond hair.

“Okay,” Noah agreed, giving Jackson a solemn look. “I’ll get everyone ready.”

Watching their exchange, Georgia felt oddly touched to see Jackson treat Noah with such kind, consideration. Then she whisked the thought aside. She couldn’t afford warm feelings toward Jackson Bradshaw.

Not now. Not ever.

“So, are you ready to tell me about Uncle Will…and Aunt Faith?” Jackson asked once Noah had left the room.

“Pretty low-down of you to try to pry it out of my child,” Georgia accused him.

For a moment she could have sworn he looked ashamed of himself. Practically contrite. Then the look vanished, replaced by his more familiar expression of firm determination.

“I merely wish to know where my brother is hiding out. I’ll do whatever I have to, to find out.”

“I’ve already told you, Jackson, I have no idea where Will is. He was here for a while, that much is true. But they purposely didn’t tell me where they were going when they left. Now you’ll just have to believe me and be on your merry way….” Georgia rattled off in a rush.

“Just slow down a moment, please.” Jackson signaled with upraised hands. “Faith is your sister, correct?”

She nodded and bit her lower lip.

“Is she the other half of the ‘they’ who departed to some mysterious destination with my brother?”

Georgia nodded again.

“Why does Noah call my brother Uncle Will?” he continued. She could see the light of truth slowly dawning on him. “Did Will marry your sister?” His voice rose on a note of pure shock and amazement.

“Well…they were only engaged when they came to visit,” Georgia slowly explained, “but they’re probably married by now.”

There, she’d said it. The cat was out of the bag. The hamster was out of the cage. Elvis had left the building.

Jackson’s face darkened in a slow, simmering rage. She saw his fists clench at his sides as he faced her across the small kitchen.

“But y-you…” he sputtered, suddenly choking on his words. He jabbed the air with his forefinger. “All last night, you let me believe that you and Will… You argued with me about marrying him!”

“I never said a word about Will and me being romantically involved,” she said. “If you recall, I told you in no uncertain terms that I had no intention of ever marrying your brother. I merely said he was a mature, intelligent adult who had a right to marry whomever he wished to marry.”

“Meaning your sister,” he said as if struck by divine revelation.

“Well…yes,” she admitted.

“You tricked me, Georgia Price!” he roared. “You and my brother and your sister, Faith. The three of you tricked me into coming out here, to the middle of God only knows where, during a flood of epic proportions, I might add. When the real action was happening somewhere else, at some mysterious location perhaps a thousand miles away. How clever of you all. How awfully clever. I’ll bet you’re very proud of yourself. I’ll bet you’ve secretly been laughing your head off at me, haven’t you?”

Georgia swallowed hard and barely dared to glance at him from lowered lids. “Not at all. I haven’t been gloating, if that’s what you think. I’m honestly relieved that you finally know the truth.”

“That makes two of us!” he roared. Rain lashed at the big bay window in the kitchen, echoing the force of his rage. Georgia had lifted a cup and saucer in her hand and now heard it rattle. She quickly set it down on the table again.

She didn’t reply. What could she say? She thought it best to let him pace and blow off some steam. She only hoped he wouldn’t blow the roof right off the house.

“My brother must have known I had my eye on him. You two flounced around this town for weeks, acting like a couple in love. You even had an engagement announcement printed in the local paper, stating you were to marry him today!”

To hear Will tell it, the story went something like this: Will had told Jackson that he’d met a wonderful woman and thought he was falling in love. But when Jackson started asking too many questions, Will grew worried. He knew Jackson might have him followed by a private investigator who’d also dig up all he could on the woman in question. It had happened before. And each time, Jackson had somehow found Will’s girlfriends unworthy of marriage to a Bradshaw. Sometimes he’d even paid the girls money to disappear, just as their father had done to him. But Will knew the pattern and he was determined that it wouldn’t happen again. Not with Faith.

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