Letter to Reader Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Copyright

Dear Reader,

Here’s the fourth and last in the series THE MONTANA MALONES, which debuted June ‘97 with A Marriage Made in Joeville, followed in December by The Best Little Joeville Christmas and Last of the Joeville Lovers, May ’98.

Thanks for the many wonderful letters from readers asking that this series continue—I couldn’t help but respond. In The Unknown Malone it’s seven years later and you will get to know more about Taylor’s brother, Michael, along with the woman he can’t resist, Nicole—a woman on the run with a storehouse of secrets.

Familiar faces return for an encore: Savannah and Ryder, Jenny and Shane, Taylor and Josh, Max, Hannah and, of course, Billy, whom many of you have said touched your hearts from beginning to end. Also by request, one of these other characters finds romance, too.

As always, I enjoy hearing from readers and welcome your letters.

Here’s hoping you have a happy and loving holiday season′

Warmest regards,

Anne Eames

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stones that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!

This October you’ll love our new MAN OF THE MONTH title by Barbara Boswell, Forever Flint Opposites attract when a city girl becomes the pregnant bride of a millionaire outdoorsman.

Be sure to “rope in” the next installment of the exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB with Billionaire Bridegroom by Peggy Moreland. When cattle baron Forrest Cunningham wants to wed childhood friend Becky Sullivan, she puts his love to an unexpected test.

The always-wonderful Jennifer Greene returns to Desire with her magical series HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Kiss Your Prince Charming is a modern fairy tale starring an unforgettable “frog prince.” In a sexy battle-of-the-sexes tale, Lass Small offers you The Catch of Texas. Anne Eames continues her popular miniseries MONTANA MALONES with The Unknown Malone. And Sheri WhiteFeather makes her explosive Desire debut with Warrior’s Baby, a story of surrogate motherhood with a twist.

Next month, you’ll really feel the power of the passion when you see our new provocative cover design. Underneath our new covers, you will still find six exhilarating journeys into the seductive world of romance, with a guaranteed happy ending!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: PO. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Unknown Malone

Anne Eames

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE EAMES

This is Anne Eames’s seventh novel for Desire. She has been a Golden Heart finalist and Maggie winner, and her books have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list.

Anne and her husband, Bill, live in southeastern Michigan.

You may write to Anne Eames at: 4217 Highland, Box #252, Waterford, MI 48328. For an autographed gift, please enclose a business-length, self-addressed, stamped envelope.

To Tim, Emily, Haley, TJ,

Savannah and Tom Garthe

with all my love always

and

with special thanks to

forester extraordinaire,

Betsy Couzens Mitton

One

At a gas station east of Livingston, Montana, about forty miles from Joeville, Nicole Bedder leaned closer to the rest room mirror and growled in frustration. The false eyelash she’d so carefully glued in place was now stuck to the end of her finger. It didn’t help that her hands were shaking. It had been eighteen hours since her last meal.

She tried again, this time using tweezers to press the phony lashes to her own. With more finesse it worked, and she applied the second. They felt heavy and she blinked hard as she riffled through her purse for blush.

A loud knock on the door made her jump.

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

She’d already ratted and sprayed her recently bleached hair into a style even Dolly Parton would have been proud of. Now she applied a thick layer of red lipstick over her already full lips, making sure she exceeded the lines in a suitable fashion.

She stepped back and inspected the finished product. The denim skirt wasn’t as short as most, the top not very tight, but sexy things had never been part of her wardrobe. This would just have to do.

A quick readjustment inside her bra and the cleavage atop her red tank top swelled. She turned from side to side for one last look.

Good grief. Who was this person?

Before she could lose her nerve she thrust open the door. The plump, elderly woman waiting outside gasped. Her eyes traveled the length of the young woman in front of her before her lips settled into a firm, straight line. She brushed passed Nicole with a disgusted humph and there was a resounding twist of the lock behind her.

A feeling of dread spread across Nicole’s shoulders and neck and she fought a sudden urge to cry. Obviously she had just convinced somebody’s grandma that she was a worldly woman, but could she trick the owner of the Purple Palace?

Yet all she had to do was fit in, she reminded herself. A helper, the ad had said. Yesterday she’d decided she couldn’t go to a place like that looking like Manan the Librarian, her normally mousy brown hair tied in its familiar ponytail. No, she had to look as though the occupants’ shenanigans were nothing out of the ordinary, that they weren’t the least bit offensive to her sensibilities.

Now, with hands on hips, she looked to the sky and shook her head. High school drama classes hadn’t prepared her for this gig. But what choice did she have? She said a quick prayer, filled her lungs and then strode toward the gas pump, trying not to wobble on her Salvation Army high heels.

The hood was up on her rusted green Chevy. The mechanic wiped his hands on a greasy rag and did a double take in her direction. When he closed his mouth, he sauntered over, pretending he hadn’t noticed her transformation in the rest room.

“A couple belts are pretty old and cracked. Don’t think they’ll make it much longer.” He was staring at her chest and she wanted to smack him upside the head. Instead, she practiced a confident voice.

“Will they make it another forty miles?”

“Hard to say. Maybe yes, maybe no.”

She looked at the pump: $14.78. She didn’t have to check her purse to know. Inside was a ten, a five and some change.

“Guess I’ll take my chances.”

He cocked his head to one side and continued wiping his filthy hands, his lopsided grin making it pretty clear he’d consider a trade. Fingers shaking, she retrieved the bills from her purse and slapped them in his blackened palm.

“Suit yourself, ma’am.” He shrugged and walked back to the front of the car and slammed the hood down.

She was tempted to leave without the change, but twenty-two cents was twenty-two cents. When he returned with it, she flashed him a smile and drove off—stomach growling, engine knocking and nerve dwindling by the second.

Michael Phillips chuckled under his breath, riding atop his first and only mare—an old workhorse named Mae. Her slow waddle up the hillside and across the ridge was adding an extra half hour to the trip to his sister’s neighboring farm, but the delay would be well worth it.

He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Taylor’s face when she saw him...here...in Montana...and heard what he had done. If he’d driven his van she might have seen him coming. After months of planning and secrecy, he wanted to milk the moment for all it was worth.

He stopped where the trail cut to the west and let Mae nibble at low-hanging brush while his eyes scanned the rolling countryside below.

And there she was. On her knees in the flower beds in front of the old blue farm house, one he hadn’t seen in seven years. The only notable change were the two little ones who played close by. His heart was in his throat. He’d missed his niece’s and nephew’s early years, but now he was here, and he planned to make up for it. He tugged on Mae’s reins and she loped on.

He rode closer until Mae started nickering, then he tethered her to a tree and hiked the rest of the way, excitement building with every step. Finally he broke into an easy jog, darting behind trees until he came alongside the old familiar house. He paused a moment, caught his breath and then ambled around the corner, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his grin no longer controllable.

Two-year-old Emily spotted him first and ran to her mother, peeking shyly from the far side. Soon-to-be-six John stopped playing with his truck and stood. “Mama?”

Taylor rocked back on her knees, swiped a muddy glove across her forehead and then nearly toppled over as she let out a yelp. “Michael!”

He ran to her and swooped her up, spinning her around. “Hi, sis.” When he set her down they were both laughing and crying at the same time.

“When did you—” She glanced around. “How did you—” She flung her arms around his neck again. “Oh, Michael. It’s so good to see you. How long can you stay?”

Emily and John stood a safe distance behind their mother, not knowing what to make of it all. He smiled and gave them a conspiratorial wink.

“Hmm...with a little luck...oh, I’d say another sixty years or so.”

She fell back a step, her mouth agape—just the reaction he’d hoped for.

“I bought the Purple Palace.”

Her eyes widened. “You what?”

“Yep. Lock, stock and ol’ Mae.”

“Mae?”

“Their only horse.”

“Let me get this straight. You sold the family business.” He nodded. “And you bought the Purple Palace.” He nodded again. “And you plan to—” She rolled her hand in a fast-forward motion.

“Work the place.”

“Work the place. As in—” She glanced over her shoulder at the children and didn’t finish, her sudden frown saying it all.

It was time to end the ruse. “As in restoring it. It’s a grand old lady—old enough to become a historical landmark.”

“And the...girls?”

“Bought them out. They’ve all moved on to greener pastures.”

Taylor’s smile turned into a large grin, and then the sounds of their laughter echoed across the valley.

When the adults composed themselves, the children came forward one at a time and met Uncle Mike, their little smiles exposing various stages of teeth, their eyes wide with excitement. They walked hand in hand inside for lemonade and for as much catching up as the clock would allow. Michael was expecting a load of lumber and drywall, and he didn’t want to miss the truck. And there was the possibility that someone would answer his ad for a helper, too. After an hour he left, promising to return for supper at six.

The pink exterior and the purple trim were peeling in places, but Nicole had to admit the big old place had a lot of charm. If only it weren’t—

On a nervous sigh, she bracketed her hands around her eyes and peered into a window, seeing no signs of life on the other side. She’d knocked hard enough to wake the dead, but no one came to the ornate oval oak door. Were they all upstairs sleeping—getting ready for a busy night? Or could Tuesday be a day off?

Her stomach lurched, and she didn’t think it was from hunger. How could she ever work at a place like this? Again she reminded herself she had no choice. Besides, she was only applying for “helper”—whatever that meant. Hostess, maybe? Clean ashtrays? Freshen drinks? Wash lingerie? She wrinkled her nose.

It didn’t matter. She’d do whatever it took. She had to.

If only she’d learned more about the job. The little she knew about it she’d overheard yesterday. Dire straits and creative problem solving had driven her to a local doughnut shop where she’d ordered one doughnut hole and a glass of water, and waited for someone to discard a newspaper so that she could scour the employment section. Before it came to that, a pair of old-timers sitting next to her started laughing about the Purple Palace’s ad: Helper. No experience needed.

“Wonder what a helper would do there?” one had asked. The other hunched his shoulders, then started laughing louder.

It was at that very moment Nicole had decided what she’d do, even though each time she allowed herself to dwell on it, as was the case now, her pulse began to race.

What if the...ladies...felt better about themselves when they thought they were...helping? Could a helper be—?

No! The ad couldn’t be for that. She cringed, pushing aside the possibility. It had to be for something else. Exactly what seemed irrelevant since she was short on options and long on responsibilities. Besides, unemployment was on the rise again, now that that Hollywood production company had left the area. As long as their movie was being shot at that ranch to the north, there had been extra work in motels and restaurants. Now the locals were lucky to hold on to their modest wages, and she had exhausted her last lead.

Still seeing no action inside, Nicole walked along the wraparound porch and noticed for the first time a wicker swing near another entrance to the west. Tired, she sat in it and swung slowly, listening to it creak and wondering what stories it could tell if only it—

She heard the clopping and snort of a horse on the other side of the house and she jumped up with a start. Her car was near the main entrance. Whoever was there had to see it and had come looking for her.

Resigned to her fate she flung back her shoulders, thrust out her chest and jutted out her chin. She added a hipswiveling sashay as she rounded the porch and thought she had captured her character perfectly.

Until one red spiked heel sank and stuck in a crack.

A good-looking cowboy dismounted. She tugged unsuccessfully and nearly broke into hysterical laughter. He stopped short and appraised her, hands on hips. With one mighty yank she heard the crack of her heel as it separated from the sole.

Improvise, she told herself. Maintain a sense of humor. She dug into her shallow well of theatrical experience and limped toward him, tempted to try a joke as an ice-breaker. And ice definitely described his demeanor.

Losing her nerve, she smiled coyly instead, acting as if this sort of thing happened all the time. He folded his arms against his broad chest and simply stood there, staring at her.

Exasperated, she said, “Well, at least I didn’t lose my soul!” It was all she could do to keep the big red smile pasted on her face. Oh, Lord, help me. I’m dying here! Okay, it was corny, but what was wrong with this guy? Most would have found this entrance amusing. And what was he gaping at? Regardless of her getup, she still had to be the most wholesome-looking woman around this place.

Maybe he was testing her under pressure. There had to be some mighty tough hombres frequenting this...this establishment. That had to be it.

She stepped off the porch and thrust out her hand, forcing all the confidence she could muster. “My name is Nicole. I came about—” she hoped he didn’t see her gulp “—the job.”

He looked at her hand as if measuring the possibility of contamination if he touched it.

“Nicole what?”

“Nicole Bedder.”

“Better than what?” he asked all too seriously.

Another time she might have laughed, but this guy had already proven he didn’t have a sense of humor. Nonetheless, she played his game. With an exaggerated look over her shoulder, she said, “Better than all the other applicants standing behind me.”

Reluctantly he took her hand, gave it a quick shake and said, “Michael Phillips. I own the place.” And what in the hell are you doing on my porch is what she read in his squinting blue eyes.

“Wait a minute. A man owns the—” She’d lost her character a moment, but quickly recovered. Beaming again, her voice sweet enough to cause diabetes, she said, “Hmm. Only fair, I guess. Equal rights and all.”

She let go of his long, callused fingers, stepped back and thrust her arms out to her sides. “I’m ready to start right now,” Please! Please!

He pushed the Stetson higher on his tanned forehead and stared at her in disbelief. She didn’t flinch. But after what seemed to be the most pregnant pause of the decade, she caved and spoke first.

“So...do I get the job?”

Two

When hell freezes over, Michael thought.

“I don’t know what job you’re applying for, but I need a helper, not a—” he stopped short of hooker and let her fill in the blank. He watched the slow batting of her dark lashes and noticed one corner was jutting straight out like a perched insect ready to take flight. He felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth, but he controlled it. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage this...this spitfire.

“I can help,” she said.

He was afraid to ask how. He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. You’re not what I’m looking for.” He turned away and started for the door. She was right on his heels.

“How can you tell? You haven’t even asked me any questions.”

He kept moving, hoping she’d give up and go away, knowing she wouldn’t. “For one thing, I need a man.” When she didn’t respond, he couldn’t help but turn. Her brown eyes were round, her mouth open.

“A man? Here?”

“Well... yes.” No way could someone so small and frail looking possibly carry a sheet of drywall or a bunch of two-by-fours up a flight of stairs. But then, he was certain that wasn’t what she came for.

She closed her mouth and looked defeated, then she took a step closer. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that sex discrimination?”

He hiked an eyebrow before giving her his back and walking up the steps to the front door. “Only if you’re willing to hire an attorney and take me to court.” He knew he had her now. If one thing was certain, her kind wouldn’t go looking for a day in court. Not intentionally, anyway.

Michael was halfway through the door when he heard a thud behind him. He turned and found her lying on the brick walk. In two long strides he was beside her and hunkered down.

“Ms. Bedder?” He watched and waited, hoping this was some sort of last-ditch effort to win sympathy. He touched her thin arm. “Ms. Bedder?” He could see her chest moving, though her breathing seemed shallow.

Faking or not, he couldn’t just leave her there. He scooped her up in his arms, her remaining shoe falling to the ground, and he was surprised at how light she was. At closer inspection he could see her pale and sallow cheeks, and for a moment he almost felt sorry for her...until he remembered what kind of woman she clearly was.

He carried her to the door and pushed it open with his shoulder, just as her eyes started to flutter open. A quick flash of surprise was followed by an indignant palm against his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing? Let me down this instant!”

He had a mind to drop her on her cute little backside, but he didn’t. He headed for the sofa and dropped her there instead. The errant eyelash was now pointing straight up and a grin escaped before he could control it.

“What’s so funny?”

He pointed to his own eye and watched her squirm. She removed the lash and tucked it in her skirt pocket, leaving her with one long-lashed round eye and one...one beautiful brown one. He wiped the grin off his face and started for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you a glass of water.” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Or would you rather have something stronger?”

“I’d rather—” She started to stand, then fell back down.

Michael watched and waited. This woman was definitely not okay. In more ways than one.

She lifted her head off the back of the sofa, removed the remaining eyelash and stared at him for the longest time. It was as though he were seeing a different woman. This one had far less bravado and looked far more vulnerable. Damn. He hoped she wouldn’t cry. He hated it when a woman cried.

She lowered her gaze, and again he noticed how frail she looked. Without thinking he asked, “When’s the last time you ate?”

Her head popped up, and the original woman reappeared. “Oh, I’m on this fad diet. That’s all.”

If he’d learned only one thing over the past couple of years, it was to know when a woman was lying. In a flash, images of another woman, another place tugged him back in time. And just as quickly he stuffed them away. Instead, he looked through the front window at the old rattletrap parked in his driveway, then back to this woman’s pale face. “Look, I haven’t had lunch yet. Would you like to join me?”

Her face brightened and she found the strength to stand.

Great! Now why in the hell had he done that?

The phone rang in the kitchen and he left Ms. Bedder to fend for herself.

Nicole took a deep breath and padded barefoot into the kitchen, where she found Michael leaning on the open refrigerator door, staring blankly inside, a phone propped between his ear and shoulder.

“That’s right,” he said into the receiver. “The job’s still open.”

She nudged him aside and proceeded to retrieve lettuce, mayo, lunch meat and pickles from the fridge. Taking it all to a center chopping block, she looked around and found a pantry closet. Inside were bread and potato chips, which she added to her cache on the cutting board.

She pretended not to notice his gaze as he followed her around with his curious blue eyes and carried on his phone call at the same time.

“Do you have your own tools?”

Tools? She almost laughed. Like what? Handcuffs? Leather pants? What kind of tools would a man need for this job? She slapped mayo on four slices of bread. Then she decided to make Michael what’s-his-name a sandwich, too.

“No, you don’t need tools. I was just wondering.” He leaned a shoulder into the wall and looked out the bay window to the overgrown garden behind. “Any carpentry or remodeling experience?”

Nicole’s knife stilled in her hands. Carpentry? Helper?

She stood frozen over the food, an instant replay of their meeting outside running before her eyes, embarrassment warming her neck and cheeks. All around her were signs of remodeling. And nowhere in sight were the ladies, whose colorful stories she’d heard about in Livingston

“Sorry. Guess I should have put the location in the ad,” Michael said behind her. “You’re right. It’s probably a two-hour drive. Uh-huh. Perfectly understandable. Well, good luck.”

Nicole heard him hang up the phone, but she kept her back to him, wondering how she could begin to explain, if she should even try. She cut the sandwiches diagonally and on second thought put three halves on each plate. She added chips and pickles, then carried it all to the cozy table in front of the window.

Before he could join her, one of her sandwich halves had disappeared along with most of her chips. Michael pulled out a chair and sat down, fascinated with the steady rhythm of her hand to mouth to plate and back.

“Some kind of fad diet you got there.”

She continued shoveling it in, not meeting his gaze, too intent on the business at hand. When she’d finished the last of it she sat back and closed her eyes, seeming to relish the moment.

Michael picked at his food, his appetite having left him when he realized he’d fallen prey to this hapless creature. It was obvious she was hungry and had been for some time, which meant she was broke, which meant he couldn’t send her off if he wanted to.

What bothered him most was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

There was something more than met the eye here. One moment she was cocky and confident, the next a frightened kitten.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” She was staring at his untouched half sandwich and pickle.

He pushed his plate over and she helped herself.

“Where else have you tried to find work?”

She held up a finger, finished chewing, then said, “You name it.” She polished off his dill pickle in three efficient bites, then carried both plates to the sink where she rinsed and stacked them. Then she put everything away and cleaned off the counter, looking as though she’d done this all her life, that this was her home instead of his.

Now she stood in front of him, hands on hips. “Well, I can swing a hammer as well as the next. Paint, wallpaper. Whatever.”

“Have you considered getting a job as a cook instead of... instead.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him, looking insulted that he might suggest she came for anything other than a carpenter’s helper, when he knew full well she hadn’t

“I need a job with room and board.” It was more a statement of fact than a request, a certain sound of assurance in her voice telegraphing this was a done deal.

Heaven help him. She was moving in. His gut told him it was true before the words took shape in his head.

He went to the cupboard and started rummaging.

“What are you doing?” she asked, standing close enough that he caught a whiff of her perfume, her words sending a soft puff of warm air skittering over his free arm.

“Looking for the antacid.”

“Have you ever tried laughter instead?”

He found the bottle, uncapped it and downed a healthy swig. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She cocked her head in a too-adorable way and said, “You ought to loosen up a little, Michael. Look at that frown on your forehead.”

When had they gotten on a first-name basis? And when had her voice changed? It seemed different somehow. Whatever was going on, he knew he’d better take charge of this situation right here and now.

“Look, Nic—Ms. Bedder. You can stay here for a few days and cook...in exchange for room and board.” She eyed him for a moment, looking as though she were taking his measure and had suddenly become wary of his intentions, which seemed strange, since she was a woman willing to sell her body to a perfect stranger.

Something just wasn’t adding up. But for now it didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was make one thing perfectly clear.

“Just a few days, while you look for a job elsewhere. Agreed?”

A slow smile reappeared on her full lips, exposing small, white, perfect teeth. “Agreed.”

Nicole raced over the brick walk toward her trusted Chevy until she came to the path’s end. There she turned and surveyed the sprawling Victorian, its turrets and furbelows adding grace and beauty to the valley it inhabited. It was a grand old lady, she thought, before turning and tiptoeing over the gravel and popping open her trunk. She could do a lot worse than stay here.

Yet stay she would. And not for a few days, either. Somehow she would convince that——that macho cowboy—that she was the right person for the job. A salaried one, at that. She’d never been afraid of hard work, and after a few good meals her strength would surely return.

Inside her duffel she found comfortable sandals and breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped them onto her hot feet. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she indulged in a moment of optimism. What if this turned out to be more than a means to an end? Maybe she wouldn’t have to take the money and run. It could be the perfect place for—

She was getting ahead of herself. First things first.

When she started back for the house, she saw Michael standing in the doorway, his face lost in shadow. He was waiting for her and watching, not moving a muscle. She tried to recapture her earlier persona as she strode toward him, but she knew some of the cockiness had abandoned her. There was something about fainting that made that role no longer plausible. Something about him carrying her inside that made her feel...

She closed the distance between them and concentrated on the present. He held the door open and she squeezed through the narrow space between him and the door frame. The scent of aftershave floated on a breeze, and she moved quickly, suddenly uneasy.

He took her duffel and said, “Follow me.”

They crossed through French doors that led to the west wing, stopping when they reached the first room to the right. He stepped back and with a wave of his arm motioned her in.

“This will be your room.”

There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, which confused her. Until she stood m the doorway and looked in. Then she froze, dill pickles revisiting the back of her throat.

“The previous owner had a son. All the other bedrooms are in various degrees of disrepair, so I guess this will have to be it.”

In front of her was a young boy’s room, decorated in red, white and blue, a twin bed the shape of a race car with an appropriate spread. She took an involuntary step backward, a sharp intake of air sounding loud to her own ears. Her back hit Michael’s chest, but he didn’t move. Instead he gripped her shoulders and held her firm.

“You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”

She closed her eyes to what was in front of her and took a cleansing breath. It was only then she realized his hands were still on her. Warm and gentle.

She turned quickly, breaking contact. “N-no, of course not.”

He slanted her a disbelieving frown, then turned. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

She vaguely remembered Michael showing her the sitting room next to hers and beyond that his own room, but whatever else she’d seen, Nicole would have to explore another time, the image of this room having occupied her thoughts.

She sat gingerly on the race car bed, buried her face in her hands and wondered for what cruel deed she was being punished to be sentenced to this room. Tenaciously, behind the darkness of her fingers, burned bright a dirt-smudged, freckled face.

No! She leaped from the bed and paced to the long, narrow window. She couldn’t afford the luxury of self-pity. There was a job to be done, money to earn. People in need.

Compartmentalize, she lectured herself. As often was the case, she imagined her heart as a large warehouse with many private chambers, each storing its own joys and pain, some atrophied with neglect, others—such as the one she accessed now—ripe with worry and longing.

Reluctantly she filed away the pain and surveyed her surroundings with a more objective eye. Someone’s little boy had actually lived here. Of that she was certain. But why? What a strange place to raise a child. As with the swing outside, Nicole wished these walls could talk. Or did she? Would she want to store another sad story?

Heavyhearted, she hiked her duffel atop the bed and found places for her meager belongings in the lone dresser—save for one item, a small photo album. She debated between the nightstand drawer and the small desk by the window, finally deciding on the desk. A less likely place for one to look.

She opened the drawer slowly. Inside was a pad of construction paper, all the colors of the rainbow, and her heart was in her throat once again. Quickly she hid her album at the back and closed the drawer. More than anything, she longed to study her precious photos, but the day had been long and dizzying enough. She shed her clothes and headed for the shower, taking her time as the refreshing spray washed away the dust from her hair and limbs, until finally she felt the soothing comfort of optimism return.

Silently she offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. She had found a safe harbor. And with God’s help, maybe more.

Of the few calls Michael had received, none had panned out. Building materials loomed at the end of the walk, challenging him to begin alone. He could do it if he had to. And he would. But not today. He looked at his watch: it was time to leave for Taylor’s.

He grabbed the keys to his work van, then remembered the bottle of wine chilling in the refrigerator. Backtracking to the kitchen he stopped short when Nicole entered the living room. Her wet hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. If he didn’t know better, he’d think someone new had taken her place. Also missing was the attitude, when she crossed the room toward him.

“What time would you like supper?” she asked, almost shyly.

“Uh, well, I’m eating out tonight.” And the refrigerator was pretty bare. He should have thought of this before.

“Oh.” Suddenly she didn’t seem to know where to look.

“I’d say ‘help yourself tonight’ but there’s not much here. Just a few things I picked up on my way through Joeville. The previous owners left staples, baking stuff, but the freezer is empty.” He thought a second and came up with an idea. “I could give you some money and you could do some shopping in town.”

Her gaze flitted to her car in the drive. “Um, could I wait till tomorrow and use your car?” Then she added hastily, “A lot more bags would fit it yours.”

“Not really. The back’s full of tools and—”

She lowered her eyes. “I’m not sure I have enough gas.”

He watched embarrassment tinge her freshly scrubbed cheeks, and the urge to comfort her flared. The cocky, confident woman of earlier had been much easier to deal with. This one smelled of trouble. The kind he couldn’t afford.

“Look, Ms. Bedder—”

“Would you mind calling me Nicole?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair and hid his frustration the best he could. “Nicole...I’m just going to my sister’s, the farm next door. Why don’t you come along? We’ll worry about groceries and gas tomorrow.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

He crossed to her and tugged at her elbow. “I insist. It will be okay.” He glanced down at her and met her doelike brown eyes. “Trust me.”

Three

Nicole’s fears about being the uninvited guest were quickly dispelled when Taylor and Josh welcomed her. She’d heard plenty about the Malone dynasty—the fact that Max Malone was a legendary surgeon and that his three sons, their wives and children all lived on the sprawling miles of ranch and farmland in the shadows of the MoJoe Mountains. It just never occurred to her that the Purple Palace was next door, or that there would be a connection between the owners.

It seemed there was much to be learned about Michael Phillips, a thought that both intrigued and frightened her.

While Josh got Michael a beer, Taylor gave Nicole a quick tour of the house. Had she not known how wealthy the family was, she never would have guessed. There was nothing pretentious about their warm home.

The women were just descending the stairs to the living room when two little ones ran in from the kitchen. The toddler, trying to keep up with her big brother, tripped and fell face first on the bearskin rug in front of the open hearth.

Instinctively, Nicole ran to her, knelt down and nghted the child, who seemed startled at seeing a stranger’s face so close to hers. When her bottom lip started quivering, Nicole sat cross-legged and pulled the little girl onto her lap.

“My name’s Nicole. What’s your name?” She tucked a stray blond curl behind the little one’s ear, smiled down at her and waited patiently for a reply. Shyly the toddler held up one hand and pulled down all but two fingers.

“You’re two years old!” Nicole feigned surprise. “You’re so big for two.”

A wide smile exposed perfect little new teeth. Her eyes were big and blue like her mother’s, and Nicole knew she was hooked, the sweet scent of baby shampoo making it nearly impossible not to squeeze the child closer.

“Em—a—lee,” the little girl said, tilting her chin higher.

“Your name is Emily?”

She nodded so hard she nearly toppled over again. Nicole steadied her. “Emily is a beautiful name.”

Big brother joined them on the floor. “My name is John. My grandpa’s name was John, but he’s dead now.”

Nicole held back a chuckle. The candor of kids always amazed and delighted her. God, how she missed this. She watched John dash for the bookshelf, and she swallowed hard. Was this a blessing or a curse? Could these little ones help ease the pain? Or would they simply keep the wound open and aching?

John handed her a book and she stopped analyzing. With a smile she watched their eager faces and turned to page one.

Michael couldn’t take his eyes off Nicole. Who was this suddenly wholesome-looking woman who played so easily with children, a woman whose supposed profession seemed at the opposite spectrum from motherhood? Emily settled deeper in Nicole’s lap, resting her head against Nicole’s chest, while John allowed a gentle arm to slip around his small shoulders.

Michael leaned into the doorjamb and swigged from a bottle. Perhaps she wasn’t part of the world’s oldest profession after all. But then why look for work at the Purple Palace? He was certain she hadn’t come with remodeling in mind.

A few tendrils of hair had escaped her ponytail and fell softly down her delicate jawline, thinly veiling the dark brown eyes that seemed almost too large for her small face. He remembered how they looked when she stared at him in surprise as he’d carried her into the house, the weightless feel of her in his arms, the sense of total vulnerability, both hers and—

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Taylor whispered.

Michael turned with a start at the sound of his sister’s voice. “Yes. Seems she is.”

“I’m surprised at you, little bro.” Taylor smiled teasingly.

“Surprised at what?”

“That you’d hire a woman for your helper.”

Michael turned Taylor around and herded her into the kitchen. “Whoa. Wait a minute. I said she came about the job. I didn’t say I was hiring her for it.”

Taylor slanted him a doubtful look.

“Really. She’s broke and hungry. I said she could cook and help out, but she’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see.”

“Yes, you will.”

But his sister had to have the last word. “I still can’t believe it—my brother, the cynic, a man who thinks all women lie as easily as they breathe.”

Michael caught her wrist as she started to turn. “Not all women.” He winked at her playfully. “I don’t think you do.”

Taylor’s expression grew more serious. “And neither did Mom.”

Michael dropped her wrist “Not now, sis.”

“Then when?”

Josh brushed by them and headed for the refrigerator, then stopped abruptly. “Am I interrupting something?”

Michael downed the rest of his beer and set the empty on the counter with a thud. “Just your wife sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he regretted saying them. With a quick step forward, he kissed her on the nose and tried to make amends. “But what a cute nose it is.”

Taylor continued staring at her shoes.

“I’m sorry, sis.”

She gave him a bear hug around the waist, but not before he noticed her eyes were bright with moisture. “Me, too.”

Josh uncapped another beer behind them and said, “Good. Now that that’s settled, when do we eat?”

Josh led everyone in prayer before the procession of platters and bowls started around the table. There was more food here than Nicole had seen in months. Even when she’d had her apartment in Denver and her little day care business, she’d never made this much food for one meal. She simply couldn’t afford it.

Yet as delicious as everything looked and smelled, with Michael sitting next to Nicole she only picked at her food, all too aware of his thigh occasionally brushing against hers and the seductive scent of his aftershave. It had been so long since...

“Nicole?”

She looked up with a start at the sound of Michael’s husky voice and felt heat creep up her neck to her cheeks.

“I—I’m sorry. I guess I was enjoying this marvelous meal so much I didn’t hear the question.”

“Taylor asked where you were from,” Michael repeated, the vivid blue of his eyes making it difficult for her to concentrate.

“Oh. I’m from De—” she dabbed at her mouth and regrouped “—Delaware.”

Michael shot her a dubious look from under his sandy brows, a look she’d seen a number of times today. “Really? How did you end up in Montana?”

She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, Why not Montana? “Always wanted to see the West.”

“Me, too.” Taylor smiled at her from the far end of the table. “My mother was born out here, but I was raised in Michigan. Came out here for college.”

Grateful for the shift in focus, Nicole continued the thread, trying to ignore the distraction next to her. “Is that where you met Josh?”

Josh laughed. “If she knew me from school, she’d never admit it. I guess I had a reputation with the women back then.”

“You guess?” Taylor eyed her husband with a coy smile.

Nicole watched the playful banter between the two and saw the look of love on their faces, and pain streaked straight for her heart. Whether it was envy, sadness or simply lost opportunity, she wasn’t sure. But it hurt to watch them.

“Actually, we got to know each other when I was Josh’s physical therapist. He had this wimpy little shoulder problem he insisted I treat.” Taylor winked at her husband, then looked at Nicole. “I used to work with Josh’s father. He has a clinic at the ranch up the road.”

“Do you miss it? Your therapy work, I mean.”

Taylor glanced at her husband before answering the question. “Funny you should ask. We’ve been talking about me returning part-time, but we haven’t solved the sitter situation yet. Savannah and Jenny have their hands full with their kids and the work they do at the ranch. I couldn’t ask—” She stopped talking suddenly and stared at Nicole as if seeing her for the first time, then she looked Michael’s way.

“Ouch!” Taylor reached under the table.

John asked, “What’s wrong, Mama?”

Taylor glared at Michael with an expression of pain and annoyance. “Nothing, sweetie. Just a little cramp in my leg.”

Josh, apparently seeing a problem brewing, steered the conversation back on course. “Sweetheart, tell Nicole how you saved my life.”

Taylor waved a dismissive hand before filling her mouth with potatoes and shooting Michael a last angry look.

“Okay. If you don’t want to tell it, I will.”

Nicole listened with rapt attention as Josh told of his plane crash, paralyzed legs and Taylor’s healing hands and heart in the months that followed. And again Nicole felt a tug on her heartstrings. At least some people had found their happily-ever-after.

She chastised herself for her attitude and then counted her blessings as Taylor brought out a chocolate cake and set it in front of her brother to cut. When she returned with a stack of dessert plates and sat down, she touched Michael’s arm.

“Tell us about your plans for the Palace, Michael. All you said earlier was that you were expecting some lumber.” Michael cut small pieces of cake for the children while he answered, his face warming to the subject. Nicole noticed the lines on his forehead were barely visible now, that the cynicism she’d seen all day had nearly vanished. She couldn’t help but wonder about this handsome and complex man sitting across from her. One minute he had a chip on his shoulder; the next he was warm and loving with his family.

“I don’t have a lot of free time,” Josh said, “but give a holler if you need help.”

“What about Billy?” Taylor suggested. “He’s sixteen now and really good with his hands. He might have some spare time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Michael said, passing a piece of cake to Josh.

“Gosh, I wish I had the time. You know I love carpentry.”

Michael glanced around the comfortable room. “Yes. I remember Dad and I getting the tour of your handiwork just before that Fourth of July party. I think you missed your calling.”

Josh smiled, seeming to enjoy the compliment. He ate some cake, then chuckled. “What a party that turned out to be, huh? I had this big plan all worked out to propose to Taylor during the fireworks, then Jenny went into labor. Thank God I could fly her to the hospital before the twins were born. And thank God Dad was in the plane with us. He—”

Nicole saw Michael go pale at the same time as Josh, who fell silent and didn’t seem to know where to look. Both men picked up their forks and ate more cake as the silence stretched uncomfortably. Nicole looked from one to the other, trying to puzzle it out. Had something else happened at that party?

Finally Taylor spoke, her voice a little shaky. “And after the remodeling, what do you plan to do with the place?”

Michael took his time answering, looking distracted. “I spent some time researching bed and breakfasts and they seem to be doing well out here. There isn’t one for miles around, so I thought the next owner would have a real go at it, especially if a certain family would allow tours of a working ranch, some horseback riding, maybe even a short plane ride over the MoJoes and valley.” Michael’s gaze darted to Josh but it didn’t hold.

“The next owner?” Taylor asked. “I thought you were staying.”

“I am. But could you see me as an innkeeper?” He laughed at the idea. “I’ll be lucky if I have enough money to finish the restoration. As soon as I’m done I’ll have to find a job and a place to live.”

“But close by, right?” Taylor still looked concerned.

Michael pushed out his chair and stood. “Not to worry, sis. That’s exactly the plan.” He reached for her hand, and she stood.

To Nicole’s surprise, the men offered to do dishes so the women could play with the children in the yard. She followed Taylor out onto the front porch and sat alongside her on the top step. Together they watched the sun sinking below the MoJoes, and Nicole let out a satisfied sigh. Taylor leaned back on outstretched arms and called out to John to keep an eye on his sister.

“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” she asked Nicole. “I hope I never take it for granted.”

“Yes. It is.” After a moment she added, “Thank you for dinner. It was the best meal I’ve had in ages.”

Taylor sat up and rested her elbows on her knees, her face reflecting some inner debate. “You’re very good with children. You’ve had experience, haven’t you?”

Nicole hesitated only a second. “Yes.” She wanted to volunteer more, but was afraid where the questions might lead.

“Could you provide references?”

Excitement and hope sent a shiver down her back. Could she? The mothers she’d helped would certainly recommend her, yet she couldn’t have mail sent to Joeville without the risk of being tracked down. Then she remembered yesterday and the little post office adjacent to the doughnut shop nearly fifty miles away.

She met Taylor’s hopeful smile with one of her own. “It may take a week or two, but yes, I’m sure I can.”

“Mind keeping this between us for the tune being?”

“No. Not at all.”

They watched the children and didn’t say much after that, but Nicole knew she had just made her first friend in Joeville. For a moment she thought about asking what had happened to Michael at the party, but she didn’t want to pry.

Still, the longer she thought about Taylor’s brother, the more she was certain that he had come to this place with baggage of his own. She wasn’t the only one with something to hide.

Four

Michael dropped a plumb line from the header above the new door frame leading to one of the large upstairs bathrooms, the scent of this morning’s bacon lingering in the air, and the image of Nicole lingering in his mind. He’d read the paper and drunk coffee, pretending to ignore her, but when she hadn’t been looking, he’d studied her graceful and confident movements around the kitchen. It had been seven years since his mother’s death, and until this morning he didn’t realize how much he missed the presence of a woman doing what seemed to come natural. It felt good.

Damn good.

Damn it. This wasn’t smart. In a week or so she’d be gone. He’d be wise to remember that.

He kicked the bottom of the stud so that it aligned with the plumb line, then hunkered down and nailed it in place.

“Refill?”

Over his shoulder Nicole stood with a fresh pot of coffee. He lifted his mug from the floor, and she filled it, a smile on her face and a fresh floral scent invading his space. Nowhere was there a hint of the woman with the attitude he’d met yesterday. Which was the real Nicole? Or was she a chameleon, someone who could adapt at the drop of a hat? And for what purpose? To ingratiate herself so that she could stay here indefinitely?

“Can I help you with anything?” Her voice sounded sincere enough.

“No, thank you. Breakfast was great.” He sipped some of the hot brew and added, “And so is this coffee. Thanks.” Damn! Why did he feel so uncomfortable with her standing nearby? He felt awkward and clumsy and so big next to her slight figure.

And what a figure it was, he thought, setting his mug down and turning back to his work. Her knit top, though not snug, could not hide her generous curves. Today’s jeans looked even sexier than yesterday’s denim skirt. Oh, brother. It had to be his neglected libido speaking. This line of thinking was stupid, stupid, stupid.

“There’s a big pot of soup simmering on the stove,” she said to his back. “I...I, uh, was thinking maybe I should do a major grocery shopping today...unless you need me for something else.”

No, no. Please leave. “You can take the van, if you want. Keys are hanging by the door.” He kept hammering at the nail, refusing to meet those big brown eyes.

“Could you check on the soup whenever you’re downstairs?”

“Sure.”

“It should be boiled-down and thick enough by lunchtime. There’s some bread cooling on a rack, too.”

“Great.”

“Um...I have some personal things to take care of while I’m out, so I probably won’t be back until supper. Is that okay?”

“No problem. Take your time.” Please.

“Well, then—”

She was still standing there, her perfume driving him to distraction. What was she waiting for? And then it hit him. Money. She’d need money for groceries.

He stood and retrieved the money clip from his pocket and started counting out twenties. He handed them to her, and she took them shyly, a slight tinge of pink rising in her cheeks. “Do you think this is enough?”

“Oh, plenty, I’m sure.” She looked at him soulfully, and this time he couldn’t look away. “Thank you, Michael, for everything.”

He could feel the heat rising up his neck, and he waved a hand before returning to his work. “See ya later.”

He heard her retreating and forced himself not to look over his shoulder, not to notice again the gentle sway of her hips, the just-right curve of her small backside. He blew out a loud breath. It was good she’d be gone all day. He had work to do.

Yes, he lectured himself, downing more coffee. He’d put Nicole out of his mind and get down to business.

He grabbed a handful of nails and dropped them into his tool belt, a little voice at the back of his head reminding him of a more immediate problem—one he’d been avoiding. It was time he sorted things out regarding the Malones. In Michigan it had been easy to think he could deal with the complications of their intertwined families. Here, faceto-face with people he barely knew, it was quite a different matter.

Michael gave up any pretext of working and sat cross-legged on the floor. The subject needed more than a cursory glance, and there was no point putting it off any longer. If he planned to live in Joeville, he’d have to see them sooner or later and make peace. Not that they had ever been at war, he reminded himself. Actually, in the brief time he had met them seven years ago, he liked the whole family.

Even Max. He let out a long sigh, wishing he could sweep away the truth as easily as he did sawdust.

Max.

His father.

How strange that simple thought.

He wasn’t the dad that John had been, the man Michael had lived with and worshipped. But nonetheless, Max was his father—a fact he hadn’t learned until after his return to Michigan—a fact he had denied, or at least refused to dwell on, for all the intervening years.

As long as the good man who raised him was alive, he’d wanted no other father. Even now that his dad was gone, Michael still had trouble thinking of Max in those terms. For all practical purposes, they were strangers. Sure, there would be family gatherings that would force them to be in the same room from time to time, but the family was large and they could get lost in the crowd. They could be civil with each other without the need to go further.

He closed his eyes and pictured his dad working alongside him. All their years together—he’d taken them for granted as if there was no end. Now Michael would give anything to have him here He would have loved this old place, taken pride in its rebirth. Two peas in a pod, his mom had always said.

The ache in his chest returned as it always did when he thought of his mother. He had always put her right up on that pedestal with his dad. If only she were still alive to answer his questions. Why had she been unfaithful? And why had she deceived them both, taking her lies to the grave with her? He had loved her and trusted her with all of his heart.

Why, why, why?

Frustrated, he stood and picked up his hammer, feeling all the old anger welling up inside him—anger at his mother, anger at Max, anger at Roxanne, the next woman Michael had so unwisely chosen to love, and mostly, anger at himself for his inability to control any of it.

He stalked to the window and gazed down. There, looming at the end of the brick walk, was Nicole’s rusted Chevy. He planted his hands on his hips and spoke to it as though it were the woman herself.

“And what am I going to do about you?” He said aloud. Another woman. Another problem. Yet he couldn’t just send her packing. She needed work and money first. He remembered Taylor had hinted at a remedy for that, but her solution meant having Nicole stay.

“I’ll be damned if I allow that!” He turned and strode back to his work, knowing his words were as hollow as the wind whistling through the open window behind him. He had about as much control over Nicole as everything else. He pushed the tool belt lower on his hips, thoughts of her not wanting to retreat.

Even if—he repeated the word if stronger in his head—even if she went to work for Taylor, he didn’t have to let his guard down with her. She may look fragile and harmless, but underneath, he’d bet anything she was cunning and deceptive.

Ignore the perfume and pretty face, he lectured himself, driving in a nail. Ignore the aroma of the homemade soup wafting up the stairs. He pounded another nail. Ignore the image of her playing sweetly with the children. He drove in two more nails and then threw the hammer on the floor.

As soon as the van was out of sight of the Palace, Nicole pulled off to the side of the road. She opened her oversize denim shoulder bag that sat on the bench beside her. Carefully she extracted the plastic container of hot soup and set it on the floor where it wouldn’t spill. Next to it she placed one of the loaves of bread she’d made this morning. Then she opened the newspaper to the pages of coupons and started circling the ones she could use. When she was done, she added the values of each and came to the grand total of just over twelve dollars.

Finally she drove on, her plan nrmly in place. First the post office to mail her letters requesting references, then a grocery store where she’d spend as close to twelve dollars as possible.

For once she took advantage of the no-speed-limit law, feeling more confident in Michael’s sturdy van. In spite of this, by the time she came to the third and most important part of her day, she had used nearly three hours of the seven she’d allotted herself.

Her heart raced as she wound her way down the narrow dirt road, sending a cloud of dust billowing out behind her. Then she saw it—the hand-carved “Williams” on a wooden sign swinging gently in the wind below a homemade mailbox. She slowed and pulled up the dirt drive alongside the squat log cabin, hoping someone would see her and come rushing out. When no one did, she ran to the front door, knocked once and let herself in. Sprawled out on the floor on his stomach amidst a jungle of logs was her reason for living. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of the door and then scrambled to his feet.

“Mama!”

Nicole scooped the freckled-faced boy into her arms and held him close, inhaling deeply the fresh scent of his tousled hair. “Cody, Cody. I missed you last night.”

His little arms tightened around her neck, and she wondered how she could ever say goodbye again, how she could do what she knew she had to do if they were to be safe and together soon.

“I missed you, too, Mama,” Cody said as Nicole set him down.

“Pretty soon I won’t be able to pick you up. You’re getting so heavy, big guy.”

He beamed up at her. “That’s because I’m seven and a half years old,” he said proudly.

Nicole ruffled his sandy hair as Mabel waddled in from the kitchen, her wrinkled face creasing into a big smile at the sight of Nicole. Nicole went to her and kissed her on the cheek. “How’s my favorite grandma today?” Mabel’s eyes brightened at the compliment. She wasn’t really Cody’s grandma, but she was the next best thing and the only one he had ever known.

Mabel took Nicole’s other hand and led her to the worn sofa, where they sat side by side, Cody snuggling on the other side of his mother. “Tell me what you’ve been up to, dear. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Neither did I.” She pulled Cody closer and smiled. “I found a job.” It was a stretch, but she knew if Michael didn’t hire her, Taylor would. With luck her references would arrive soon.

Mabel covered her mouth, and her eyes grew brighter. She sniffed once and tried to straighten her hunched shoulders. “My prayers have been answered...and so soon! Wait till I tell Walter. He’s been so worried about you.”

Nicole looked out the windows. “Where is Walter?”

“Deep in the woods, I’m afraid. Berry pickin’ or some such. Ya know how he loves his long walks and his critters. Can you stay till he gets back?”

Nicole looked down at Cody under her arm, his eyes pleading with her to say yes, and she thought her heart would break. If only she could take him with her. But she couldn’t risk them being spotted together. She’d just have to wait until she’d saved enough money to move on, far away.

“I can stay for a while, but not long. I have to do grocery shopping, and it’s more than a two-hour drive to my new place.” She watched Cody drop his chin, and she scrambled to change the subject. “Sweetheart, I have some bags in the car. Want to help me carry them in?”

His smile was sweet, and he was trying to act brave, but underneath she worried how all this change was affecting him long-term. She reminded herself she was doing the best she could under the circumstances, but that never seemed to work. She still worried.

Cody helped her carry the bread, soup and twelve dollars worth of groceries inside. She felt guilty about spending Michael’s money, but she knew he never would have clipped coupons to save. Besides, when she got money of her own she’d replace it.

Mabel was effusive in her gratitude for the food, and Cody was thrilled with a box of his favorite cereal. It took so little to please them. Watching them find places for their new treasures warmed Nicole’s heart and she wished she could have brought more. Next time. Perhaps Wednesdays could be her day off, and she could make this a habit. And maybe next time she could stay longer.

She glanced at the clock over the stove: 2:15. With the drive back and shopping for Michael she’d be lucky to have time to make a quick supper for him.

While Mabel put on a pot of tea, Nicole wrote out the address and phone number of where she could be reached in case of an emergency. She explained that her new employer knew nothing about Cody or her need for secrecy and Mabel completely understood. She and Walter would wait to hear from Nicole unless the unexpected forced them to do otherwise.

Nicole worked on a picture puzzle at the kitchen table with Cody for another twenty minutes, finished her tea and then pulled Cody onto her lap. Lately she’d noticed he’d been avoiding her lap, acting as though he’d outgrown such childish things. Today he came eagerly.

“I have to go, big guy.” She nuzzled her nose into his hair, memorizing the smell of it.

He whined, “Just a little longer.”

“Not this time, my love. Soon.” She hugged him hard and then set him down. He took her hand and walked her to the van as Mabel lingered in the doorway.

“Whose cool van, Mama?”

“The man I work for. He’s a carpenter.” She knelt down and clasped Cody’s narrow shoulders. “You know I wouldn’t be leaving you if I didn’t absolutely have to, don’t you?” She saw tears starting to rim his lower lashes, but he blinked them back bravely.

“I know, Mama.” He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, then eyed her. “It’s all because of that bad man you told me about.”

“That’s right. Have you looked at his picture lately?”

He shook his head.

“You go find it and look at it with Mabel after I leave. You have to remember what he looks like so you can hide if you ever see him, remember?” She hated to say anything that might frighten him, but he had to know.

“I remember what car,” he said, showing a hint of his gap-toothed smile. “A Cadillac. A big Cadillac.” He stretched out his arms as far as they could reach.

Nicole poked him m the tummy. “You and your cars.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, afraid to take a moment longer. She opened the van door, hopped up on the seat and slammed it shut Through the open window she said, “See ya later, alligator,” and forced a big smile.

Cody ran alongside the van and called back, “After while, crocodile.”

She watched and waved at him in her rearview mirror until the first bend in the road, then she let the first tears spill.

Nicole sped up the gravel road to the Palace, worried about the fact that it was nearly six o’clock and that Michael might think she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. He bad asked so little of her in exchange for food and shelter. This wasn’t exactly the way to start, the way to prove he needed her and increase her chances to stay.

She no sooner cut the engine and opened the door than he strode out, freshly showered and changed into a clean white T-shirt, one that accented his muscles and deep tan. He sauntered closer and she could see that the ends of his brown hair that hung recklessly down his neck were still wet. Suddenly she realized he was watching her watching him, and she averted her eyes.

“Did you clean out the place?” he asked as she moved to the rear of the van and opened the doors. She listened for reproach in his voice, but didn’t hear any.

“Not quite,” she said, picking up a bag in each arm and heading for the house. “Sorry I’m so late. It won’t happen again.” It was easier talking to him when she didn’t have to look at him. She never knew quite what she’d find when she did. Sometimes he was studying her, making her feel naked. Others he was accusing her, making her feel deceptive, which of course she was. She had no choice. But mostly what she saw was a very handsome and basically good man.

And that’s what bothered her most.

She heard the rustle of bags behind her and glanced back. “You don’t have to do that I can manage.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do. I’m done for the day.”

“You must be starved.” He elbowed open the screen door and held it for her, forcing her close to him. She could smell his soap and felt his warm breath on her shoulder as she passed.

“Had another bowl of that great soup a while ago, so I’m fine.”

They made three more trips to the van and back before starting the process of putting everything away.

Now who was this Michael, Nicole wondered, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed friendly and relaxed. It made her nervous. For some reason she found dealing with his cynicism easier.

“Jenny brought over a meat loaf and scalloped potatoes. They’re in the oven staying warm...so you don’t have to worry about dinner tonight.”

He’d waited for her? Why?

“Jenny is Josh’s sister-in-law. The one who had twins when I was here last time. A couple of little girls. They’ll be seven soon.”

She turned away, busying herself with another bag, not wanting him to see the pain on her face. Cody was seven. No! She couldn’t allow herself to think about him now. Later she would look at her album in the privacy of her room. “That must have been some night... I mean when Josh flew her to the hospital. Good thing his dad is a doctor and was along—” She turned back to place the last of the groceries into the refrigerator just in time to catch the same expression on his face that she’d seen last night... when Max’s name was mentioned.

“Would you like a glass of wine? There’s a bottle in there chilling.”

The change of subject was so abrupt that it caught her off guard, and she heard herself saying, “That would be nice” before she could weigh the wisdom of her decision.

Michael uncorked the bottle and poured while she set the table, took the dinner from the oven and placed the pottery dishes atop trivets on the table. When they were both seated at the small round oak table, Michael raised his glass to her and she lifted her wine tentatively. He clinked her glass and said, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she said back, unable to hold his intense gaze. What was this all about? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“So, Nicole,” he said, setting his glass down, “don’t you think it’s time you told me the truth?”

Five

Nicole nearly choked on her wine. “Wh-what do you mean?”

He gave her a sideways look. “You know very well what I mean—that whole act you put on when you applied for the job.”

She twisted the glass in her hands, not knowing where to start or how to answer his question without raising more.

“You’ve never worked at a place like the Purple Palace, have you?”

She glanced up, then back at her hands, finally shaking her head slowly from side to side.

“Then why those silly red spikes and that...that—” he waved his hand near her head “—pile of hair?”

Even though she felt foolish under his close scrutiny, at least these questions she could answer truthfully. “I...I just wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to look too straight. You know—someone who might easily be offended at what went on here—or what I thought went on here.” She could imagine how different she must have looked then compared to now. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Michael shaking his head.

And then he laughed, loud and long. Once he got his composure, he asked, “What on earth would a helper do at a bordello?” He took a sip of wine, swallowed quickly and then laughed again.

Nicole couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. Her charade had to have seemed comical, but watching Michael break up like this was even funnier. She never could watch someone laugh without laughing herself. And the harder she laughed the louder Michael got.

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