“Axel Clay, what are you doing here?”

Tara didn’t sound welcoming and wished she didn’t care.

“We need to talk.”

“After four months of silence? I don’t think so.” Darn it. That didn’t sound indifferent, either.

“Tara –”

He’s just a guy, she told herself for about the millionth time since that night in Braden had turned into an entire weekend. More than forty-eight hours spent with each other in that little motel room, during which she’d started thinking things she’d had no business thinking. Crazy things. Forever things.

All of which had come to a screeching halt when he’d been gone before she’d woken up the last morning. The only thing he’d left behind was a note that he’d “call.”

Well, no call ever came. All they had in common was one weekend…and an unborn baby that she needed to keep secret…

Available in May 2010 from Mills & Boon® Special Moments™

Once Upon a Wedding by Stacy Connelly & Accidental Princess by Nancy Robards Thompson

The Midwife’s Glass Slipper by Karen Rose Smith & Best For the Baby by Ann Evans

Seventh Bride, Seventh Brother by Nicole Foster & First Come Twins by Helen Brenna

In Care of Sam Beaudry by Kathleen Eagle

A Weaver Wedding by Allison Leigh

Someone Like Her by Janice Kay Johnson

A Forever Family by Jamie Sobrato

A Weaver Wedding
By Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Allison Leigh started early by writing a Halloween play that her grade-school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist for the RITA® Award and the Holt Medallion. However, the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighbourhood church, and currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

For everyone who has loved The Double-C family as much as I have.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Other Books By

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Preview

Copyright

Prologue

“Can I get you another margarita?”

Tara Browning looked up into the sympathetic eyes of the cocktail waitress as she moved the empty glasses from Tara’s table to the tray balanced on her palm.

Wasn’t there a rule somewhere that drinking alone was a bad sign of something?

Beyond the waitress, the wood and leather-studded Suds-Grill was just about standing-room only. Maybe that meant Tara wasn’t alone, even if she had been stood up by her own brother. She forced a smile. “Sure.”

“Have it out in a few minutes.” The waitress disappeared among the bodies crowded into the small bar.

Tara sighed and glanced over the people. Still no sign of Sloan.

She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed. The message that her twin brother had left on her phone had been the first time she’d even heard his voice in three years. Five since she’d seen him in person and turned her life upside down because of the choices he’d made in his life.

She should have known he wouldn’t show, despite his message. Not even on this, their thirtieth birthday.

She exhaled and accidentally caught the eye of a middle-aged guy staring at her from his seat at the bar. She looked away. She wasn’t looking for a pickup. Occupying bar stools wasn’t something she indulged in even in Weaver, where she lived and worked, much less here in Braden, a good thirty miles away. She’d come for Sloan McCray. Period.

“Do you mind if I take the extra stool?” The kid from the overflowing, high-top table next to hers was eyeing her earnestly over the top of his longneck beer bottle.

She shrugged. It wasn’t as if she needed to save the seat for Sloan. “Go ahead.”

The kid slid the stool three feet to the other table. “Thanks, ma’am.”

Ma’ am.

Happy big fat three-oh to you, Tara.

The guy at the bar was still eyeing her and she turned slightly on her stool, accepting the fresh margarita from the waitress. She didn’t know why she’d bothered ordering any drinks when she had no head for alcohol. Nor did she know why she stayed in the crowded bar at all when it seemed painfully clear that her brother wasn’t going to show, no matter what his message had said.

She pushed off the stool, swaying a little dizzily. She wasn’t about to hire a cab to take her back to Weaver. Even if she could find one, she’d have to turn around and make the return trip in the morning to retrieve her car.

Which meant a night in the motel across the highway.

If she’d stuck to drinking lemonade, she could have driven right back to Weaver where she belonged.

The irony of that thought didn’t escape her.

She didn’t belong in Weaver, either.

The story of her life.

“Heading out already?”

She stopped short when the shape in her path took form, but realized immediately that it wasn’t the middle-aged man who’d been eyeing her. No. This guy was tall and blond and definitely not portly.

She peered up at him, focusing with an effort. His head topped her measly five feet four inches by about a foot. Even in the dim light of the crowded bar, his eyes were a startling golden brown. “Axel? Axel Clay?”

The man pressed a wide, square palm against his chest. “So, you do remember me.” His sculpted lips tilted. “I’m touched.”

It was hard not to remember. The Clay family was pretty much the bedrock of Weaver. The men were all one version or another of tall and ridiculously handsome, and the women were as varied and as beautiful as flowers growing wild in the fields. A Weaver resident would have to live under a rock not to recognize one of them.

“What are you doing here?”

He grinned a little, lifting the squat glass he held. “Wetting my whistle like everyone else.”

“I meant in Braden.” Her brain felt fuzzy. And he smelled way too good. Amid the crush of bodies in the bar, he seemed like a haven of crisp, fresh air. A magnificently, beautifully, male haven. “You haven’t been around Weaver for more than year.” She flushed. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard in my shop.”

He caught Tara’s elbow and nudged her out of the way, allowing another cocktail waitress to pass. “I’ve been out of the country.”

She’d heard that talk, too. His frequent travels; his talent for horse breeding; his status as a thoroughly eligible—albeit uncatchable—male.

He smiled at her and her head swam. Maybe that’s what she got for living the life of a nun, even at the ripe old age of thirty. She had a drink, saw a handsome man, and had to battle against a tidal wave of unfamiliar desire.

“So, how’s business at Classic Charms?”

She moistened her lips, wishing that she hadn’t abandoned her drink back on the table. Holding it would have given her restless hands something to do, other than tremble with the ridiculous urge to feel if his hair was as thick as it looked. “I’m surprised you remember the name of my shop.” He’d been there only a few times, usually accompanying his mother.

His lips tilted again. “Hey now.” His golden gaze dropped for a moment to her mouth. “You’re not the only one with a memory. I remember all sorts of things.”

She felt more parched than ever. “Business is good. I’ll have to hire a part-timer, soon. Before the holidays.”

“You still have that old phone booth in the center of the store?”

She blinked. “Uh, yes.” The vibrant red phone booth was currently housing a display of not-entirely-innocent lingerie that she’d gotten at an estate sale.

He dashed his fingertip down her nose. “Told you I remember things.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “So, what are you doing here in Braden?”

She barely kept herself from touching her tingling nose. “I was supposed to meet my brother here. But he…he couldn’t make it.”

He covered her shoulder with his hand and she went still before realizing he was merely moving her aside again for another passing waitress. “His loss is my gain. Let’s grab a table.”

She was unbearably tempted, though she tried not to be. “I don’t think there are any left.” The one she’d abandoned had already been claimed.

“Then, we’ll dance.” Before she could protest, he’d grabbed her hand and led her to the crowded, minuscule dance floor.

Digging in her heels did no good. She was caught in his storm surge, and that was all there was to it. Then he was turning her into his arms and she felt like she was going under for the last time.

“I don’t dance,” she warned, having to practically yell to be heard over the loud music. Jukebox. No live DJ or band for the Suds-n-Grill.

He settled her left hand on his shoulder and took her waist. “All beautiful women dance.”

She was a far cry from beautiful, but whether it was his words or his hand on her waist, she felt fresh heat streaming from her face to her toes. Delectably filling in every nook and cranny along the way.

The music pulsed around them while some rumblingvoiced singer lamented unfulfilled desires. She could feel the imprint of every one of Axel’s fingertips against her waist, right through her tomato-red tunic. Maybe it was her imagination that those fingertips seemed to subtly flex against her, like the sheathed claws of some big, golden cat kneading against his soft prey.

She’d lived in Weaver for five years. But she’d never gotten personally involved with anyone there. Hadn’t gotten involved with anyone even before that. Not since her brief, unsuccessful marriage about a million years ago.

Somewhere inside her dim brain, she remembered that a dance did not qualify as involvement. She moistened her dry lips. “You, um, you didn’t come here to meet someone?”

His head angled toward her and his voice seemed to whisper over her ear. “I got stood up, too.”

“Who would stand you up?” The words came without thought, and her face went hot all over again.

His lips tilted. “At the moment, I’m having a hard time remembering because I didn’t expect to enjoy myself at all. And yet—” he said as he drew her closer “—here we are.”

Her head swirled again, only this time it wasn’t the least bit unpleasant.

And those fingertips of his were pressing more insistently into her waist. His thumb, where their hands were joined, slowly dragged across her palm.

Liquid fire drenched her veins. He might as well have pressed his mouth against hers she was so transfixed.

“It’s my birthday,” she said stupidly.

His gaze was steady on her face. That faint, not really amused, quirk still on his sculpted lips. “Did you blow out the candles and make a wish?”

She’d had a wish. To see the only family she had left for the first time in too many years. Given the fact that she had no way of reaching Sloan—he’d left her the surprising message—she’d thought that was something her brother had wanted, too. Now she knew better.

“No cake,” she told Axel. “No candles.”

His thumb slid down her palm again. “Ah, now, that just ain’t right. Birthdays always come with a cake and candles where my family is concerned.”

She wasn’t surprised. There wasn’t a soul who lived in Weaver who could be unaware of what a tight-knit clan the Clays were. From all appearances, his family was the complete antithesis of hers.

“When it’s just one of you, cake and candles leem a snittle—” she explained, then frowned and marshaled her tongue with some deliberation “—seem a little unnecessary.”

“Well, it’s not just one of you tonight, anymore.” His gaze became even more hooded. His thumb wasn’t stroking any longer. It was situated, dead center, against her palm where it felt as if an electric current was passing directly through to her heart. He turned his head slightly as if he was studying their hands pressed together, and her blood seemed to rush to her head. “Feels like there’re two of us to me,” he murmured.

Her heart bounced around. Her skin felt tight, her nerve endings wanting suddenly to burst free. “Okay.” The word came out more like a breath, but his mouth still slid into a slow, satisfied curve.

He linked his fingers through hers and before she knew it, she felt the cold rush of October night air across her hot face as he pulled her right out the front door.

It vaguely dawned on her that she’d forgotten her jacket, but then it didn’t matter because there, just out of the light of the entrance, he slid his arms around her shoulders, turned her boldly into his arms, and covered her mouth with his.

Sensation blasted through her with all the warmth of a summer afternoon and her head fell back, her mouth opening beneath his.

His hand—oh, it was so warm, so gentle, so strong—covered the base of her neck. Slowly slid along her throat until it reached her jaw.

“Dude. Get a room.” A laughing male voice said from behind them, followed by a trill of female giggles.

Axel lifted his head, but he didn’t even look back at the snickering couple entering the bar behind them. His gaze stayed on her face, but his hand cradled her throat where she felt certain he could feel her thundering pulse. “Wishes aside for the moment, what do you want for your birthday, Tara Browning?”

She moistened her lips and tasted him on them. “You.” The word escaped. Bald. Husky. The blush that hit her face was scorching. “Sorry. Blame that on the margaritas.”

“I was hoping I had something to do with it.” His fingers splayed against her spine, and he nudged her even closer until not even Wyoming cold could get between them.

She inhaled. Everywhere that she was soft and giving, he was…not.

Then his head ducked close to hers, but his lips merely grazed the point of her chin and followed the line of her jaw toward her ear. “Having me is the easy part.”

She shivered and it had nothing to do with the night air. Her fingers latched onto the butter-soft leather jacket covering his wide shoulders.

“But first,” he said as he lifted his head with a devilish grin in place, “some celebrating is still in order.”

She would have swayed again if not for his steadying hold. “Celebrating?”

“Cake and candles at the very least.” He let go of her and in one smooth motion pulled off his jacket and slid it around her shoulders.

The leather hung heavily around her and smelled of him. She managed not to slide into a puddle at his feet and clutched the front of the coat together with one hand. He took the other and pulled her steadily through the dimly lit parking lot, stopping only when they reached the passenger side of a big, dark pickup truck. “If we find a cake at this hour, I’ll eat my hat,” she told him, trying to curtail the excitement racing through her.

“There are better things to eat.” He pulled open the door, ran his hands beneath the jacket to unerringly find her waist, and lifted her right off her feet, sliding her up his long body. “I haven’t been tempted to make love to a woman in a parking lot since I was fifteen.”

She swallowed hard, shocked by the rush of temptation that centered hot and moist inside her. “I don’t…um…do this sort of thing.”

“Celebrate your birthday?” His words whispered along her neck.

Her head fell back. “Invite a man to my room. I was planning to get one at the motel across the street.”

Whether that was margarita-inspired boldness or Axelinspired boldness, she didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she cared. They were adults.

“Good,” he said, sliding his lips over hers in a faint, grazing kiss that made her pulse throb. “We’ll have someplace to go to have our cake—” he slid her slowly onto the seat and tucked her knees inside “—and eat it, too.”

Her heart lurched as he closed the door. She watched him through the windows as he rounded the front of the truck. His gaze seemed to meet hers through the window for a moment that started to stretch forever. Then he opened the door and climbed behind the wheel. “Ready?”

“Mmm hmm.” It sounded strangled even to her.

He put the keys in the ignition and in seconds they were driving out of the parking lot.

Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

But then he glanced at her and his smile was slow. Oh-so-easy. He gently squeezed her fingers where they were clenched against the side of her seat.

And just that easily, calmness spread through her. Her worries settled. Her judgments dissolved. At that moment, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be.

With him.

Chapter One

The hearts were everywhere. If anyone entering the high school gymnasium wondered what was being celebrated, the hearts would definitely have given it away.

“How much for these earrings?”

Tara smiled at the pretty teenager standing at her Valentine’s Festival booth. It was only February 13th, but the event planners had figured they’d have a better turnout from the residents of Weaver on a Saturday than they would on a Sunday. “They’re half off if you turn in a can of food for the food drive.” The rest of Tara’s profit would go directly to the primary purpose of the festival—raising funds for the elementary school expansion.

The girl handed her the distinctive bead earrings. “Promise you won’t sell ’em, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I promise.” Tara watched the girl speed off across the gymnasium floor that was crowded with booths offering everything from kisses to cookies.

All of the businesses in Weaver had turned out to offer something of interest at the festival. Even Tara. Though the last thing she felt like celebrating was the hearts-and-love thing.

She sat down on the little round stool behind the stylishly draped table that constituted her contribution to the Valentine’s Festival. Two more hours and she could pack up shop and move her wares back to Classic Charms, satisfied in the knowledge that she’d done her part in this latest exercise of community spirit.

There was no reason for her to stay after that. The festivities would culminate in the evening’s dinner dance and purchasing the ticket didn’t mean she had to attend.

The only thing she wanted to do that evening was have an early rendezvous with her four-poster bed. Alone.

“Afternoon, Tara.” Hope Clay—one of the festival organizers and the head of the school board—stopped in front of her booth, her violet eyes sparkling behind the stylish glasses she wore. “Looks like business has been good.” She touched the jewelry rack that was very nearly empty. “This is the first chance I’ve had to come by. I was hoping to pick up something for my nieces.”

Tara kept her practiced smile in place. She’d already seen more than one of Hope’s nieces. “Leandra was by with Lucas on her hip as soon as the doors opened.”

Hope laughed, looking younger than the fifty Tara knew her to be, because half the town had been invited to celebrate the milestone. “That little boy may be only two, but he has plenty of Clay blood running in his veins. Tristan and I sat for him and Hannah a few weeks ago. I was exhausted by the time Leandra and Evan picked them up.” She shook her head, still grinning. “Not that Lucas is different than any of the other babies in our family.”

Hope’s gaze caught on a bracelet and she leaned closer to the glass-topped display. “Oh, that one’s lovely. Is it amethyst?”

Tara drew out the woven strands of the bracelet and handed it to Hope. “Yes. In fact, Sarah—” yet another one of Hope Clay’s nieces “—bought one for Megan about an hour ago. In peridot, though.”

Hope glanced at the small price tag hanging from the white-gold clasp. “I wonder what it says when an old lady like me has the same taste as a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Hardly old.” Tara’s protest was sincere. “And considering the bracelets are my own design,” she said as she smiled wryly, “I’d like to think that it says you both have excellent taste.”

“Very well said.” Hope’s husband, Tristan, stopped behind his wife, closing his hand around her nape in a simple gesture that managed to eloquently display years of devotion.

Hope smiled up at her tall husband. “I thought you were going to be tied up with meetings all afternoon. Everything go all right?”

“Unexpectedly so.” The man finally slid his attention from his wife’s face toward Tara. His brilliant blue gaze crinkled with a timeless appeal. “So, Tara, how much is my wife’s excellent taste going to cost me this time?”

Tara told him and he slid the cash out of his wallet. He waved off the receipt she began to write out. Not that she was surprised considering his video-gaming company, CeeVid, had already funded the brunt of the school expansion. The Clays in general were a generous lot when it came to supporting their community.

And then there were some Clays who were more like a hit and run.

She pushed aside the thought and finished wrapping up the bracelet in her traditional Classic Charms ivory and silver striped packaging before passing it over to Hope. “There you go. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“Here’s my can a’ food.” The teenager was back, looking breathless as she handed over an enormous can and a wad of cash. “You didn’t sell the earrings, did you?”

Tara pulled them out and handed them to the girl. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

“I knew this festival would be a good idea,” Hope said as she took the can of peaches and set it in the nearly full bin beside Tara’s booth. “We’ll see you later at the dance. I now have the perfect bracelet to wear with my dress.” Waving the pretty box, she moved off on her husband’s arm.

Biting back the pinch of envy she felt watching the couple, Tara focused on her young customer. She picked up the wad of cash and began unfolding it. “These earrings are for pierced ears, you know.”

“I know. I got my ears pierced last month.” The girl held up the dangling earrings that she’d chosen, eyeing them with fervent delight. “These are going to be my first real pair when I can take out the studs. Finally.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought my dad was never gonna let me pierce my ears.”

Tara could identify. Despite his frequent absences, her father had still managed to implacably rule his roost with an iron fist. “Dads can be like that.” She gave the girl her change, deftly wrapped the earrings in tissue and popped them into a small box. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Holding the box like a treasure, the girl turned on her heel and fairly floated across the gymnasium floor. She didn’t even stop at any of the other booths.

Tara sat back down on her stool, glancing at her watch. An hour longer, she told herself, and she could reasonably begin packing up.

Unfortunately, the hour seemed to drag by as customer traffic began to slow.

Her water bottle was long empty, her bladder was long full, and the only thing of interest to watch was the line of eager customers at Courtney Clay’s Kissing Booth sitting smackdab in the center of the gymnasium. Considering the young nurse was strikingly beautiful—and eligible—the line wasn’t that surprising.

After a while, Tara turned away, hiding a yawn behind her palm, and reached beneath her table for one of the boxes she’d used to bring in her load that morning. Not quite an hour had passed, but it was close enough for her.

She set the box on her stool and began taking down the unsold garments hanging on the display rack. Slipping them off their hangers, she folded them neatly between tissue paper before placing them in the box. The more careful she was, the less steaming she’d have to do when she hung the clothing back up in her shop.

She filled the first box and put it on the floor, then bent below the table again to hunt down the next box.

“Did you bury a bone down there?” The voice was low. Husky. Amused.

Painfully familiar.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she warily peered above the table.

She would have welcomed a nonstop procession of Clays, if this one would just disappear.

It was, after all, what he was good at.

Looking away from Axel, she dragged another box out.

Don’t look at the guy. That’s what got you into trouble last time.

Trouble.

It was almost laughable, if it weren’t so clichéd.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound welcoming and wished she didn’t care. She would have far preferred to sound breezily unconcerned about his unexpected presence.

“We need to talk.”

“After four months of silence? I don’t think so.” Darnit. That didn’t sound breezy, either. She grabbed the rest of the hangers from the rack, clothing and all, and shoved the bundle into the box.

If she had to steam out wrinkles until the cows came home, she suddenly didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of there. She slapped the lid onto the box and dropped it atop the first.

“Tara—”

But she’d already crouched down to fish out another box. Beneath the cover of the table, she exhaled shakily.

He’s just a guy, she told herself for about the millionth time since that night in Braden that had turned into an entire weekend. More than forty-eight hours spent with each other in that little motel room, during which time she’d stupidly started thinking things she’d had no business thinking. Crazy things. Forever things.

All of which had come to a screeching halt when he’d been gone from their bed before she’d woken up that last morning.

The only thing he’d left behind was a note that he’d “call.” He’d scrawled the message on the flattened pink bakery box that had held the small chocolate cake he’d managed to track down after searching three different stores.

The cake that—after she’d made a wish and blown out the candles, all of which he’d insisted upon—they’d managed to share over those two days in shockingly creative ways that still haunted her dreams.

But call?

Right.

Not only had he been gone from her bed, but he hadn’t shown his face in Weaver afterward. Not the next day. Not the next week. Not the next month.

The thoughts they’d shared. The laughter they’d had. The love they’d made. None of it mattered.

One weekend was all they had in common.

Well, she was a big girl. She would live with the consequences.

She grabbed the storage box and drew it out, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine in the same motion.

Axel, unfortunately, was still leaning atop the display case, his shoulders seemingly wider than ever beneath the nubby, gray turtleneck sweater he wore.

The last time she’d seen those shoulders, they’d been bare and golden and glistening with sweat while he’d made love to her as if he’d never wanted to stop.

She banished the painfully vivid thought and looked pointedly at the case. “Do you mind?”

He backed away slightly. Ignoring his solid chest only inches away, she flipped open the case and drew out one of the sliding trays from beneath.

“I can explain the four months.” His voice was quiet beneath the laughter coming from the nearby kissing booth.

“No explanation needed,” she assured him. “It was what it was.” There. That was breezy. She even managed to top it off with a careless shrug and a small smile. “When did you get back into town?”

“This morning. I intended to call.”

Too little, too late. Four months too late.

“No big deal,” she said, still breezy.

She was an adult. They’d had a “one-night stand” that happened to last an entire weekend, and the aftereffects were her business and hers alone.

The only thing that bothered her now was that she was bothered by his four months’ worth of silence.

Liar. Tell him.

She ignored the insistent whisper inside her head and with no regard for her usual order, dumped the contents of the jewelry tray into the box. She’d sort it out when she got back to the shop.

“Something important came up,” he said. She made the mistake of glancing at him and caught the grimace that crossed his unreasonably handsome face. “I know how that sounds.”

“It doesn’t matter how it sounds. It was months ago. No big deal. I hardly—” she said as her tongue nearly tripped “—hardly remember much about it.”

The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. “D’you know that there are five little freckles on your nose that only show up when you lie?”

She shoved the empty tray back in its slot and grabbed the second one. “You’ve offered the obligatory explanation, but as you can see, I’m busy.”

“I don’t think I explained anything.”

He hadn’t, and they both knew it.

What she didn’t understand, though, was why he bothered pressing the matter. “Let’s just save our breath and say that you did.” They’d spent a weekend together and she’d come close to losing her heart. He, on the other hand, had just taken a powder when he’d decided it was time to go.

He grabbed the tray before she could shake its contents into the box. “Tara.”

She wasn’t going to engage in a tug-of-war over a jewelry tray. Nor was she going to get into any sort of conversation about what had occurred between them when there were still too many people around who could overhear.

Gossip was going to be rife enough about her soon without anyone overhearing that.

She let go of the tray and reached for the last one, pulling it out and tipping it into the box.

He muttered an oath and set down the tray. “Tara—”

“Axel Clay, is that you?” A bright, female voice accosted them from across the gymnasium.

“We will talk,” he told Tara before turning to greet the curly-haired blonde aiming for him. “Hey, Dee. How’s it going?”

The young woman unabashedly threw her arms around him, giving him an exuberant hug. “I’m going to have to give Sarah a lashing. She didn’t tell me you were coming home. We all thought you were still in Europe trying to buy up some fancy horse. Hi, Tara,” she added absently.

Under other circumstances, Tara would probably have been amused by Deirdre Crowder’s actions. Dee was a teacher at the elementary school. She and Sarah Scalise—another teacher and Axel’s cousin—were frequent visitors to Classic Charms.

But it wasn’t “other circumstances,” and the day had taken its toll on Tara’s humor.

She was fresh out.

She nevertheless managed a casual response for Dee and took advantage of Axel’s diverted attention to quickly finish unloading the jewelry case. She couldn’t help but overhear Axel telling Dee that his cousin hadn’t known about his arrival. She also couldn’t help but notice the way Dee kept her slender fingers latched onto Axel’s arm.

“Excuse me,” she told Dee, whose other hand was near the display case.

“Sorry.” Dee moved her hand, but didn’t take her attention away from Axel. “So, how long are you going to be around? We ought to all get together.”

Tara hefted the acrylic display unit off the table and perched it on the boxes, then slid out from behind the booth. She still needed to disassemble the clothing rack but she wasn’t going to listen to Dee, avowed man-hunter that she was, set up a date with Axel.

Without looking at them, she made her way to the storage room to retrieve her handcart that she’d left there after unloading her wares earlier that day. She pulled it out, struggling with the recalcitrant folding mechanism.

“Let me help you with that.”

Her shoulders drooped. Dee hadn’t kept Axel’s attention nearly long enough to suit her. That fact was probably as displeasing to Dee as it was to Tara.

“I don’t need help.” She jerked on the cart handles and it sprang into place. Her fingers narrowly avoided being pinched, but she gave Axel a smooth smile. “See?”

She wheeled the cart smartly around his tall form and headed back toward her booth. Her legs were no match for his, though, and he beat her there, only to block the boxes as if it would take dynamite to dislodge him.

Her lips tightened and she turned to the clothing rack, deftly dismantling the rods to fit into the last box. Still ignoring him, she pulled on her coat—a new one since she’d lost hers completely that night at the Suds-n-Grill—and wrapped her scarf around her neck. Pulling the loaded cart, she headed toward the gymnasium exit.

She hadn’t reached it yet when Joe Gage, the tall, balding elementary school principal, stepped through it. “Shutting down shop, Tara?” He held the glass door wide for her.

“I am. Thanks, Joe.” She maneuvered the cart through the doorway.

“We’ll see you at the dance tonight, right? This old guy expects to share a dance with you.” He grinned, a perfectly appealing man who’d been nothing but friendly to Tara in all the time she’d lived there.

She smiled and hoped he didn’t realize she hadn’t answered.

Behind Joe’s shoulder she could see Axel, purpose in his stride.

“Hey, Ax,” she heard Joe greet him as she hurried along the sidewalk. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”

She walked faster, not listening for Axel’s response. Her breath was hitching in her chest when she finally made it to her white SUV.

She set the cart upright and fished her keys out of her pocket to unlock the rear gate. It hadn’t even completely swung open when Axel arrived.

Her lips tightened but she stepped out of the way when he plucked the top box off the stack and slid it into the rear of her vehicle. He followed it up with the rest of her boxes, then with annoying ease, folded up the cart, turned it sideways, and slid it alongside the boxes.

He slammed the gate shut and turned his penetrating eyes her way. His sharply angled jaw was set. “You can either talk to me now, or talk to me later. But we will talk, Tara. There are things you need to know.”

And one gigantic thing she wasn’t ready for him—or anyone else in town, for that matter—to know.

But her time on that score was rapidly diminishing.

Not for the first time, she wondered why she didn’t just leave Weaver altogether. Her shop was a modest success there, but that was the only thing keeping her in the small town. That and the fact that it was the only place her brother knew where to reach her.

She bunched the key chain inside her fist. “I want to get these things returned to the store before the dance tonight.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“No!” The word came out more sharply than she intended, particularly when she could see people just a few rows away. “I—I’ll be at the dance,” she lied as she headed to the driver’s side door.

“That’s not the best place.”

It was the perfect place since she had no intention of being there.

She yanked open the door and climbed inside. “Take it or leave it,” she said and shut the door between them.

Then she pretended that her hands weren’t shaking as she shoved the key in the ignition and drove away like the bats of hell were hard on her heels.

Only Axel Clay was no bat.

He was the only man she’d slept with since her marriage of a minute when she’d been eighteen.

He was the man who’d left her flat after a weekend she couldn’t seem to get out of her heart or her head.

But worst of all, he was the father of the baby she was carrying.

Chapter Two

Axel stifled an oath as he watched the white SUV roar out of the school parking lot. He looked up at the pale winter sky and blew out a breath that made rings around his head.

No matter what Tara had said, he doubted that she’d be back for the dance that evening. What had he expected? That she’d welcome him back with open arms?

He’d had plenty of female encounters in his life; all with women who had played by exactly the same rules as he had. That weekend in Braden with Tara, though, had been different. She was different. She always had been. Right from the first time he’d met her, five years earlier.

His pocket buzzed slightly, and he pulled out his vibrating cell phone, flipping it open. “Axel here.”

“Have you talked to her?” His uncle’s voice greeted him.

Axel stared after her but the SUV was already out of sight. “Not exactly.”

“This situation isn’t open for inexactly. Sloan McCray is a valuable contact for us and I’ve given him my word that we’ll continue taking care of his sister. I want daily reports.”

Tristan Clay wasn’t only Axel’s uncle. He was his boss and he’d made his points plain already. Not that Axel could blame him after the mess he’d made of his last assignment for Hollins-Winword.

The primary concern of the highly secretive agency was security, whether on a personal scale or an international one. At times, they even worked—to use the term loosely—along with governmental agencies, handling matters that couldn’t be handled through normal channels. Such was Axel’s last assignment, which had been a monumental failure.

He hadn’t kept anyone safe, particularly Sloan McCray’s lover.

As a result, Tristan had done exactly what he should have done. He’d put Axel on suspension. Which was where Axel had remained until earlier that day when he’d met with his uncle, fully intending to tender the resignation from Hollins-Winword that he’d been holding off on ever since he’d earned that suspension.

Ironically, Axel hadn’t resigned.

Instead, he’d found himself nearly begging his uncle for this latest assignment. Not because of his record with Sloan McCray. But because of the assignment, herself.

Tara Browning.

The fact that she was McCray’s sister only made the situation that much more complicated for Axel.

Considering everything, it was a wonder that Tristan had agreed. After all, Sloan must have discovered that Tristan had sent Axel to the Suds-n-Grill that night four months ago and kept right on moving, despite the fact that he’d arranged to meet his sister there, too. But Tristan had agreed to give Axel the assignment and though McCray had pitched a mighty fit about it, he wasn’t in a position to demand someone else.

“Daily reports,” Axel assured him, disconnecting before Tristan could decide to change his mind.

He strode through the crowded parking lot until he reached his truck, parked blatantly in a No Parking zone.

The parking ticket tucked beneath his windshield wiper waved gaily in the biting breeze.

He yanked the paper out and climbed in the truck. He shoved the ticket into the glove box where it joined a couple dozen others, a tire gauge and his holstered GLOCK.

He’d barely gotten his key in the ignition when the phone buzzed again. “Yeah?”

“Is that how you always answer your phone?”

He grimaced at his mother’s familiar voice and started up the truck. “I guess you’ve heard.” There was nothing like the Weaver grapevine when it came to spreading news, whether you wanted it spread or not.

“That you’re back in town?” Emily Clay’s voice was tart, but beneath it he could still hear the love that had always been a constant. “Imagine my pleasure hearing it from someone other than you. I’ve gotten three different calls from people reporting that they’ve seen your truck driving down Main Street.”

“Sorry. I had some business to take care of.”

“With Evan, I imagine,” Emily concluded, making Axel feel that much guiltier.

“I haven’t talked to Evan, yet,” he admitted, knowing perfectly well that she was probably already aware of that fact. Evan Taggart was the local vet and his brother-in-law, but they’d thrown in together to breed horses even before Evan had married Axel’s sister, Leandra.

The business partnership was real and increasingly profitable. It also provided a highly convenient cover for Axel’s other activities. Activities of which Evan had always been aware, even before Axel’s own immediate family had been.

“Hmm,” Emily was saying. “And when will you be making your way out to the farm?”

The “farm” was Clay Farm, the larger and considerably more significant horse farm owned by his parents outside of town. It was where he’d grown up and where he always returned. Never before, however, had he returned with the weight on his conscience that he had now, and there was no denying his reluctance.

It was the same reluctance that had dogged him when it came to returning to Weaver at all.

“Soon,” he said. “I still have things to take care of in town.”

“There’s a Valentine’s dance at the high school tonight. Your father and I will be there.”

“I stopped at the gym already. Looked in.”

“Did you see Courtney, then? She’s doing the kissing booth this year, if you can believe it.”

The last time he’d seen his cousin Courtney, she’d been inconsolable at the memorial service that her parents, Rebecca and Sawyer, had finally held for their missing son, Ryan.

“She had a line stretching around the gym,” Axel said. “I didn’t want to get in the way of the moneymaking.”

“It’s just good to see her having some fun again. Since Ryan’s service last year, she’s had a tough time.”

There was nothing Axel could say to that. Not now. He couldn’t exactly tell his mother the real reason he’d avoided Ryan’s little sister, now could he?

Ryan had made him promise.

“Did you run into Hope or Tristan?” his mother continued.

“Not at the festival.” At least that was the truth. He’d met with Tristan at his office over at Cee Vid.

“Then if you’re still in town, come by the dance.”

If he believed that Tara had any intention of going to the dance, he’d be there all right. As it was, from here on out, he was going to be where Tara was. “We’ll see.”

His mother just “hmmed” again as if reading his mind. She’d always known when he was up to something.

“You do realize that tomorrow is Sunday, right?” Emily said after a moment. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’m certainly going to expect to see you tomorrow.”

Axel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who’s got Sunday dinner this week?” His mom and his aunts all rotated the duty. Sometimes it was just a handful of family members who were there. Sometimes it was the entire freaking family.

All two hundred of them.

It was an exaggeration, but sometimes it felt as if it were only a slight one.

“Jaimie’s cooking,” his mother answered. “We’ll be at the big house.”

At the Double-C Ranch then, where his father and uncles had been raised and where his grandfather, Squire, and his wife Gloria, still lived with Axel’s aunt and uncle—Matthew and Jaimie. Going there felt no less of a betrayal, though, than it did going to his own home. “Is everyone going to be there?”

“It’s been over a year since you’ve been home, honey. What do you think?”

Way too many family members is what he thought. “If you don’t see me until tomorrow afternoon, don’t worry.”

“I always worry about you. It’s what mothers do.”

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror after they hung up, and he looked away. He didn’t want to think about mothers and sons just now.

Which spoke directly to the reason why he’d been reluctant to come back to Weaver at all. He had a good family. To the last one, they were all good.

None of them deserved the secret he was keeping from them about Ryan.

But if he didn’t keep Ryan’s secret, Axel was more afraid that his cousin would go even deeper underground and it had taken Axel too long to find him in the first place.

Maybe he couldn’t do anything about his own family. But he could definitely do something about McCray’s family.

He pulled away from the curb and headed back toward Main Street where Classic Charms was located. He trolled past, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel as he studied the light he could see burning inside her eclectic little shop.

He could either sit in the warmth of his truck and watch the shop, or he could brave the frost—both from the weather and from her—and go talk with her.

Make her understand the gravity of the situation.

It would have been a helluva lot easier to do that if he hadn’t already done the unforgivable by getting involved with her that weekend in Braden.

He’d been ordered to that bar by Tristan for a quick “meet” with McCray. The last person Axel had expected to see there was the man’s sister.

But there she’d been.

From his corner in the bar, he’d watched her sit by herself for more than an hour. Watched the way her gleaming, dark hair would slip from behind her ear where she kept tucking it. Watched her debate with herself each time the cocktail waitress came by to replenish her drink. Watched the way half the men in the place watched her, and the way she’d seemed oblivious to them all.

Most particularly, he’d watched the fading of animation from her lovely face the longer she sat there alone, leaving her enormous brown eyes looking darker and more haunting than ever.

He shouldn’t have stepped in her way when she was leaving. But he had.

And damned if he could make himself regret it even if Tristan could now yank him from his assignment to protect her if he found out about that night.

She was a petite package of feminine curves who didn’t even reach his shoulder. He’d been halfway beyond crazy over her from the first time he’d seen her when she’d moved to Weaver, five years earlier.

The fact that she’d been placed there for her own safety by none other than his uncle Tristan had kept Axel from acting on his feelings.

That night in Braden, though, his attraction had been more alive than ever. And he’d been on the verge of giving Tristan his resignation.

He blew out a rough breath along with the justifications that amounted to zero. He shouldn’t have touched her and he knew it. No matter how unforgettable their time had been.

He pulled a U-turn and parked in front of her shop. Her front door was a fanciful thing of stained glass. It was locked, of course. He knocked purposefully as he looked through the glass window beside the door.

He couldn’t see her moving around inside, but that wasn’t surprising. The place was artfully packed with furniture, clothing and a host of other doodads.

He knocked again, as hard as he dared against a deep red triangle of glass.

Finally, she appeared.

The sleeves of her thigh-length pink sweater were pushed up above her elbows. She’d twisted her hair up into some kind of knot that wasn’t particularly effective, judging by the strands of hair that had slipped free to graze her elfin chin.

She made a face when she reached the door and tapped the sign that she’d posted in the lower corner of the window.

Closed.

“I’m not going away, Tara.” He knew she could hear him through the glass.

“Leave me alone. Or do I have to call the sheriff?”

“Call him,” he said easily. “I haven’t seen Max in a year. Good chance to catch up.”

“Must be nice to count half the people in town as a relation.”

Sometimes it was as much a curse as a blessing. “Open up.”

Her bow-shaped lips tightened and she made no move to unlock the door. “Can’t you take no for an answer?”

“No.” A gust of wind blew down the street, bringing with it a rolling cloud of old snow. “So you might as well let me in.”

She looked past him to the street. Whether it was his truck parked there or the sedan slowly driving past that made her grimace he couldn’t tell. Didn’t much care, considering she finally reached over and with a rattle of keys, opened the door.

“You could have at least parked in the alley behind the building,” she muttered, as she shut and locked the door again once he stepped inside. “Everyone in town can recognize your truck.”

Warmth engulfed him. “So?”

“So, I don’t want people wondering why you’re hanging around me.”

On that score, she was going to be sadly disappointed.

“Don’t bother taking that off,” she warned when he unzipped his jacket. “You won’t be staying long.”

He slid out of the jacket anyway and dropped it on the Ushaped mahogany bar that served as a counter in the center of the store. “There’s been a hit issued against your brother,” he said bluntly.

For a long moment, her wide eyes just stared at him. Then she slowly blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. There’s a price on Sloan’s head.”

The lovely throat that he knew tasted as sweet as cream worked in a hard swallow. She abruptly sat down on a weathered-looking leather couch whose massive lines made her look even more defenseless. “H-how would you know that?”

“Because I work for the same agency that placed you in Weaver when your brother went undercover with the ATF.”

Her face blanched and he quickly moved to her, placing his hand against her back. “Put your head down.”

But she pushed him away. “You know Sloan? Is—” she swallowed visibly “—is he all right? He’s still under protection somewhere in Chicago, right?”

Truthfully, Axel wasn’t entirely certain where Sloan was. The man had shunned the normal protocols and who could blame him? “He’s keeping contact,” he said instead, truthfully enough, though Tristan was the only one with whom McCray was maintaining the briefest of communications.

He eyed Tara’s fearful expression and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her again.

There had already been too much touching between them. He was still losing sleep from the burning memory of those white-hot hours they’d shared. “How much do you know about the case he’s been working on?”

She swiped a strand of hair from her cheek. “Only that when he infiltrated the Deuce’s Cross, he wanted me far away from Chicago just in case the gang suspected he wasn’t the ex-con he was pretending to be.” Her hands fell back to her lap. “He was exaggerating the situation. Nothing’s ever happened to me. Not during the years he rode with them, and certainly not in the time it’s taken to get the case to trial.” She looked around the shop, avoiding eye contact. “I gave up the only home I’ve ever known to come here. It’s temporary. Just until all that’s over.”

Five years didn’t seem all that temporary to Axel, but he kept the thought to himself. “A few years before Sloan was finally accepted into the gang, another federal agent had gotten in. But his cover was blown. They killed his family before they executed him.” There was nothing he could do to soften the facts. They were what they were.

And they were only part of the reason behind Sloan’s rightful concern, now.

But Axel still felt like a bastard when her face paled all over again. His hands fisted in his pockets. It was either that, or reach for her, and he was pretty certain she’d push him away. Again.

“The Feds couldn’t make a murder case stick at that point,” he continued quietly. “Your brother was the one who finally came up with the glue.” About murder and a host of other felonies. “Now that the trial is finally going forward, it’s likely they want payback more than ever.”

“But Sloan’s identity was supposed to be protected.”

“There’s no guarantee about that,” he said carefully. “Information has a way of getting out. Your brother’s not taking any chances that it might lead to you.”

“I don’t even use my maiden name. I’ve spoken with Sloan once in the past five years! I don’t have a phone number for him or even an address. All I can do is sit around on my thumbs waiting for him to contact me.” She grimaced. “And to blow me off again even after he has. Why…why would anything about my brother lead to me?”

“You’re not some far-flung relation of his. You’re his twin sister.” Sloan’s only living family.

Her lips compressed. “So what am I supposed to do? Give up everything again and go start somewhere new?”

He frowned at the assessment. “Right now, Weaver is still the best place for you.”

“And how long have you known about all of this?”

“You mean about the order on Sloan, or the reason you moved to Weaver?”

She looked ill. “Both.”

He finally pulled his hands out of his pockets. “Since this morning, and since you came to town five years ago.”

“Great.” Her expression grew even more pinched. “So all that talk in Braden about your horse-breeding business was just a story. A line. You’re with the ATF, too.”

They hadn’t just talked about his business. They’d talked about hers. About movies and books and politics and religion. And they’d made love. Again. And again.

“I didn’t lie to you. I am a horse breeder.”

“But that’s not all you are,” she said her voice flat. “Right?”

“No,” he allowed. “But I’m not with the ATF.”

“But you said you were with the agency—”

“The ATF didn’t move you here to Wyoming. An agency called Hollins-Winword did that.”

Her lips parted. “But Sloan told me—”

He lifted his hand. “It doesn’t matter.” In a perfect world, the ATF would have been able to see to the full protection of its own agents. But he’d learned long ago that the world wasn’t perfect. McCray had done what Axel would have done in the same situation. He’d found someone to take care of what his own agency wouldn’t. “Sloan trusted Hollins-Winword to keep you safe before, and Hollins-Winword is going to keep you safe now.”

She closed her eyes for a moment as if she were searching for strength. He started to reach for her no matter the chances of rejection but she planted her slender palms on her knees and pushed abruptly to her feet.

Her brown eyes looked like bruises against her pale face. “Fine. You’ve told me. Now will you go?” She started toward the door. “Your five minutes are long gone.”

He closed his hand around her arm and absorbed the frisson that raced through him at the contact. “It’s more than a matter of just keeping you updated on the situation.”

She’d gone still the moment he touched her. Her gaze seemed focused on his hand on her arm. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, I’m your new bodyguard.”

Chapter Three

Tara wasn’t certain she’d heard right. “Bodyguard.”

But Axel didn’t correct her. He just stood there, watching her with that steady, golden-brown gaze that she couldn’t get out of her mind, while his hand seemed to burn like some branding iron through her long sleeve.

She shook off the ridiculous notion. She wasn’t branded by this man any more than she was going to put up with this bodyguard nonsense.

“No.” Her voice was flat and she headed straight for the door. “No. No. And no.”

“It isn’t your choice.”

She pulled open the door. “It most certainly is. Just like it’s my choice to tell you to leave.” For years, she’d lived a life that she hadn’t chosen for herself, all for the benefit of Sloan’s overprotective streak. She’d gone along with it then because he’d asked her to, and there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have done for him.

He was not just family—her only family—he’d been her best friend. She was his “goober” and he was her “bean.”

Now her brother was more of a stranger who seemed to be glad she was out of his hair.

As for Axel—it was best that he get out of her hair. “I want you to leave. Now.”

He surprised her by actually moving toward the door. But he stopped before passing through, standing so closely that she could feel the warmth of him. His head tilted toward her and it was all she could do to keep from trembling. “One way or another I will be guarding you, Tara. You’ll make it a lot easier if you work with me on it.”

So much for not trembling.

She hoped he’d attribute it to the cold air curling around them and not the effect he had on her. “I don’t feel compelled to make your life easier.” She wanted there to be plenty of distance between them before it became evident to anyone who looked at her that she wasn’t looking quite as thin as she ordinarily did.

Unexpected pregnancies weren’t just the domain of the young and foolish. She was a competent adult, and she’d still gotten “caught.” For now, though, nobody but her obstetrician in Braden knew.

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice dropping another notch, “there isn’t anything easy about this,” he assured her and stepped out onto the sidewalk outside her door.

She firmly shut it, staring at him through the mottled stained glass as she deliberately set the locks.

“I’m not going to let this drop,” he warned.

“Then you’ll be wasting a lot of time,” she answered, and hated the tightness in her throat. She made herself turn away from the door. Ignoring all of the items that needed to be returned to the shelves, she headed straight to the rear door, barely stopping long enough to hit the light switches and grab her coat.

She got in her car that was parked out back and, half-afraid she’d see his big truck rolling into view, bolted down the alley with a shameless disregard for caution. Less then ten minutes later, she’d pulled into the garage beside her house.

Axel hadn’t followed her.

She told herself she wasn’t surprised.

His “bodyguard” threat was just that. A threat.

Which didn’t explain at all why, once inside, she kept peering through the plantation shutters at the windows for any sight of his truck.

When she realized the street lights had come on outside, she wanted to tear out her hair. She’d wasted at least an hour padding from window to window. Watching and waiting for Axel to appear. Or worse.

Stomping to her closet, she gave a practiced yank on the enameled doorknob, hard enough to spring the stubborn, warped door open. She snatched out the first decent dress her hand encountered. She tossed it on the bed, then went down the hall to the bathroom.

Her reflection in the ancient mirror showed flushed cheeks and too-dark eyes. She freed her hair from the clip, pulling a brush through it until it swung smooth again, and swabbed some cosmetics into place. Then she went back into the bedroom where she put on the knee-length dress.

It was black, which suited her mood, with a forgivingly swinging cut that didn’t cling anywhere except where the wide, scooped neckline hugged the points of her shoulders. She pulled on black nylons—managing to put a run in the first pair she tried—shoved her feet into shiny black pumps, added a jet-black choker and drop earrings that she’d made a few years ago, and headed to the door.

The Valentine’s dance was the last place she wanted to be, but it was still better than hovering around in the shadows of her house, watching for signs of Axel Clay.

Her coat was where she’d left it by the back door and she slipped into it before leaving the house to cross the cracked sidewalk leading to the garage.

She resolutely ignored the way her neck prickled before she reached the safety of her car and drove it out onto the street, heading back to the school.

When she arrived, the gymnasium had once again been transformed. This time into a dinner dance, complete with a live band playing with more enthusiasm than skill on the stage that had been erected at one end. Large round tables were situated along the sides of the room—most of which already looked full. Opposite the stage, several long tables had been set up as a buffet, where there was already a long line.

And of course there were the hearts. Everywhere.

She blew out a faint breath as she handed over her ticket to the teenagers manning the entry and slid out of her coat, leaving it in the area set aside for them.

There was no such thing as a coat check in Weaver, Wyoming.

The fact that her car keys were in the coat pocket niggled at her, which annoyed her to no end. If it weren’t for Axel Clay’s ridiculous claim, she wouldn’t have thought twice about them.

“Good evening, Tara.” Joe Gage greeted her within seconds after she’d passed over her ticket. “You look great.” His gaze ran down her with appreciation. Sadly, she felt none of the rippling aftereffects from his attention that she did from Axel. She didn’t look at Joe and then have foolish, romantic thoughts of happily-ever-afters twining around her better sense.

“Thanks. So do you.” The school principal did look nice, but he certainly didn’t make her mouth water. Now that she was pregnant, this was certainly no time to start encouraging him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Looks like quite a crowd here tonight.” She was probably the only one in town who’d bought a ticket with no intention of using it.

“Yeah.” His gaze was diverted by Dee Crowder who sailed past them looking pretty in a lacy red dress. “There’s a seat left at my table, though.”

“Thanks—” The word caught when she felt a warm, long-fingered hand slide over her shoulder from behind.

“Thanks, Joe,” Axel said from above her head, “but we should probably find a spot for two.” His chuckle was deep. “Not that I’d mind Tara sitting on my lap through dinner.”

She stared up at him. “What do—”

His hand squeezed her shoulder. Not hard. But definitely in warning.

The rest of her protest died in her throat.

Her cheeks warmed at the realization crossing Joe’s face when he took in Axel’s proprietary hand, and she felt even worse when Joe smiled despite the disappointment in his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind if the prettiest woman in the room had to sit on my lap for a while, either.” He looked back over the crowded tables. “Most of your family is already here. Back near the buffet tables.” He grinned. “Y’all take up more than a few tables.”

“Principal Gage.” Dee Crowder reappeared. She had a pink cocktail in her hand and curiosity in her face as she eyed Axel’s hand on Tara, too. “Mind if I take the last seat at your table?”

“Of course I don’t mind. Axel, Tara, enjoy the evening,” he told them before tucking his hand in Dee’s arm. Tara felt her chance of sitting safely well away from the Clays evaporating as Joe escorted Dee to his table.

“Come on.” Axel urged her forward, right into the melee of dancers taking up the narrow rectangle in the center of the gymnasium floor. “Let’s dance.”

It was a double-edged reprieve from being forced to go to his family’s tables. “I don’t dance.” Déjà vu accosted her as he turned her into his arms.

“Think we’ve been over that,” he murmured, flattening her curled fingers against his shoulder.

The last thing she needed was a reminder of their time in Braden. Particularly when she now had a constant reminder, courtesy of her thickening waistline. And when Axel’s hand slid around that waist, she couldn’t help but hold her breath, just waiting for him to make some comment.

But though his fingertips seemed to flex against her, all he said was a muttered “Relax.”

She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise in her. Relax? “You’ve got to be kidding.”

His head lowered until his mouth was near her ear. “Honey, I’ve never been more serious.” He pulled her even closer. Until her breasts were flat against him and their legs were nearly entwined.

She could feel each one of his fingers splayed against her spine. “How do I know this isn’t all something you’ve made up, anyway? I’ve never heard of this Hollins thing you’re talking about.”

He smoothly spun her around. “Keep your voice down.”

“Nobody can hear me.” How could they when he wasn’t allowing a centimeter of breathing room between them?

“You never know who might hear what.” His lips brushed against her ear again and a shiver danced down her spine that owed nothing to memory and everything to the present. “And someday I might be curious as to why you’d think I’d make up a story like this. But for now, just know that most people never have a reason to learn about the agency. And that’s a good thing.”

She was perfectly aware that Axel’s answer hadn’t provided any proof at all to back up his claim. Nor did she feel inclined to tell him that she was used to people making up stories to suit whatever agenda they had in mind. Her father had been the absolute master at it.

She realized her cheek was feeling much too comfortable against his soft sweater. Or maybe it was the incredibly hard chest beneath the gray knit that was too comfortable.

She lifted her head, but that only put her forehead right beneath his angular chin. “Not that I believe any of this, but Sloan is notoriously overprotective.” Maybe the trait was a result of their childhood. She had her own issues that had carried over into adulthood, too. That’s what happened when you were raised by a man whose career demanded secrecy. “And I can handle my own safety.”

Axel’s hand crept an inch lower, moving dangerously near the small of her back. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She deliberately stepped on his foot and wished it were so easy to squash the memory of his lips touching that very same spot where his fingers were drifting. “Sorry.”

She caught the twitch of his lips. “You’re not. But it’s natural that you’re in a defensive mode. I’ve thrown you a curve.”

Again, she felt that hysterical bubble want to escape. If he only knew. “How…understanding of you.” She tried to wedge her hand between them to create at least a minimum of breathing space.

Instead, he just covered her hand with his, probably looking even more loverlike to anyone watching them. “You’re going to give people the wrong idea.” Her heart was pounding and she was painfully aware that he was the reason. Not what he was saying. But him.

“The wrong idea about what? That I like dancing with you?” His fingertips flexed again. “I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

She felt his lips against her temple. His thumb stroked against the wrist he still held captive. “Liar. Your pulse feels like it wants to jump out of your skin.”

“Anger does that, too.”

She didn’t hear the sigh he gave, but she definitely felt it.

“I wasn’t joking when I said this would be easier with your cooperation. If you want me dogging your footsteps looking like some stalker, then I will.”

She wanted to tear herself out of his arms and run far, far away. Instead, she followed his lead as he wove her around the crowded dance floor in time to the endless ballads that the band was cranking out. “I told you. I can take care of myself.”

She felt him sigh again. His jaw brushed against her cheek, the healthy five o’clock shadow he’d developed softly abrading. “Want me to tell you how that other agent’s family was killed? How they were going through their normal day, never suspecting, never knowing that—”

“Stop.” Her stomach rolled suddenly. “I don’t want the details.”

“And I don’t want to give them,” he assured her softly. “But I will if that’s what it takes to prove I’m serious.” He turned her smoothly to avoid colliding with another couple, and his voice dropped even lower. “We don’t know for certain that the order on Sloan came down from the Deuces. But it’s pretty likely, considering their trial starts next week. If you won’t go along with this for yourself, then do it for Sloan. Protecting people is one of the things I do, Tara. So let me do my job.” His deep voice was gentle.

Seductive.

And she had to brace herself against all of it.

“Then protect Sloan.”

“He’s not my assignment. You are.”

Assignments. Jobs.

His insistence had everything to do with his job and nothing to do with her, personally.

Nothing to do with the days they’d spent in each other’s arms. Certainly nothing to do with the repercussions of those hours. Repercussions of which he was blissfully unaware.

A state of secrecy she wanted to preserve more now, than ever.

A very short, very brief fling was the only thing she shared with this man. But she and her baby were a team now. She’d realized that in the two months since she’d learned she was pregnant.

She’d never be alone again.

No matter how easily she’d fallen for Axel over the course of one weekend four months ago, neither she nor the baby needed a man as unreliable as her father had been in their lives.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She finally succeeded in tugging her hands out of his and stepped away when the song finished and Hope Clay took the microphone to encourage everyone to hit the newly replenished buffet.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said loudly enough for anyone to overhear, “I have some people I’d like to say hello to.” Without waiting for him to voice the protest forming on his perfectly shaped lips, she turned and joined the mass of people moving off the dance floor in the general direction of the food.

But she didn’t join the line that was even longer now than it had been, nor did she have anyone with whom she particularly wanted to speak. Instead, she slipped through the door leading to the girl’s locker room.

Only there was no easy escape there, either, she realized at the sight of Axel’s mother standing at the row of sinks, drying her hands on a paper towel.

“Hello, Tara.” Emily Clay’s dark hair was swept up with a sparkling clip and—like half the women present—she looked Valentine-appropriate in a slender red cocktail sheath. “What a lovely dress you’re wearing.”

Feeling painfully self-conscious, Tara swished her hand down her dress. “It’s just something I grabbed.”

“You grabbed,” Emily repeated humorously. “Don’t say that around too many women or you might make more enemies than friends. Not all of us can just whip something out of the closet and look like you do.”

Tara didn’t need the long mirror that spanned the row of sinks to know that her face was turning red. “I think you’re describing yourself more than me, but, um, thank you.” She knew she wasn’t beautiful. She was short and mostly unremarkable with freckles on her nose that makeup didn’t always hide, and now she was wearing a dress designed to hide the fact that she was starting to look fat.

Emily, fortunately, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she tossed her paper towel in the trash bin and headed for the door. “Be sure and bring my errant son by our tables,” she told Tara with a wry smile as she left. “He’s obviously focused entirely on you, but I have yet to see his face since he got back to town.”

It was nearly impossible to keep her smile in place as her face flamed. She murmured something nonsensical, but it didn’t matter, because Emily moved out of the way so the giggling teens who’d manned the ticket table could enter and the door swung closed once more.

Tara returned the girls’ greetings and needlessly washed her hands. Then, instead of taking the door that led back to the gymnasium, she let herself out through the opposite side, ending up on the cold expanse of cement leading to the outdoor racquetball courts.

Her breath ringed around her head and the cold night air sent goose bumps along her limbs as she hurried along the cement. She’d walk around the building, go in the front again to retrieve her coat and car keys, and then head back home.

Simple enough.

Until she rounded the last corner and stopped short at the sight of Axel, leaning indolently against the building, her coat draped over his crossed arms.

“Forget something?” He lifted the coat with one hand. Her keys were in his other and he jingled them.

She went over to him and snatched both away, half-afraid that he’d refuse to give them to her. But he did, and she yanked her coat over her shoulders, turning toward the parking lot. “Your mother is looking for you.”

He ignored that and followed her. “I’m not going away, Tara.”

She wanted to press her hands over her ears. Instead, she quickened her steps until she was practically jogging through the rows of vehicles. Then her foot hit a patch of ice and she gasped, throwing out her hands to stop her fall. But she never made contact with the pavement.

Axel scooped her up from behind. “Easy there.” His voice was soft against her neck.

She strained against his arm, but it was immovable. “Let me go.” The words were garbled. Just as garbled as her vision thanks to the stupid tears that burned her eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He settled her carefully on her feet and muttered an oath when he saw her tears. “Ah, hell. Don’t cry. I can take most anything but you crying.”

That did not help. She felt the tears spill over her lashes and blamed the hormones pelting around inside her for her deplorable lack of control. “I’m so sorry you’re uncomfortable!” She swiped her cheeks but it was as effective as sticking her thumb in a leaking dam. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

He was silent, his expression unreadable. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Because of this story about Sloan? Nobody would make the mistake of thinking I matter to him, least of all me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him.” His voice was soft—as soft as it had been in the middle of the dance floor, but his words still seemed to echo around her.

“Well, I’m glad you do, because I don’t. Not anymore.” She tried peeling Axel’s fingers away from where they were wrapped around her waist and the bunched lapels of her coat. “And I only have your word about all of this. So—”

He exhaled and released her. “Why on God’s green earth would I make any of this up?”

Certainly not because he’d need such a line to get close to her. She’d already proven how easy that was.

“I don’t know,” she admitted and turned again to head for her SUV. She could see it just four vehicles over. “And frankly, I don’t care,” she said over her shoulder as she walked, more carefully this time, toward it.

She squashed her biting conscience.

After all. What was one more lie between them?

Chapter Four

If he followed her home, Tara wasn’t sure what she would do. But she didn’t see any sight of Axel’s truck in her rearview mirror as she drove straight home from the high school.

That didn’t seem to keep her foot from hitting the gas harder than necessary, though.

She parked in the garage and when she realized she’d locked the car door, she exhaled, annoyed, and unlocked it again. This was Weaver, for heaven’s sake.

Nothing bad ever happened here, no matter what Axel said.

She went inside the house, dumped her coat over the back of a kitchen table chair and filled the teapot with water before setting it on the stove.

Which wouldn’t light.

Kicking the old stove would do nothing but scuff her pumps, so she refrained, but it took a deep exhale to stop herself. She lit the pilot light again and tried the burner. The small flame jumped to life beneath the teapot and leaving it to heat, she kicked off her shoes and carried them with her to her bedroom.

The shutters at the windows beckoned, but she resolutely avoided looking out and exchanged her party clothes for her long chenille robe. Back in the kitchen, she dropped an herbal tea bag in a mug and took the shrilly whistling teapot off the stove again.

Only when the whistling dwindled did she hear the doorbell ringing.

Since nobody ever came to her door, she didn’t have to guess hard who might be on her front porch.

There was no law that said she had to answer the door, she reasoned.

Only to go to the door and yank it open, anyway.

Axel stood there with his finger pressed steadily against the doorbell.

“Leave me alone.”

He lowered his finger and stuck a cell phone out at her. “Say hello,” he said evenly.

She eyed the phone. “Excuse me?”

He put the phone to his ear. “Your sister will be on in a second,” he said.

For a moment, her brain seemed to stop working. But then her senses returned and she glared at Axel. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re—”

“Seconds are precious here, Tara,” he interrupted.

She snatched the phone out of his hand. Held it to her ear. “Hello.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it on our birthday,” her brother’s voice greeted her.

She nearly dropped the phone. “Who is this?”

“Goober, just do what Clay tells you, and I’ll explain things later.”

Her eyes closed. Goober. Her brother’s nickname for her when they were kids. Who else but he would know that? The McCrays had never stayed put anywhere long enough for other people to take note of them. “Sloan—”

But the connection was already dead.

She still held the phone to her ear, though, as if by some miracle she could reestablish that much-too-brief contact.

Finally, Axel slid the phone out of her numb fingers and pushed her gently inside the door.

She couldn’t even muster a protest when he nudged her down onto the couch in the living room, or when he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the tea that she’d forgotten all about.

“Thought you liked coffee, not tea,” he said, taking her hands and wrapping them around the ceramic mug as he sat on the wrought-iron coffee table, facing her. “But you’ve obviously just fixed this.”

He’d removed the tea bag, she realized dimly, staring into the pale liquid. “I stopped drinking coffee,” she said faintly. “You’re really serious about all this.” She lifted her gaze to his.

His expression was solemn. “Yeah.”

Her brother’s words echoed in her head. “That’s the only time Sloan’s spoken directly to me in three years.” She lifted the mug, but lowered it again without drinking. “We used to live together, you know. We shared a brownstone.” The first place she’d really called home. But even that hadn’t lasted. “I didn’t think there was anything about each other that we didn’t know. Then he decided to go undercover, and…” She shook her head. “Everything changed. Everything.” Her life. Her brother.

“Not forever. Temporarily. That’s what you said.” Axel leaned forward, his looped fingers hanging loosely between his wide-planted legs. His deep gold hair sprang back from his tanned forehead and his gaze was steady. “This situation—me, here—will be temporary, too.”

Of course it would be.

Because his interest in her had nothing to do with their time in Braden and everything to do with his job.

She cleared her throat, but the knot there seemed destined to remain forever. “So…say I do go along with all of this—” which she wasn’t saying yet, no matter how shocking it had been to hear Sloan’s voice “—what can I expect? I mean, what do you plan to, um, to do? Follow me when I go to the grocery store? Stand guard outside the shop when I’m open? What?”

“Stay with you around the clock. There will be some periods when I can’t be with you. That’s when my backup will be in place.”

“Hold it.” She waved her hand and set her mug on the neat pile of magazines beside the muscular bulge of his jean-clad thigh. “Go back to this clock issue.”

“What about it?”

She had a fleeting image of an armed guard standing on the front step of her shop, scaring away customers.

Just because her life in Weaver was supposed to be temporary didn’t mean that she could afford to lose business. Classic Charms was no front. It was a real business. One that she’d worked hard to make successful. It kept her ancient house in decent repair, and now more than ever, she needed the shop to remain as profitable as it possibly could to tide her over when the baby came.

“I can’t have you hanging around my shop every minute that I’m open.” People would get the wrong idea. They’d start putting one and one together, and getting three.

“Not just the shop. Here, too. 24/7.”

Could this possibly get any worse? “For how long?” Her voice rose despite her efforts.

“Until we neutralize the threat against Sloan.”

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