Burke opened his eyes.

All he saw was a tomb-like blackness so oppressive it threatened to suffocate him. Somewhere beyond the boundaries of the dark, a siren wailed its dirge. Suffering. Disaster. Death.

No – something much, much worse.

The baby.

He groaned and curled into the stiff, creaky mattress and pulled a pillow over his head, tempted for a moment to press it against his nose and mouth until he slipped into oblivion.

Waaa-uh-uh-waaa.

Damn Greenberg for throwing the tantrums and pitching the ultimatums that had set him on the road to this frozen wasteland. Damn Fitz for handing him a map and waving goodbye. Damn Nora for being here in the first place.

And damn his sorry, aching, icicled self for letting them all manoeuvre him into a mess like this. Again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terry McLaughlin spent a dozen years teaching a variety of subjects, including anthropology, music appreciation, English, drafting, drama and history, to a variety of students from kindergarten to college before she discovered romance novels and fell in love with love stories. When she’s not reading and writing, she enjoys travelling and dreaming up house and garden improvement projects (although most of those dreams don’t come true).

Terry lives with her husband in Northern California on a tiny ranch in the redwoods. Visit her at www.terrymclaughlin.com.

Dear Reader,

I so enjoyed poking fun at Burke Elliot as I wrote the first book in the BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG SKY series, Millionaire Cowboy Seeks Wife, that I was eager to indulge in a bit more fun at his expense in another book. Next time around, I promised myself, I wouldn’t be satisfied with merely pricking that stiff and stuffy exterior. Next time I’d give him enough trouble to crack his considerable composure.

And it was clear who’d be the perfect woman to turn formal, orderly Burke’s life upside down and inside out: Nora Daniels, the vivacious, emotional actress and soon-to-be divorcée and new mother. With her tempestuous manner and a life in a constant state of upheaval – what better woman to bring Burke to his knees?

But what made work on Maybe, Baby even more fun were the surprises lurking beneath those opposites-attract exteriors. It seems motherhood has steadied Nora, adding to her appeal. And it turned out Burke could be as passionate as Nora, in his own way.

I love to hear from my readers! Please come for a visit to my website at www.terrymclaughlin. com, or find me at www.wetnoodleposse.com or www.superauthors.com, or write to me at PO Box 5838, Eureka, CA 95502, USA.

Wishing you happily-ever-after reading,

Terry

Maybe, Baby

TERRY McLAUGHLIN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ashley

CHAPTER ONE

BURKE ELLIOT GLANCED UP from the tidy stack of paperwork on his neatly arranged desk as Hollywood superstar Fitz Kelleran strolled into his Paramount Studios bungalow.

“Hi, honey,” said Fitz. “I’m home.” He shut the door on the remains of a gloomy February day and pitched a faded duffel at the reception area sofa before heading toward the tiny office bathroom, shedding bits of wardrobe in his wake.

“Not again.” Burke bit back a resigned sigh as he rose from his desk chair and followed. He’d spent four years as Fitz’s personal assistant before the actor had promoted him to associate producer for his new film-production company. Four years salvaging bits and bobs of order and sanity from the chaos his friend tended to churn up wherever he went. “This is getting to be a bad habit.”

“What’s the matter?” Fitz twisted the taps in the narrow shower and adjusted the temperature of the spray. “Bad day? Your date cancel out on you tonight? Don’t tell me you’re not glad to see me.”

Burke plucked a tuxedo tie dangling from the edge of the pedestal sink. “Why do you insist on showering here several evenings each week? Why don’t you use the facilities in your dressing room?”

“Saves time.” Fitz dropped his pants and shot Burke a grin as he stepped into the steaming stall. “I can clean up and check in with you at the same time.”

Burke tossed the tie on the crumpled black trousers lying on the tile floor and settled for a seat on the toilet lid. There was always business to discuss, now that he was fine-tuning the preproduction budget for Fitz’s pet project, a remake of the classic Western, The Virginian.

Just as the bright promise of Southern California sunshine had lured Burke from London’s drizzle, Fitz had lured him from a junior executive position in an accounting firm with promises of Hollywood adventures. He’d come full circle, back to a world of columns and ledgers, but he didn’t mind—he’d always enjoyed arranging figures in orderly rows. And the fact that those figures represented movie production details had a certain appeal of its own.

“I suppose I should be grateful you’re learning to manage your time more efficiently.”

“I have to, now that you’re not doing it for me.”

“I offered to find a replacement, didn’t I?” Burke nudged aside a discarded sock.

“What?”

“A replacement.”

“For you?” Fitz smiled over the top of the shower door and scrubbed shampoo into wet blond hair. “If you’re going to quit again, can you wait until I’m dry?”

“Never mind.” Attempting a conversation with someone whose head was currently stuck beneath a water spigot was a pointless exercise.

A knock sounded at the outer office door moments before a pretty young wardrobe assistant let herself into the reception area. “Hey, Burke.”

“Good evening, Heather. I assume you’re here to collect Mr. Kelleran’s things.” He gathered a pile of black-and-white formal wear and deposited it in her outstretched arms. “I believe this is all of it.”

“‘All of it.’” She smiled as she repeated his words. “I just love that English accent.”

She stood in place near the bathroom door, methodically checking each article. Behind them, the sound of water splattering against the shower tile explained her obvious attempt to delay her departure. Most women would engage in similar ploys to catch a glimpse of one of People’s sexiest men alive wearing little more than those famous dimples.

Burke moved back to his desk and frowned at the contract lying in an open folder.

“Burke?” asked Heather.

“Hmm?” He glanced over his shoulder, distracted. “Is something missing?”

“No, nothing.” She dropped the clothes beside Fitz’s duffel and stepped closer. “I was just wondering…are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

Tomorrow night. Friday. Burke rearranged the fit of his glasses over his nose, reexamining his conclusions and readjusting his expectations. Not Fitz, then. And Heather…

She’d always seemed to be well organized and levelheaded. Very nearly serene—and Burke considered serenity an extremely desirable trait in any woman. He’d also found her physically attractive, in the general and abstract manner he regarded casual female acquaintances who weren’t appallingly otherwise. Now he turned to take a closer look.

“Burke,” Fitz called from the next room.

“Tomorrow night?” asked Burke.

The shower door clicked open. “Are you still there?” asked Fitz.

“Yes,” said Heather. Her smile warmed, hinting at a number of possibilities for an extremely pleasant evening.

The phone on the desk trilled.

“Excuse me,” said Burke as Fitz stalked into the room with a long white towel wrapped around his waist. He reached behind him and grabbed the phone. “Burke Elliot speaking.”

“Tell Kelleran he’s a dead man,” shouted Myron Greenberg in Burke’s ear. Greenberg, Fitz’s agent and partner in his film-production company, was never serene. “Got that, Elliot? A dead man.”

“You can tell him yourself,” said Burke, pulling the phone a few inches from his head to prevent damage to his hearing. “He’s standing right here, dripping on my carpet.”

Fitz snatched his duffel from the sofa and headed back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Heather’s smile widened.

“I’m not going to waste my breath,” said Greenberg. “I’m through talking to that lying piece of—”

“Myron.” Burke pulled off his glasses and polished them with the clean cloth he kept for that purpose in his top desk drawer. “Did you, by any chance, have another purpose in mind for this call?”

“Don’t give me any of that snotty Brit attitude,” said Greenberg before launching into one of his trademark obscenity-laden tantrums.

Burke resettled his glasses and angled his hip against the desk. He set the receiver down beside him, where he could monitor Greenberg’s spewing from a more comfortable distance. “Tomorrow night?” he asked again.

“Yeah.” Heather leaned toward him and teased a bright red nail along the edge of his shirt front. “You seem like a busy guy. The kind of guy who might appreciate a quiet, home-cooked meal.”

“Elliot? Elliot!” screamed a faintly static Greenberg.

“Excuse me, Heather.” Burke picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“I want Nora’s signature on that contract, and I want it now. Right now. Got that?” Greenberg’s voice quivered with more venom than usual. “You tell Fitz he’d better come through on this, or I’m out. I mean it this time.”

Burke seized Heather’s hand as it crept toward his collar and brought her fingertips to his lips. Her fingers were smooth and smelled agreeably of rose-scented soap. “You have every right to be angry, Myron,” he said in his soothing, reasonable voice. “This delay has been intolerable.”

Greenberg hesitated as though he hadn’t expected agreement on the matter. “You’re damn right it has.”

“I’ll see to it myself that Fitz understands the level of your frustration.” He curled Heather’s fingers in his and tipped up her palm to brush his mouth over her warm, delicate wrist.

“You do that.” Myron huffed and puffed some more, and then there was a moment of ominous silence. “What do you mean, ‘the level of my frustration’? Is that some kind of shrink b.s.? You trying to handle me, Elliot?”

“Is it working?”

Greenberg snorted a humorless laugh. “You couldn’t handle a corpse on Valium.”

“I wonder, Myron, why would a corpse need Valium?” Burke knew if he met the agent’s bluster with calm logic, he’d soon tire of the one-sided row.

Fitz cracked open the bathroom door and peeked through the slit. “Is that Greenberg?”

Burke offered him the phone, and the door snapped shut.

“What was that?” asked Greenberg.

“And why would I want to handle a corpse?” asked Burke as Heather tugged her hand loose to trail her fingers along his jaw. “If it were a fresh corpse, at a murder scene, for instance, the police might become upset if I tampered with any evidence pertaining to the crime. And if it weren’t a fresh corpse…if it were, perhaps, in temporary storage at a mortuary somewhere—”

Click.

“About tomorrow night…” Burke dropped the phone on his desk and slid his hands around Heather’s narrow waist. “Let me check my—”

“You can’t make it,” said Fitz. He strode back into the room, dressed in ragged jeans and a specimen from his ever-increasing collection of T-shirts advertising Montana businesses and events. This one sported a logo for an establishment with the unfortunate name of the Beaverhead Bar & Grill.

The actor tossed pairs of thick socks and work boots on the floor in front of the sofa and plopped down on the cushions to tug them on. “You’ve got a prior engagement.”

Burke spread his hands in what he hoped would appear like abject disappointment and shrugged an apology to Heather. She gave him a sizzling smile, collected the discarded wardrobe bits and sashayed out of the office.

She’d be back. She, or someone just like her. He seemed never to lack a selection of female company for the weekend. Or for most weeknights, to be precise.

And he always tried to be very, very precise.

“What engagement?” he asked Fitz when she’d gone.

“You didn’t mind, did you?” His friend tipped his head toward the door.

“Not really.” Burke shrugged again. “I must admit the invitation took me by surprise. I thought she was looking in your direction.”

Fitz yanked one last time at the laces on his boot and straightened. “I’m a married man.”

“Do you actually think that will stop the pretty young things of this world from tossing their lures your way?”

“They’re wasting their bait. I climbed out of that pond a long time ago.”

“You make it sound as though it’s been years,” said Burke. “You’ve only been married a few months.”

“Yeah.” Fitz grinned. “And now I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m surprised you waited this long to remind me.”

Burke couldn’t hide his own smile at his friend’s infectious delight. Fitz had surprised everyone who knew him with his sudden marriage to a woman he’d met at a location shoot the previous summer, a widow with a twelve-year-old daughter and a tangle of connections to a loosely extended family. An even greater surprise was his immediate foray into fatherhood.

Fatherhood. Burke suppressed a shudder. “You usually find a way to introduce the topic into any discussion within the first five minutes.”

“I was distracted.” Fitz frowned. “And you’d better not mention anything about that pond stuff to Ellie.”

“I know better than to say anything at all about other women when your wife is within hearing range.”

Tough, fiery Ellie Harrison Kelleran had no patience with Fitz’s tendency to stumble into the tabloids. And because the man was head-over-boot-heels in love with her, he tried his best to maintain his balance and avoid any misunderstandings that might be construed as misadventures.

Ironically, the person of most interest to the press of late was Ellie, a petite redhead who’d caught the eye and captured the heart of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor. But the immense size and remote location of Granite Ridge Ranch, Fitz and Ellie’s home in Southwest Montana, prevented the press from prying too deeply into their private lives.

“What engagement?” Burke asked again.

“Not an engagement, exactly. More like an assignment.” Fitz stood and headed toward the miniscule kitchen. He selected one of the beers he himself had stocked in the cubelike refrigerator and waved a bottle of water at Burke.

Burke shook his head. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “And just what is this assignment?”

Fitz popped the bottle cap and took a long, slow sip. “What did Greenberg want?”

“Your head on a platter.”

“And?”

“Nora’s signature on that contract.”

The movie she’d filmed last summer in Montana with Fitz would open soon, and all indications were it was going to open big. She had her choice of scripts right now, and Fitz and Greenberg were pressuring her to choose theirs.

His, actually. Burke was the one who’d chosen the script for the classic screwball comedy, sold his bosses on the idea and secured the studio’s blessing to launch the presale phase of production. He was the one who’d suggested Nora for the lead.

Nora Daniels was an actress poised on the brink of stardom. Men loved her lush, exotic features; women loved her sparkling, impetuous personality. Everyone loved her story: the daughter of an Argentinian heiress and an Irish entrepreneur who’d eloped to New York and gambled away their fortunes on a series of bad investments. When their marriage had crumbled, they’d both fled the country in the company of wealthier partners and left their beautiful baby daughter in the erratic care of a series of nannies and tutors, in a succession of hotels and flats.

At sixteen, she’d ditched an afternoon ballet lesson to sneak into a Broadway theater during an open call. Her audition performance had become a legend.

Audiences were enthralled with her style and flash, and she floated easily from the stage to the screen and back again. So far she’d preferred supporting roles, selecting those that would showcase her talent without compromising the progress of her career. She chose her work situations with equal care, seeking the company of an intimate group of friends, finding at rehearsals and on sets the relationships she’d craved during her childhood.

Two years ago the thirty-year-old actress had married an ambitious businessman, a restaurateur who’d assembled a talented staff in a stylish establishment, attracting a chic clientele. She’d believed she’d found a man who’d give her a family and a home. Instead, he’d deserted her when she was three months pregnant, leaving her alone in the house she’d purchased for them both.

Fitz’s shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh. “She’s talking about putting her house on the market.”

Burke stilled. “Sorry?”

“Her house. The one in the Hills.”

“She won’t do it.” Burke shoved off the desk and strode to the window, staring blindly at the glare of security lights on wet, black pavement. “She loves that house. It took her years to find it.”

His lips twitched at the image of Nora dragging her samples about in the bulging handbags she preferred, driving them all insane with her constant requests for opinions about wallpapers and fabrics. “It’s going to take her years to redecorate it.”

“I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“Back here?” Burke felt as though he’d been run through with a lance of ice. “But—but she lives here.”

“She hasn’t lived here since Thanksgiving.” Fitz set his bottle on the counter with a loud clink. “She’s dug in so deep in the guest cabin I don’t think I could blast her loose with a stack of dynamite.”

“You’re the one who invited her.” Burke turned and aimed an accusing look at his friend. “‘Come for the holidays,’ you said. ‘Stay as long as you want.’”

“I didn’t invite her,” said Fitz. “That was Jenna’s doing.”

Nora had struck up a friendship with Fitz’s mother-in-law during the location shoot. Burke suspected Jenna Harrison Winterhawk had played a valuable supporting role for Nora during her pregnancy, and had probably continued in that role since Nora had given birth, in Montana, to a daughter of her own. Jenna was probably serving as a real-life model for the kind of mother Nora had never known.

“You were the one who told her she could stay,” Burke pointed out.

“I didn’t think she would!” Fitz flung his arms wide as he paced. “She’s been there nearly four months. Four months!”

“I know how long it’s been.”

Burke slipped his hands into his pockets. He’d missed her, oddly enough. He’d never thought he’d admit such a thing to himself, but he did.

He’d missed her energetic conversation and her lusty laugh, the way she could sweep into a room like a whirlwind and set things spiraling out of control. He’d enjoyed the way she’d shower him with praise for bailing her out of her latest spot of trouble, the way she’d bat her eyelashes at him like the outrageous flirt she was and tell him he was her knight in shining armor.

She deserved a knight, whether that man wore armor or not. She was a dear and special friend, and he treasured her for that as much as for her company.

“I’m surrounded, out there at the ranch.” Fitz collapsed on the sofa, legs sprawling. “I’m surrounded by gestating, lactating, menstruating women.”

“God.” Burke moved to the refrigerator and snatched a bottle of water to wash away the disagreeable sensation that had crept up the back of his throat.

“Did I tell you Jody got her period?”

Burke nearly choked. “Did you hear me ask?”

“All those hormones.” Fitz sighed. “The aches and pains. The tears.”

Burke tipped the bottle back and swallowed again, hard. “When do you go back?”

“Not soon enough.” Fitz slumped against the cushions. “God, I miss them.”

“I suppose one does get used to being surrounded,” said Burke, just to be polite, though he didn’t see how such a thing was possible.

“Yeah, well, you’ll get your chance.”

Burke froze. “I beg your pardon.”

“That’s the assignment I was talking about.”

“Fitz.” Burke lowered his bottle. “You can’t seriously be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you.” He stared at Burke, and he was as serious as Burke had ever seen him. “Someone has to get Nora’s signature on that contract.”

“You’re her friend.” Burke hated the note of desperation in his voice, and he willed it away. “You live there. You like it there. You’ll go for a visit, you’ll ask her to come back and sign the contract. She’ll do it for you.”

“I’ve already asked her, several times.” Fitz sank even lower on the sofa. “The last time I brought up the subject, I must have pushed a little too hard or said something the wrong way, because she—” he rubbed a hand over his eyes, his mouth twisting in a pained grimace “—she cried.”

“God.” Burke pinched the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses out of place. “Let me get this straight. You want me to fly out to Montana in the dead of winter.”

“It’s not the dead of winter.” Fitz shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“But there will be snow. And temperatures below freezing.”

“It doesn’t feel that cold when you’re working in it.”

“Which I won’t be doing, since I don’t know how to do ranch work.”

The thought of ranch work—of disgusting things done to half-wild animals that outweighed a man by several hundred pounds, of incomprehensible chores involving tools and machinery that could mangle a body in innumerable ways, all accomplished in conditions reeking of manure and worse—made him draw a deep, calming breath.

Which was immediately followed by a second wave of dread. “You want me to walk into that stew of female biological processes and press a new mother for a business decision?”

Fitz nodded. “That just about sums it up, yeah.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re you.” Fitz gave him a reassuring grin. “The original ice man. Mr. Calm-Cool-and-Collected. And because Nora trusts you.”

“About that trust factor…” Burke dumped the remainder of his water down the tiny bar sink. “If I convince her to do this, will I be acting in her best interests?”

Fitz narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think I like the implications in that question.”

Burke met his friend’s glare with one of his own. “I didn’t think you would, but I thought it needed to be asked.”

“All right.” Fitz nodded. “Here’s another question loaded with uncomfortable implications. If you don’t push her to do this, will you be acting in your own best interests?”

Burke dropped his empty bottle in the dustbin. “Is my job at stake?”

“No, your job is secure.”

“Because of my association with you?”

Fitz’s silence was filled with implications.

“I think Greenberg resents that fact even more than my snotty Brit attitude.”

“You leave Greenberg to me.”

“I bloody well won’t.” Burke shoved his hands into his pockets before he was tempted to ram them into something else. “I know I wouldn’t have this job if I hadn’t started as your assistant. But I’ve got it now, and I intend to do it as well as I can. As well as you expect me to. As well as Greenberg thinks it should be done.”

“So,” said Fitz with a grin, “you’re going to Montana.”

“It appears I am.” Burke lifted a hand to settle his glasses over his nose. “God help me.”

CHAPTER TWO

NORA LOWERED her knitting needles to her lap with a mournful sigh. “It’s snowing again.”

Jenna twitched back one of the lace curtain panels draped in the deep, three-windowed bay in the second parlor of the Harrison family home. The beam of a lamp on the tea table at her side captured the silver threaded through her honey-gold hair and highlighted the tiny lines at the corners of her blue eyes as she peered at the view beyond the glass pane. Rolling pastureland, buried beneath several inches of snow, stretched to the timbered foothills of the Tobacco Root Mountains.

“So it is,” she said in her muted Texas twang.

“Burke isn’t used to driving in snow.”

“Doesn’t it snow in England?” Jenna turned her attention back to her own needlework project, a cross-stitch keepsake for one of the babies due in early summer. Her former daughter-in-law, Ellie, was expecting a baby a few weeks before her daughter, Maggie Hammond.

“Burke’s from London,” said Nora, though she didn’t know much more about his past than that. “I’m sure they don’t let the snow pile up in the streets there. And it’s getting late. And colder. And I don’t think he knows how to put on chains.”

Jenna knotted a strand of pink floss and snipped off the end. “You seem mighty anxious about Burke’s arrival.”

“That’s because I have a good idea why he’s coming.” And that idea, with its dark and complicated twists and turns, was enough to make her throat close up and her palms sweat. Facing Burke meant facing her insecurities about her future.

She scrunched the beginnings of a tiny sweater to the end of one needle before stabbing them both into a ball of fuzzy pink yarn. “It’s like he and Fitz are playing the good cop, bad cop routine. And Burke’s the bad cop.”

She knew she was overacting it, wringing the situation for every dramatic drop. And from the look Jenna sent her, it was obvious that Jenna knew it, too. But an actress had to stretch every once in a while to stay in shape. Besides, her friends here at Granite Ridge often seemed amused by her excesses.

“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Jenna tidied her things and set them aside. “You’re not a criminal.”

“No,” said Nora. “Just a fugitive.”

A door slammed on the far side of the rambling, Victorian-era house. “Gran!” called Ellie’s daughter, Jody, a few moments later. “I got an A on my math test.”

“I’d better go catch her,” said Jenna, “before she and her aunt Maggie decide that’s reason enough to celebrate and spoil their dinners. Those two can empty the cookie jar when their after-school snacking gets out of hand.”

Nora glanced out the window again, fretting over the fat white flakes falling from a darkening sky. Burke was supposed to arrive in time for the evening meal, but perhaps the snowfall would delay him. Or maybe he’d lose his way. He hadn’t been here since Fitz and Ellie’s wedding, and things looked different under all that white.

They looked clean. Clean and pure, and lovelier than anything she’d ever seen. Everyone she’d met here—and everyone back in California—had warned her that winter in Montana could be harsh, but Nora loved it. She loved everything about this place and the people who lived in it.

No one here measured her worth by her looks or her talent or her box office draw, no one criticized her choices or questioned her decisions. No one here expected her to be anything but herself—and they’d given her the space and the freedom to begin to rediscover who that person was.

Maybe she’d abused Fitz’s hospitality a bit too long while hiding from Hollywood’s spotlight through the worst days of her divorce. And maybe she’d relied on Jenna a bit too much for help with her baby. But she’d needed that time and that help while she prepared to face the next phase of her life and take the next steps in her career.

She hadn’t figured on having to face Burke.

Fitz’s long-suffering assistant had always been one of her favorite people, a man she could tease with a safe and sisterly affection. A paragon who could patiently smooth every wrinkle and methodically clip every loose thread. The idea that all that patient efficiency would soon be aimed in her direction was a bit unnerving.

“My, don’t you look domestic.” Maggie sauntered into the parlor, an oversized sugar cookie in one hand and a tall glass of milk in the other. “Seeing you like that makes me feel as warm and fuzzy as that yarn.”

Nora smiled as she tucked her knitting into the tapestry satchel Jenna had given her for Christmas. Warm and fuzzy were the last words she’d choose to describe her friend. Maggie might have had her mother’s coloring, but there was nothing soft or countrified about the woman who stood before her in a short-and-sassy layered hairstyle, a silk-and-velvet kimono-style top and pencil-slim designer jeans.

“Is that for me?” Nora reached for the snack Maggie offered. “My, aren’t you generous.”

“Only because I helped myself to plenty before I came out here. And I’ve got this.” Maggie pulled another cookie from a deep pocket and sank into the chair Jenna had vacated, crossing her model-length legs. “Mom’s fussing over dinner. When is Burke going to show?”

“Any minute now.” Nora sipped the milk and stared past the curtains. “If nothing happened to him.”

“You mean, like a blizzard or an avalanche or some other natural disaster? That’s about what it would take to stop him.”

“He might get lost.”

“Bet he’s got GPS on that phone of his. He’s got practically everything else, including the private numbers for every Hollywood exec, European fashion model and Fortune 500 zillionaire.” Maggie’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a gizmo in some pocket that holds a copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica and the launch codes for our intercontinental ballistic missiles.”

Nora’s smile stretched around a bite of cookie. “You make him sound like a comic-book character.”

“If the colored tights fit…” Maggie leaned back and stacked her stylish heeled boots on a needlepoint stool. “Actually, I think they’d fit pretty well. And look damn good on him, too.”

“On Burke?”

Maggie wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve always been a sucker for stud muffins in college prof glasses. And he’s got that whole British Clark Kent thing going for him—capable but clueless. Makes me wonder if he’s Superman in bed.”

“Burke?”

“Yes, Burke.” Maggie smoothed her hands over her barely noticeable pregnancy bump. “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.”

“I’ve never looked.” Nora stuffed the rest of the cookie in her mouth and brushed crumbs from her hands. “He’s just a friend.”

“Is that so?”

Maggie gave Nora a sly smile, and Nora remembered that Maggie’s husband, Wayne Hammond, had once been “just a friend” from her school days, before she’d left for Chicago vowing never to return. Maggie had taken a second, longer look at the rancher next door when she’d returned home last summer, newly divorced and needing a fresh start. She’d found it here, teaching at the local high school and living the kind of life she’d thought she’d wanted to escape.

Another fugitive from the big city who’d found a refuge in this small-town world.

“Look who just woke up from her nap.” Jody carried Nora’s three-month-old daughter, Ashley, into the parlor. “I changed her diaper already.”

“Thanks, hon.” Nora set her glass on the dainty mahogany tea table beside her. “I didn’t hear her wake up.”

“That’s ’cause she was sucking her thumb again.” Jody shifted the baby into Nora’s arms and then straightened, shoving reddish bangs out of her dark hazel eyes. “She was just lying there, staring at me and sucking away. Slurp, slurp.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Nora murmured. “Are you hungry?”

Ashley stared into her face as if the question were the most important thing she’d ever considered, and Nora’s heart swelled against her ribs in an intensely painful and wonderful habit. Her daughter—her gorgeous, brilliant, marvelous daughter. She never tired of gazing at the frilly black ringlets springing out in every direction, at that turned-up button of a nose, at those wide, dark eyes. Her very own miracle.

“Here.” Jody handed her a small quilt and two fresh cloth diapers. “I’ll go get more.”

“I think this will be enough for a while.”

“The way that kid spits up?” Jody wrinkled her freckled nose in disgust. “I’ll just bring in the load from the dryer. Might as well save yourself the trouble of folding them.”

“Auntie Jody thinks you’re an awful lot of trouble,” Nora crooned as she unfastened the buttons of her blouse.

“I’m not the only one,” said Jody. “Fitz calls her Upchuck Charlie.”

“I hadn’t heard that one.” Maggie switched off the nursery monitor perched near Jenna’s things on the tiny lamp table. “The night before he left, he was calling her Suzie Oozie.”

“That’s when her diaper leaked all over his shirt.”

“The only thing I haven’t heard him call her is Ashley,” said Maggie.

Nora settled the baby against her breast and adjusted the quilt across her lap. Behind her, the tall case clock chimed the hour. She glanced toward the window again, searching for a car on the long ranch road.

Jody peered over Nora’s shoulder to watch Ashley nurse. “She sure is a sweetie.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Pretty, too. She looks just like her mama.”

Nora reached back and squeezed Jody’s fingers where they rested on her shoulder. “Thanks for checking on her.”

“No biggie. She snores, though.”

“She does not.”

“Yes, she does.” Jody demonstrated with some snuffles and snorts. “And she grunts like a pig when she starts to wake up. I could hardly concentrate on my homework.”

The electronic tune of a cell phone—a more likely source for Jody’s difficulty finishing her assignments—jangled in her pocket, and she checked the screen as she exited the room.

Nora tipped her head against the deeply tufted chair, her thoughts drifting with the snowflakes tumbling through the streaks of lantern light beyond the porch roof eaves. Outside, the ranch dogs barked and scrambled across the wraparound porch and bounded down to the wide gravel drive. A few moments later, pale headlights swept across the turn at the bottom of the knoll.

“Looks like he made it.” Maggie stood and leaned a shoulder against the thick window trim. “Wonder how long he’ll tough it out.”

Jenna rushed into the parlor, wiping her hands on her apron. “That must be Burke. And Will just called with bad news about the water heater.”

“What about it?” asked Maggie.

“Fitz asked me to open Will’s old place for Burke,” said Jenna. Will Winterhawk had married her last fall and moved from the foreman’s cabin into the family home. “But Will says the water heater needs to be replaced. Pete’s Hardware doesn’t have the right model in stock, and now it’s too late to drive to Sheridan to get one.” She smoothed her apron. “I hope Burke doesn’t mind staying in the guest room tonight.”

“As long as he doesn’t mind sharing a bathroom down the hall with four other people,” said Maggie.

Nora shifted Ashley and lifted the quilt over her shoulder to loosely cover her. “If he doesn’t like that idea, he can always drive back to town and find a place there.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Burke camped out at the house. Or on the ranch. Or in the state, for that matter.

But in the next moment, she felt guilty about the fact that most of the extended Harrison clan was crowded into this one house, while she and her baby shared one of the three rooms in Ellie’s former home, the guest cabin a mile down the ranch road. There was plenty of space there for Burke, if he wanted it. She could keep an eye on him if she kept him close, and he could see for himself how happy she was here in Montana.

Ashley gurgled and whooped, and Nora eased her embrace and ordered herself to relax.

“He’s got a place right here,” said Jenna. “It shouldn’t be a problem. He’s practically family.”

“Hard to tell where he’s going to want to stay,” said Maggie, “except for somewhere else.”

“He doesn’t like it here, does he?” Jenna shook her head. “The poor man.” She continued into the front parlor, heading toward the entry.

A dark gray SUV pulled into view, and the dogs danced around to the driver’s-side door.

“Uh-oh, here comes Rowdy,” said Maggie with a grin. “This is going to be interesting.”

Nora tipped forward as far as she could and watched the driver’s-side door of the rental car swing open. One long leg stretched toward the ground, and in the next moment Rowdy, the newest ranch mongrel adopted by one of the hands, rushed forward and sank his puppy teeth into the fabric of thin dress slacks. Burke tried shaking him off, but that made the game more fun.

Jenna stepped off the porch and made her way to the car. Nora couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she guessed Jenna was trying to strike a ladylike balance between welcoming her guest and cussing at the dogs. Burke emerged from the car and stood, stiff and stoic, above the maelstrom of tails and paws and flying snow at his feet. He said something to Jenna with a formal nod and then stared at Rowdy, who’d released his toothy grip on Burke’s pants only to replace it with a more intimate embrace of his leg.

“What a welcome,” said Maggie with a laugh. “Poor Burke.”

Nora dropped the quilt to switch Ashley to her other side, and then carefully covered them both again. She glanced up in time to see Burke stalk to the car’s rear, yank open the hatchback and reach inside to collect a briefcase. Rowdy jumped up for one last nip at butt level, and Burke lost traction on the slick white snow coating the gravel and rammed his shin against the back fender.

She winced and shook her head. And then she remembered why he’d come, and she narrowed her eyes. Poor, poor Burke wasn’t going to enjoy this visit at all.

A FEW MINUTES LATER, after Maggie had followed Jenna into the kitchen to help with the last of the dinner preparations, Nora heard the massive front door of the ranch house close with a whump, and then Burke appeared in the high, arched parlor doorway. Melting flakes dotted the creases of a blue parka he must have pulled from the rack in Butte. The white shirt collar poking through the neck opening was tugged awkwardly to one side, and one Rowdy-mangled pant leg was wet and twisted, riding crookedly up a dark gray sock. Caked with patches of white, his black dress shoes looked soaked through.

He’d obviously plowed a hand through his thick black hair more than once, making it stand out in uneven layers. One loose strand drooped over an eyebrow to brush against the edge of his glasses, and his nose was red from the cold. That amazingly perfect British complexion of his looked paler than usual, making the spots of color edging his angular cheekbones a vivid contrast. When he reached up to straighten his glasses over dark, deep-set eyes, he seemed very tired, and very disgruntled and, oh, so very dear.

He was a dear. He’d always been her friend and, until this moment, her protector. She wondered how he’d manage the shift in their relationship, how she’d deal with the same thing, and she shivered. He’d be a focused and tenacious adversary. She hoped their friendship would survive the coming days.

“Hello, Nora,” he said in his low, slightly gruff voice.

“Hello, Burke.” She lifted the quilt higher over her shoulder. “I hope your trip wasn’t too bad.”

“No. Not at all.” His lips thinned with the hint of a grimace, and she remembered how much he hated to travel. “Everything went according to schedule,” he said.

Ashley kicked at the quilt, and Burke stared for a moment at the tented spot before meeting Nora’s gaze again. He cleared his throat.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “Jenna’s been cooking all afternoon.”

“Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

“That’s pecan pie, I think.”

Ashley whooped and tugged at the cover.

He flicked another glance at the quilt. “Is that your baby under there?”

“Yes.” Nora smiled. “I’ll show her to you in a few minutes.”

“Is there something—” Burke frowned and straightened. “Is she ill?”

“She’s fine.” Nora’s smile widened. “She’s nursing.”

“Nursing?”

Nora could see the moment Burke understood what nursing meant. The red spots on his cheeks deepened and spread.

“I see,” he said. “I mean, I don’t. That is, I don’t want to see, if that’s all right. Not that I don’t want to see the baby—I just don’t want to see you. No—I mean, I do want to see you. Just not you and the baby. Together. Right now, that is.”

“I know what you mean.” Nora bit hard on her lip to kill a smile. “Don’t worry. I don’t want you to see right now, either.”

“Well, then,” he said with a stiff nod. “That’s settled.”

This was so strange, watching him deal with her in such a formal manner. And what was even stranger was the fact that the more ill at ease he appeared, the more relaxed she felt.

Things between them seemed reversed, somehow. Usually she was the one asking the questions, needing his help. Usually he was the one with the answers, the one in control.

“Why don’t you take off that jacket and sit down?” She gestured at the empty chair across from her. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“While you—no, thank you.”

Jody skidded into the room behind him. “Hey, Burke.”

“Hello, Jody.” His face eased into the first smile Nora had seen, deepening the grooves on either side of his mouth. “I’ve got a delivery for you. From Fitz.”

“Shh.” She glanced behind her, toward the entry. “You don’t want Mom to find out. She’ll skin us both.”

Burke froze. “She will?”

Ellie had decided months ago that Fitz’s habit of bringing presents back from his business trips to California needed to be broken. So far he’d been able to find a few ways to smuggle goods past her embargo, but it was always a dicey proposition.

“Is it in here?” Jody lifted his briefcase. “You can slip it to me while I help you carry your things to your room.”

“My room?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I wasn’t told I’d be staying here.”

“Well, you are,” said Jody as she headed toward the entry.

Burked turned to face Nora. “Fitz mentioned a small cabin.”

“Will’s old place. The water heater’s broken.”

“I’ve no hot water?”

“That’s what Jenna said.”

Ashley squawked and kicked at the quilt, and Nora struggled to button her blouse beneath the cover. “Will went into town today to get a replacement, but they didn’t have what he needed. It won’t be fixed until tomorrow.”

“Then I’m to stay here, in this house?”

“You could go back to town, but the snow is coming down pretty fast now.” She gave up on the buttons and lifted Ashley against her shoulder, still beneath the quilt, rubbing her back and hoping for a quick, neat burp. “Do you have chains?”

“For the tires, you mean?” He frowned. “There’s a box in the back of the car.”

“Do you know how to put them on?”

“I’m sure I can follow the directions.” He closed his eyes, and his glasses slipped crookedly as he pinched at his nose. “Isn’t there a snowplow service of some sort?”

“For the main roads. But it doesn’t come out to Granite Ridge. And you might still need the chains.”

Ashley burped. A loud, liquidy burp. The kind that meant lots of slightly curdled milk coming back up. A familiar warm, wet sensation slid over the edge of the cloth diaper and down the front of Nora’s blouse.

“Isn’t there another alternative?” asked Burke.

“Yes, there is.” Nora folded the quilt down to reveal Ashley, her curly baby hair sticking up in places, her cheeks bright pink from the warmth beneath the cover. One side of her face was smeared with spit-up, as was the front of her yellow print sleeper. Her head wobbled a bit as she craned her neck to get a better look at Burke, and then she burped again—another long, wet, gurgly sound effect to accompany the stuff that spattered over Nora’s lap and dripped to the floor.

“You could stay with the baby and me,” said Nora.

CHAPTER THREE

BURKE TOOK HIS SEAT in the Harrison family’s spacious dining room later that evening and surveyed the crowd gathered around the lake-sized table. Ellie and Will formed a cozy corner to his left, their voices low as they discussed scheduling changes involving an injured member of the ranch crew and the season’s calving chores. Jody and Jenna sat to his right, negotiating the details of Jody’s plans for a sleepover party. Across the table, Nora laughed at Maggie’s description of a classroom incident while Wayne, Maggie’s husband, paced behind them with Nora’s squalling baby in his arms.

The table was set with thick, homey china and daffodils crowded in a fat pitcher, and the serving platters were heaped with delicious-looking food. The wine in Burke’s goblet, which Wayne had contributed from his cellar, was a surprisingly good cabernet. At least Burke could be assured of one thing: he wouldn’t go hungry during his stay.

If only the din weren’t enough to obliterate his appetite.

The baby ceased its howling for a moment, and a wide smile creased Wayne’s rugged features as he lifted its face close to his and nuzzled its nose. “That’s my girl,” he said in his soft voice as he carried the kicking, writhing bundle toward the dimly lit parlor adjoining the dining room. “You were just waiting for your uncle Wayne to figure things out.”

“Here, Burke,” said Jody as she handed him a platter piled with thick slices of glazed ham. “And please pass the sweet potatoes down to Will when you get a chance.”

He noticed the others were helping themselves to servings of beet salad, home-preserved peaches, dilled carrots, baked-bean casserole and corn bread. “Aren’t we going to wait for Wayne to join us?”

“He’s got Ashley.”

“Yes, but—”

“He’ll give someone else a turn in a minute,” she said, handing him a pottery jar filled with some kind of aromatic relish. “He likes her. Besides, he says he needs the practice.”

Burke didn’t understand why anyone would want to spend one minute more than necessary practicing to have his eardrums damaged.

“You’ll get a turn, too,” Jody said.

“Thank you, but that’s not—”

“Excuse me, Burke.” Nora fluttered impossibly thick lashes at him from across the table. “Could you please pass the butter?”

She looked lovely tonight, he thought, dazzled by her presence. He knew she was doing the dazzling bit on purpose, and he supposed he should be immune to it by now. But she was so bloody good at it.

She’d changed her top and pinned up her hair. A few wavy black tendrils wisped about her face and tumbled to drape along her long, shapely neck. Those impossibly dark almond-shaped eyes were somehow more exotic than ever without layers of makeup, and her famously pouty lips shimmered a clean, glossy pink. Motherhood had accentuated her mouthwatering curves, enough to send any man to his knees. She was a fresh-scrubbed Gypsy temptress, a siren in a white T-shirt and jeans, radiating so much charisma across the table he was afraid he’d burn to cinders in the heat.

“Burke?”

“Yes. Sorry.” He snatched up the butter and handed it to Ellie to pass along.

Wayne lowered the baby into Maggie’s arms and took his seat at the table.

“Have you heard from Fitz today?” Burke asked Ellie.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t called you?”

“He knows better than to call me while I’m working.” Ellie shrugged. “Just like I know better than to call him when he’s on the set.”

Burke was no stranger to Fitz’s odd aversion to the phone—serving as a human message machine had been one of Burke’s most important duties during his years as an assistant.

Maggie handed the baby to Jenna.

“He called me,” Jody told Burke. “He wanted to know if you’d gotten here yet.”

“Checking up on me, was he?”

“Uh, that’s right.” Jody gave him a look that reminded him he was a conspirator in the smuggling operation. “I told him you got here safe and sound.”

The talk around the table turned to the day’s local news. A fender bender on the town’s main street, an injured basketball star denting the high-school team’s chance at a division championship. A herd of elk damaging a fence line between Granite Ridge and the Hammonds’ ranch.

The baby got passed to Jody, who stood and paced one slow, bobbing circuit around the table before returning to Burke’s side.

“It’s your turn,” she said.

“My turn for what?”

“Diaper derby. Whoever’s holding her when she poops has to change her diaper. Here.”

“But I don’t think—that is, I’ve never—”

I’ve never held a baby.

“Jody,” said Jenna, “He doesn’t—”

“Let him have a turn,” said Nora. “He hasn’t had a chance to hold her since he arrived. Have you, Burke?”

Her stare was a toxic mixture of guilt-inducing pleading and cool challenge. No hope of wiggling out of the situation. He shoved his chair back and prepared to deal with the inevitable.

“Put one hand here,” said Jody, grabbing one of his hands and sliding it under the baby’s head. “You don’t want to let her head drop.”

He was afraid to ask why.

“And here,” she continued, guiding his other hand toward the baby’s hips as she shifted the wiggling parcel into his arms, “support her back, like this.”

His every instinct screamed at him to hand it back, now, before he suffered a massive stroke and dropped it or experienced a freak muscle spasm that caused him to pitch it across the room, but if he moved too quickly its head would hit the floor, or its spine might snap in two, and Nora would be destroyed by grief, and he’d never forgive himself. So he did the next-best thing and pulled it close to his body, the way he’d seen the others hold it.

A tiny foot pummeled his stomach, and tiny fingers stretched and closed around invisible items. And then its face puckered in a ghastly grimace, and it flushed a rapid, unnerving shade of purply red.

“Uh-oh,” said Jody.

“What?” Burke was afraid to move, afraid to take his next breath. “What is it?”

“She’s winding up for a big one.”

“A big what?”

He glanced around the table, but no one else seemed to care what was happening. Apparently infant apoplexy was a common occurrence.

“You’ll find out,” said Jody, and she took her seat and resumed her meal.

The baby scrunched its features in an expression that would have put a facial contortionist to shame and flexed its back a bit. And then a most disturbing sound, a gelatinous, oozing kind of putt-putt emanated from the general area of the baby’s bottom as something unpleasantly hot seemed to gush into his hand, though it was separated from the infant’s skin by layers of nappy and clothing.

Burke had difficulty swallowing. “I think I just lost.”

“Don’t worry.” Nora dabbed at her mouth and rose from her seat. “We wouldn’t inflict a diaper change on a guest his first night here.”

“My first night?” Burke regretted the weak and pleading tone of his voice, but the memory of what had just slid into a space a fraction of an inch from his palm was still fresh.

Literally.

“I don’t suppose guest status could be extended indefinitely?” he asked.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Jenna leveled a warning look at the others around the table. “You’re not exactly family, although I certainly hope you’ll come to feel as comfortable with us all as if you were.”

He looked down at what he was holding and prayed that would never happen.

“Come here, sweetie.” Nora scooped up the baby and settled it against her. “Mama will take care of you.”

Its little face peeked over Nora’s shoulder, taunting him.

Burke picked up his fork and regarded it with a frown. He seemed to have lost his appetite.

Bloody hell.

AFTER DINNER Nora had faced a quiet consultation with Will, who was worried about the worsening driving conditions, followed by a brief argument with Jenna, who didn’t approve of the sleeping arrangements. Now she stood shivering in the amber band of light streaming from the back porch, having second thoughts about her stubborn defense of her impromptu invitation.

Ashley howled in protest as Burke lifted her carrier into the tight rear cab area of Nora’s pickup truck and wedged it into the car seat base. He cracked the back of his head on the low door frame as he backed out.

“Ouch,” she said.

“That’s my line, isn’t it?” He rubbed his head, frowning at the truck as Ashley continued to fuss. “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it from a cowpoke in Dillon who’d had a run of bad luck in a poker game.”

Burke lowered his hand and stared at her.

“Okay,” she said with a grin. “I made up the part about the poker.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He hunched his shoulders against a gust of snow-flecked wind. “It was the only part of the story that made any sense.”

“It’s a good little truck. Not much to look at, but dependable.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he muttered as he crunched across the snow toward his SUV.

Ashley’s cries grew in volume during the winding drive along the narrow ranch road and the creek bridge, and by the time the cabin’s lights winked into view through a stand of naked aspens, she’d worked herself into a tearful temper.

Burke pulled into a space beside the truck and waited while Nora unstrapped the carrier from the cab.

“Is she always like this?” Burke’s expression was set in a stoic cast as he pulled a suitcase and garment bag from the back of his car.

“She’s hungry.”

“She just ate.”

“Babies need to eat every few hours. Round the clock.”

With Ashley complaining loudly, Nora gave Burke a quick tour of the compact cabin and handed him linens to make up a bed in one of the available rooms. She rearranged the clutter in the bathroom they’d share, clearing a spot for his things, and then she excused herself to see to the baby’s needs.

She settled with a sigh into the big rocker she’d dragged into the cabin’s largest bedroom and tried to lose herself in the peace of the moment, to be thankful for her daughter and to appreciate her good fortune as she always did during their quiet times together. But tonight her thoughts returned to the men in orbit around her, each exerting a gravitational force of his own. Ken, the ex-husband who’d been so entranced by his celebrity fiancée but disappointed with his working-actress wife. Fitz, the superstar friend with the supersized heart who’d offered her shelter.

And Burke, the tall, dark and brooding man unpacking his bags in the small room next door.

The long evening had exhausted Ashley, and she drifted to sleep as she nursed. Nora gently lowered her into the crib and bent to kiss her good-night. Then she slipped out of her clothes and pulled on a practical flannel gown and a splashy silk robe, bracing herself to deal with whatever Burke might decide to discuss this evening.

She found him standing in the middle of the open front room, staring at the laptop in his hands with a frown.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Do you have a printer?”

“A printer?”

“For your computer.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“And I suppose that means you don’t know whether or not you have an Internet connection.”

“No,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew. “I can probably rig something up with my cell phone.”

“I don’t think that’ll work here.”

“Why not?”

“My cell works fine at the main ranch house. But this cabin seems to be tucked into some little pocket that doesn’t get any reception. Don’t worry, I have a regular phone,” she added quickly.

“But no cell reception.”

“That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No. No problem,” he said, although the way his jaw clenched around the words told her he was lying through his gritted teeth.

“All settled in, then?” She opened the woodstove and lit the kindling. “Do you have everything else you need?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to say more—perhaps to thank her for a fourth time—but he stood very still, staring at the fire.

She pulled a log from the crate beside the stove and shoved it on top of the blazing kindling. “This will help keep the place warm tonight.”

“Isn’t there a furnace?”

“Yes. But this is nicer, don’t you think?”

His silence told her precisely what he thought.

She turned to face him, twisting the ring on her right hand and willing herself not to scream away her tension. “Burke.”

“Yes?”

“Are you waiting until tomorrow to start in on me?”

He shifted his impassive stare in her direction. “I’m not planning to start in on you.”

“Oh, I see.” She paced to the kitchen area and back. “You just decided on a whim to come out to Granite Ridge to work for a while. A change of scene, a different Internet connection. Is that right?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the evening chatting. As we used to.” He set his computer on the small dining table tucked beneath a wide window and rested his hand on the dull metallic surface. “I’ve missed you.”

She paused, studying him, waiting to see if his serious words and somber mood were some kind of clever trap. And in the next instant, she felt ashamed for looking for an ulterior motive. They were friends, after all. And she’d missed him, too.

“Tell me about Fitz.” She folded her legs beneath her as she settled on one end of the sofa. “Has he been staying out of trouble?”

Burke lowered himself to the cushion beside her and leaned back with a sigh. “Fitz is playing the role of devoted husband and expectant father with such enthusiasm that it’s beginning to grate on my nerves. I wish he’d try a more subtle approach to this rash of exemplary behavior.”

She smiled and scooped her hair back. “Like you?”

Burke raised one eyebrow in his supercilious look. “I wasn’t aware that my exemplary behavior was either overstated or abnormal.”

“No.” Good old Burke, he could always make her laugh. She ran her hand down his arm in a teasing stroke. “I meant subtle. Like you.”

Burke frowned. “Subtle is a difficult role for any actor.”

She leaned toward him. “Even for me?”

“Especially for you.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t play it?”

“Only if it were a role.” His face softened with a weary smile. “And then you’d be brilliant at it, as you always are.”

She closed the small gap between them and smacked a loud kiss on the tip of his nose. “I love it when you lay it on thick.”

“I’m only telling it like it is.”

She laughed at the sound of that phrase uttered in his thickest, upper-crustiest accent. “And how’s Greenberg?”

“Greenberg is his unsubtle and unexemplary self.” Burke shook his head with a sigh. “His latest lover moved on to a soap actor, which hasn’t improved his mood of late.”

Nora tensed. She’d hoped the conversation wouldn’t shift so soon to Hollywood business. But it was difficult for the two of them to avoid the topic for long.

“The preproduction budget for The Virginian is coming along as well as can be expected,” he said, “considering all the difficulties inherent in a project of this scope.” He frowned and shifted forward, his long fingers dangling between his knees. “Which means it’s been a struggle getting Fitz to focus and getting Greenberg to relax.”

“It’s rough being caught in the middle.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

The fire behind the stove grate snapped and roared. Burke twisted his fingers together and stared at the floor.

“Your daughter is very pretty,” he said after a while.

“Thank you.” Nora sighed and leaned her shoulder against the sofa back. She’d been waiting for him to mention her beautiful, precious daughter, waiting for him to lavish the praise she deserved. To lay it on thick.

But he hadn’t even called her by her name yet. “Her name is Ashley.”

“Yes. Ashley.”

Nora smiled. Her name sounded heavenly when he spoke it in those plummy tones. “She’ll be four months old in a couple of weeks.”

“So soon.”

“Yes, so soon. She’s growing so fast, changing every day. Time seems to pass more quickly now.”

“Yes, it does,” he said. “Everything changes and moves on quickly, whether we want it to or not.”

She tensed and twined her fingers through the sash of her robe, waiting for the first skirmish in the coming battle.

“Have you considered where you’re going to go after you leave here?” he asked.

“I’m not leaving for a while yet.”

“But you must have some idea.”

“Of course I have ideas. Lots of them.” She untangled her fingers and smoothed the ends of the sash across her lap. “Just nothing definite. Not yet, anyway.”

He glanced at her with a frown. “Fitz told me you’re thinking of putting your house up for sale.”

“That’s one of those ideas.”

“But you love that house.”

“Ken loved it, too.”

“Ah.” Burke took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for the unhappy memories.”

“You don’t have to be, since the ones you added were some of the best.” She pulled her hand from his and gave it a friendly pat. “I had some good times there. And, yes, I loved it. I loved living there and trying my best to make it a home, because it was the first place I could call my own. But there’ll be other places, and it’s a great time to cash in on the investment. I could use the money from the sale.”

“There are other ways to raise funds. Ways that would let you keep your house.”

“Why are you so concerned about my house?”

“Because you were, at one time.” He shifted on the sofa to face her. “Because I think you still are.”

She stood and moved across the room to shove another piece of wood into the stove. He was right, of course. But while she’d won the house in the divorce settlement, Ken had walked away with most of the cash needed for its upkeep. The thought of losing that house—the wisteria-covered porches, the sloping tiled roof, the tall windows and curved stairway, the dramatic sweeps and the intimate niches—twisted her heart like a rag and squeezed it dry.

Mentioning Ken like that, using the pain of her divorce like a shield had been a convenient way to deflect the issue and obscure the truth. It was easier to stay here, in Montana, than to deal with the fallout of her failed marriage in Hollywood. It was more tempting to consider moving on than to face going back. “Like I said, there are plenty of other houses out there. I don’t mind looking. It’s fun to wander through a place and try it on for size, to see if it fits. To imagine the possibilities.”

“Where are you going to look next?”

“Why do you want to know?” She turned to face him. “Why do you have to know, tonight?”

His steady, searching stare sent a shiver up her spine, and she wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Sorry, Burke. I know I’m grouchy. I get tired easily these days. Caring for Ashley takes a lot out of me. Literally,” she added with a smile.

At her mention of her daughter, something awkward flickered across his features. He stood and brushed his hands over his slacks. “And I’ve kept you up too late. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to keep thanking me, and you don’t have to be so damn—”

Her voice rose on a hot spike of temper, but she didn’t care. Yes, she was tired, but mostly she was hurt, wounded by his reaction to Ashley; his lack of reaction, to be precise. Angry that he’d used her own house as the first salvo against her, and that he’d hit one of her most sensitive spots dead center with that first strike.

And worried that she didn’t have an answer to his question about where she intended to live. How shortsighted and irresponsible she must seem. How pitiful.

“You don’t have to watch your every step around me,” she said at last.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware of it.”

“And you’re so completely aware of everything, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Including unsubtle behavior.”

“I already told you—I’m tired and grouchy.” She stormed into the kitchen area, her robe billowing about her legs, and snatched up the teakettle. She slapped at the faucet and ran water into the spout. “If you don’t like my unsubtle behavior, you’re welcome to stay elsewhere.”

“Are you rescinding your invitation?”

“Don’t worry.” She slammed the kettle on a burner grate and whirled to face him. “I won’t toss you out in the cold tonight.”

“Neither of us has to worry, then. I’m sure that with a little practice, I can be as unthoughtful and ungrateful as you require.”

He reached up and readjusted his glasses in one of those cool and controlled moves of his that normally made her itch to poke at his composure and tease him senseless. Tonight his attitude set her teeth on edge.

“However,” he added, “if you change your mind, it appears it will still be quite cold enough for tossing me out tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WILL WINTERHAWK stretched with a sigh along one side of the four-poster bed in the room he shared with Jenna. He’d always looked forward to this time of day, when he could let his body and mind unwind, when he could switch off his focus on the ranch work and set his imagination loose to ease him into sleep and pleasant dreams.

For twenty years he’d passed most of his evenings with his nose buried in one of the books he treasured, keeping company with interesting characters and picking up some new ways of thinking about things. Now he spent his evenings with his wife, the woman he’d loved in secret through all those years.

He didn’t miss the books so much, though he still managed to read more than most men he knew. Jenna was turning out to be one of the most interesting characters he’d ever known, and trying to figure out her ways of thinking about things was going to keep him occupied for longer than he could imagine.

And he deeply treasured the way they could ease each other into sleep and pleasant dreams.

But tonight Jenna’s brisk motions as she scrubbed and creamed her way through her bedtime routine told him she needed a bit more time to unwind.

“I s’pose,” he said, “I should drive over to the guest cabin in the morning and check up on those two. Make sure they’ve got enough wood for the stove and plenty of propane in the tank.”

“He doesn’t need to stay there after tonight.”

She took a seat at the heirloom vanity and picked up her silver-handled brush. One thin strap of her silky blue gown slipped like a tease over her shoulder and made his mouth water.

“You’ll have the water heater replaced by tomorrow afternoon,” she said, shooting him a stern glance from the mirror.

“Maybe Burke will decide to stay right where he is.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You made that plenty clear earlier this evening.” Watching the way that brush was getting tugged through her pretty gold-and-silver hair, Will figured she was still upset that her wishes in the matter had been dismissed. Jenna may have spent a lifetime cultivating a pleasant and easygoing facade, but underneath her soft, Southern debutante manner was a stubborn streak with a steel spine to support it.

And a big and generous heart, a heart that gathered folks deep inside and loved them hard and long, a heart that was prone to splinter a mite too easily when those she’d grown fond of drifted beyond her reach. To Jenna, home and family tended to blur together until they were one and the same, and she expended a great deal of energy to keep the whole of it corralled within the same geographical boundaries.

She’d made a habit of taking in strays, and she was well on the way to embracing Nora in much the same way she’d adopted Ellie when she was a girl—a casual acceptance, a growing bond, a maternal commitment. And now the comfort of that close relationship was threatened by a man from the outside who just might remove Nora from Jenna’s tight family circle.

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Jenna frowned at her reflection. “I just don’t…well, you know what I think.”

“Yes, I do.” He traced the edge of an appliquéd leaf on the old quilt and waited for her to get around to confessing to the reasons behind her resentment of Burke’s decision to bunk with Nora.

“You don’t like the fact that he’s staying with her, either.” She shot him a dark look in the mirror. “And now you’re going to lie awake half the night, worrying about the weather and whether he’ll drive off the edge of the creek bridge tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, darlin’, for being so solicitous about my worries.” He smiled at both their reflections, noting again the vivid contrast his dark skin and black hair made against her fair features. “But I suspect you’ve got some of your own worries about the matter, too.”

“His coming here is upsetting Nora.”

“She didn’t appear all that upset with the situation at dinner tonight.”

“She was being polite. Making the best of the situation. She is an actress, you know.”

“And a damn good one, from what I’ve seen.” He smoothed a wide, tanned hand over the pastel spread. “She really got into the role, what with inviting him to stay at her place and all.”

“Humph.” Jenna dismissed that topic and warmed up another one. “And did you notice what was going on across the table tonight?”

He met her gaze. “I’m not sure you and I noticed the same things.”

“Flirting.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line of disapproval. “The two of them.”

“Maybe I noticed some of that on Nora’s part. Truth is, I don’t pay it much mind anymore, seeing as how she simpers and flutters now and again just to keep her feminine wiles from going rusty.” He frowned. “I can’t say I know Burke well enough to judge his reactions. But I’d be hard-pressed to apply that label to any of his behavior tonight.”

Jenna punished her hair with another series of short-tempered strokes. “I don’t like the way he looks at her.”

Will met her gaze in the mirror. “How does he look at her?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I think I do.” He sat up and shifted to the edge of the mattress. Last summer, before Jenna had agreed to marry him, they’d had a talk about the kinds of looks men and women gave each other. And then he’d kissed her and asked her to take a good, long look at him.

“All I saw tonight,” he said, “was two old friends getting together for the first time in several months.”

Jenna tapped the brush against her hand. “That wasn’t a completely friendly look I saw him giving her.”

Will shrugged. “Maybe he’s not feeling all that friendly about getting sent clear out here to fetch her back.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jenna set the brush down and turned to face him. “And she’s not going back.”

“Seems to me that’s up to her to decide.”

“If it’s up to her to decide, then he wasted his time coming out here.”

Will stared at his wife’s mulish expression and hoped he wouldn’t end up adding another trouble to his list of things to worry over tonight. “She’ll have to leave eventually, you know.”

“She doesn’t want to.”

“Has she discussed that with you?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Jenna.” Will stood and reached for her hand. “She can’t stay here forever.”

He waited patiently, and after a few seconds she surrendered to his silent request and turned to enclose her slim, pale fingers in his big, rough hand.

“She likes it here.” Jenna’s voice grew soft and wavery. “And she’s been happy here.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Means she’ll come back for visits now and again.”

Jenna stroked her thumb over a scar on his knuckle. “I don’t want her to go, Will.”

“I know you don’t, darlin’.”

“She’ll take that sweet baby girl with her, and I won’t get to see her grow up.”

“You’ll have a couple more babies to love in a few months.”

“They won’t be Ashley.”

“No, they won’t.” He pulled her from her chair to wrap his arms around her waist and hug her close, and her gown quivered and shimmered and hinted at the womanly curves beneath the silk. “They’ll probably sleep for more than an hour at a time and keep the milk they drink in their bellies, where it belongs. No fun at all.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he breathed in the scents of her shampoo and soap and creams. They brought to mind a meadow lush with wildflowers, a woman warmed in the summer sun.

“It won’t be the same around here without her.”

“No, I don’t suppose it will,” he said. “It’ll be a whole lot quieter and cleaner, that’s for sure.”

He guided her down, down to their soft bed, and he shifted over her to press a gentle kiss to the spot behind one ear, right where he’d watched her dab on some of that perfume he’d told her he liked so well.

Her pulse stuttered beneath his lips. “You’ll miss her, too.”

“I s’pose I will.”

He skimmed his fingers across her shoulder, pushing the silk aside. “I have an idea or two about how we can keep those worries of ours off our minds for a while.”

She lifted her arms to circle his neck. “You do, do you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m surprised you can’t tell just by looking at me how friendly I’m feeling right now.”

“Are you flirting with me, Will Winterhawk?”

He took one of her hands and pressed it to his bare chest. “I’m fluttering for you, Jenna. Just for you. Seems I always am.”

BURKE OPENED HIS EYES to a tomblike blackness so oppressive it threatened to suffocate him. Somewhere beyond the boundaries of the dark a siren wailed its dirge. Suffering. Disaster. Death.

No. Something much, much worse.

The baby.

He groaned and curled into the stiff, creaky mattress and pulled a pillow over his head, tempted for a moment to press it against his nose and mouth until he slipped into oblivion.

Waaa-uh-uh-waaa.

Damn Greenberg for throwing the tantrums and pitching the ultimatums that had set him on the road to this frozen wasteland. Damn Fitz for handing him a map and waving goodbye. Damn Nora for being here in the first place.

And damn his sorry, aching, icicled self for letting them all maneuver him into a mess like this. Again.

He was a perfectly good associate pro—No, he was a bloody terrific associate producer. So terrific he’d already turned down a few offers to trade up. Greenberg’s little empire would go down in flames without Burke there to douse the stray sparks, and Fitz would be quite put out.

Yes, quite. The actor was far more capable than he let on, but he’d invested years in cultivating his image of carefree, casual success. He wouldn’t appreciate being caught out doing something as prosaic as paperwork.

Burke Elliot, enabler. Even the amateurs had roles to play in Hollywood, and he played his as well as any actor in the city. But he preferred to play it at his desk, in his tidy bungalow, with outlets for his office equipment and a phone with more than one line.

With a functional thermostat and a private bath.

He shoved a foot against the iron rail at the end of the too-short mattress and realized he couldn’t feel his toes.

Frostbite, most likely. How tidy of nature to provide a natural anesthetic in case some backwoods carnivore decided to nibble on one’s extremities.

Waaa. Waaa-uh-waaa.

“God.” He rolled to his back and tugged a sloppy tangle of quilts around his chin, staring blindly at a wood plank ceiling he knew was festooned with solidified drips of resinous matter and ghostly tatters of cobwebs. The country style had so much natural charm to offer, if one knew where to look.

The baby wailed again, from the direction of the open room that served as entry, parlor, dining area and kitchen. One more minute, and he’d go out there, to see if Nora needed any help.

And what kind of assistance would he offer her? Feed the baby? Change its nappy? Ship it to a boarding school?

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the freeze-dried nubbin that was his nose. Ashley. The baby’s name was Ashley. He didn’t wish to be on more familiar terms with the child than necessary, but Nora seemed to require his active admiration and involvement.

Part of any producer’s job, after all: making nice with the talent. And he valued his friendship with the actress enough to make more of an effort.

There. Silence.

Perhaps they’d both frozen to death.

He borrowed a few of Greenberg’s nastiest swearwords as he tossed off the covers and reached for his glasses, and then swung his bare feet to the scratchy wool rug covering a portion of the wood floor. Tugging a sweater over his head, he made his way down the short hall to the front room, where a tropical wave of stove-heated air washed away his goose bumps.

Nora, swathed in her high-necked gown and a shawl-like wrap, rocked in the tall chair beside the stove and crooned an off-key tune in a slightly hoarse voice. She made a gorgeous Madonna, a Renaissance vision of ripe curves beneath the flowing folds of the soft fabric, of perfect features against pale skin. Her dreamy, ethereal expression as she stared at the child in her arms was as peaceful, as compelling as a timeless work of art. Her black hair tumbled and waved about her shoulders, thick and lustrous and practically begging a man to bury his fingers in its silky strands.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Where had that last terrifying thought come from? He knew he wasn’t sleepwalking through a nightmare—he was all too aware of the needlelike tingling in his toes as the blood began to circulate through them.

“Burke.” She whispered his name with a finger against her lips. “I just got her to sleep.”

“Congratulations.”

He stood in the center of the room, uncertain of his next move. She sighed and leaned her head against the chair, and he noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

She smiled and shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m just going to sit here a while longer and enjoy the quiet.” She shifted the baby slightly. “I’m sorry we woke you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t?” One of her feathery brows arched up in amusement. “Don’t you start getting sarcastic with me, buster. I’m the mom here. I’ll send you to your room.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You’re a good one. A good mother.”

The rocker stilled. “Do you really think so?”

Yes, he did, but why had he blurted it out like that? Another renegade thought coming at him from an unknown source. He obviously wasn’t himself tonight, speaking without thinking things through. “You’re much more patient than I thought you’d be.”

“Patient?”

“With the—” he waved his hand in a circle “—with the spitting up. And the crying. And—and everything.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Thank you.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“I’m sure you did,” she said, although she didn’t seem all that convinced of the fact.

“Is it normal for a baby to be…to be so—”

“Annoying?”

“I’m sure she’s not doing it on purpose.”

Nora stared at him for a long moment. “Come here,” she said at last. “You haven’t had a chance to get a good look at her.”

He was tempted to disagree, but he tiptoed across the room and moved to Nora’s side to peer at the infant in her arms.

Asleep, Ashley was a different baby entirely. Pink and delicate, and…amazing, now that he had this chance to study her without any anxiety about holding her correctly or bracing for something unpleasant. Every feature that should be present was correctly in place—and each of them was an incredible, perfect miniature. He had never seen human hair so fine, curving in such interesting waves, or such a little nose turning up in such a wonderfully sculpted shape. The tiny spikes of her eyelashes spread in a soft crescent along cheeks that already showed the promise of her mother’s lush curves, and her pink lips bowed with the hint of a killer pout. As he watched, her mouth moved in a silent rhythm.

“What is she doing?” he whispered. “Is she dreaming?”

“Maybe.” Nora wrapped a fuzzy yellow blanket more securely over the baby’s shoulder. “I wonder what she dreams about. What she thinks.”

“Why does she cry so much?” He shifted from behind Nora’s chair so he could stare from a different angle. “Is she in pain?”

“A lot of the time, poor thing. She’s colicky, always has been. She’ll grow out of it eventually.”

“Poor Ashley.”

Nora looked up with a smile and reached for his hand, and he took hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Neither of them let go for a moment, and in the next moment it was too late—he was too aware of the feel of her hand in his to release it and return to the old ease between them. Her awkward tug as she pulled away told him she’d felt the same.

He rubbed one foot over the other, wondering how to make her smile again, how to undo this puzzling tension between them. He told himself they’d get things sorted out in the morning, when they’d both had a bit more sleep, but he couldn’t think of an appropriate exit line.

“You can go back to bed now,” she said. “We won’t be making any more noise for a while, and you should grab some sleep while you have the chance.”

“Is that what you do now? Grab sleep in snatches?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

She stared at her sleeping child with an achingly tender smile and set the chair in motion again. “For as long as it takes.”

He’d seen the smile he’d waited for, and now he was strangely sorry it was time to go. The expression on her face seemed to pierce right through him, reaching deep into a spot he hadn’t known existed until it twinged with a bittersweet pain.

“Good night, then,” he said.

“Good night, Burke.”

Her low, throaty tune followed him down the cold, dim hallway.

CHAPTER FIVE

NORA SHOVED a hunk of hair behind one ear and frowned at the jumble of dishes in the sink and the meager pile of breakfast ingredients on the kitchen counter. She hadn’t kept up with the housework, she’d forgotten she was running low on her emergency supply of breakfast basics, and now she had to share all her shortcomings with an unexpected guest.

A guest who wandered through her house in the middle of the night, intruding on her private time, the dark and quiet hours when she was most lonely, most vulnerable. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that, with her pillow-mussed hair and her fatigue-tinged eyes, with her spit-up-stained nightgown and her ratty robe. And yet it had been good to know there was someone else there, someone who cared about her enough to come looking for her, to offer her assistance and reassurance.

She’d forgotten how supportive Burke could be. Had always been.

But before last night, they’d always spent their time together in small doses, in afternoons at Fitz’s house or quick conversations at parties, in snatches of between-scene activity on the set or in a shared meal. In passing, really.

It wasn’t until she’d been confronted by his things in her bathroom this morning—neatly arranged and organized—that she’d begun to consider the consequences of her impulsive invitation, to worry over the damage sharing such close quarters might do to their friendship. They were already dealing with a difficult situation. Why had she added another layer of stress to it?

And why had he agreed to the arrangement?

“Good morning.”

She turned to see him standing in the hall doorway, looking adorably tense, his shower-damp hair slicked back and his briefcase dangling from one hand. The boots on his feet looked new enough to give him blisters, and his crisp white shirt was neatly tucked into jeans that looked so stiff they could probably stand on their own creased legs.

“Good morning,” she said. “I hope you’re not too hungry.”

He frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Why?”

“Because the snow might be too deep to get to the ranch house, and I don’t have much to eat here.”

He strode to the window above the table and stared at the white-coated scene outside. “It doesn’t look too deep to me. Besides, I rented an SUV.”

“I know.” She picked up a carving knife and hacked at the slightly stale bagel she’d found in the bread bin. “It was a good idea, too.”

“It’s for driving in the snow.”

“It’s for driving without chains on snowy pavement that’s been plowed.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m not sure a city slicker like you could handle an off-road, cross-country trek.”

“Are you saying we might be stuck here?” He cleared his throat, neatly covering the note of panic she’d heard in his voice. “Isn’t there someone we can call?”

“About what?”

“About getting us out of here.”

“You just got here.” She turned with a smile and offered half the bagel, slathered with cream cheese. “Relax. It’s Saturday. Put your feet up. Have a bagel.”

“I don’t want a bagel. Thank you,” he added politely. “I’d like to see about arranging for an Internet connection.”

“Ah, yes. The Internet. First things first.”

“I do have work to do.”

Somewhere in that briefcase was a job offer she wasn’t ready to consider and paperwork she dreaded reading. She pasted on a brilliant smile and cocked her head to one side, prepared to deal with things as best she could. “What kind of work, exactly?”

“My job.”

She lifted an eyebrow and bit into the bagel. “Excuse me for prying.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And excuse me for snapping at you. I guess I need some coffee.”

“Me, too.” She shrugged. “I didn’t remember that I’m out, or I’d have borrowed some from Jenna last night.”

“You don’t have any coffee?”

“Nope.”

“Tea?”

“Sorry. Finished that off last night.”

“Juice?”

“Apple.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. “Unless you need it. For the baby.”

“Ashley doesn’t drink apple juice.”

“I meant…” A charming blush stained his cheeks. “Where is she, by the way?”

“Napping.”

“In the morning?”

“She naps through the day, off and on.” Nora opened the refrigerator door and pulled a bottle of juice from one of the shelves. “You learn to cram all the nonbaby activities into the quiet times.”

She took a glass from one of the honey-toned oak cupboards and filled it with juice. “We’re not really trapped here, you know.”

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