“Will you read me a story, Daddy?” Emily asked.

Daddy. It was the first time she’d called him that, and the feeling that flooded Devin stunned him. Like a fist to the solar plexus. He’d used the word himself in his thoughts, but somehow, hearing it from her made it more real, more special.

Devin opened his arms and Emily climbed up onto his lap, settling her head just under his chin. She smelled like her peach-scented bubble bath, all warm and fragrant. He gazed into green eyes as familiar as his own. The shadows of fatigue were gone from her cheeks, the sadness had disappeared from her eyes and she no longer woke during the night, crying for her mother. She also had the sweetest smile, he decided, as he opened the book.

Of course she would. She was his daughter.

Dear Reader,

It’s going to be a wonderful year! After all, we’re celebrating Silhouette’s 20th anniversary of bringing you compelling, emotional, contemporary romances month after month.

January’s fabulous lineup starts with beloved author Diana Palmer, who returns to Special Edition with Matt Caldwell: Texas Tycoon. In the latest installment of her wildly popular LONG, TALL TEXANS series, temperatures rise and the stakes are high when a rugged tycoon meets his match in an innocent beauty—who is also his feisty employee.

Bestselling author Susan Mallery continues the next round of the series PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE with Their Little Princess. In this heart-tugging story, baby doctor Kelly Hall gives a suddenly single dad lessons in parenting—and learns all about romance!

Reader favorite Pamela Toth launches Special Edition’s newest series, SO MANY BABIES—in which babies and romance abound in the Buttonwood Baby Clinic. In The Baby Legacy, a sperm-bank mix-up brings two unlikely parents together temporarily—or perhaps forever.…

In Peggy Webb’s passionate story, Summer Hawk, two Native Americans put aside their differences when they unite to battle a medical crisis and find that love cures all. Rounding off the month is veteran author Pat Warren’s poignant, must-read secret baby story, Daddy by Surprise, and Jean Brashear’s Lonesome No More, in which a reclusive hero finds healing for his heart when he offers a single mom and her young son a haven from harm.

I hope you enjoy these six unforgettable romances and help us celebrate Silhouette’s 20th anniversary all year long!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

Daddy by Surprise
Pat Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to Perry and Ginny Huellmantel,

old friends and traveling companions, with affection

Books by Pat Warren

Silhouette Special Edition

With This Ring #375

Final Verdict #410

Look Homeward, Love #442

Summer Shadows #458

The Evolution of Adam #480

Build Me a Dream #514

The Long Road Home #548

The Lyon and the Lamb #582

My First Love, My Last #610

Winter Wishes #632

Till I Loved You #659

An Uncommon Love #678

Under Sunny Skies #731

That Hathaway Woman #758

Simply Unforgettable #797

This I Ask of You #815

On Her Own #841

A Bride for Hunter #893

Nobody’s Child #974

*A Home for Hannah #1048

*Keeping Kate #1060

Daddy’s Home #1157

Stranded on the Ranch #1199

Daddy by Surprise #1301

Silhouette Romance

Season of the Heart #553

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Perfect Strangers #288

Only the Lonely #605

*Michael’s House #737

Stand-In Father #855

Silhouette Books

Montana Mavericks

Outlaw Lovers #6

PAT WARREN,

mother of four, lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifetime dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

If there was one thing Molly Shipman hated it was arriving anywhere late. The kitchen clock indicated that she had exactly seven minutes to get to her appointment with Della Bailey, her friend, Trisha’s, mother and the owner of a roomy duplex on a quiet residential street in south Scottsdale. She’d gotten up at six just so she wouldn’t have to rush. Of course, if she hadn’t dripped orange juice on her blouse, necessitating a change, or broken a nail opening the coffee can, she’d have had time to spare. As it was, she had to fly.

Stuffing the last bite of toast in her mouth, she grabbed her large canvas bag before racing down the outside stairs of her apartment building. She unlocked the door of her eight-year-old Honda and got in, wondering why she ever bothered to lock it. Nobody but the truly desperate would steal old battered Bessie.

Sending up a silent prayer, Molly turned the key in the ignition and breathed a sigh of relief when the tired old engine wheezed into life. Just two more paychecks and she’d have enough saved to take old Bess in for a much-needed tune-up.

Whipping out of the parking lot, she turned onto Thomas and headed east. If only this rental would turn out to be perfect, or nearly perfect, Molly mused. According to Trisha, who waitressed alongside Molly at the Pan Handle Café, the recently vacated house with an upper and a lower apartment had just had a face-lift consisting of fresh paint and new carpeting. Mrs. Bailey, who lived next door and used the income from several such homes to supplement her Social Security, always kept up her properties.

The mid-April sun was already quite warm as Molly made a right turn, her mind racing. Since learning that her apartment building was converting to condos, she’d given notice and been searching for a place not too far from her job because old Bess couldn’t be counted on for long daily trips. Good rentals at reasonable rates were hard to find and the lower unit sounded ideal. She was sick of the three flights of stairs she’d had to climb several times a day for the past three years. Molly hoped no one else had spotted the For Rent sign and beaten her to the punch. Reminders of the early bird getting the worm buzzed through her anxious thoughts.

A quick glance at her watch told Molly she was only a few minutes late as she swung onto Cactus Lane. As she completed the turn, a noisy Harley came zooming around the bend behind her. The driver wasn’t wearing a helmet, she noticed in the rearview mirror, his dark hair shifting in a soft morning breeze.

Slowing, she turned into the drive of number 9430 where, thankfully, the sign was still in the lawn. The two-story stucco house with its southwestern style, red-tiled roof was set back from the street leaving room for a small lawn and several old cottonwood trees that provided much-needed shade. Mrs. Bailey was waiting on the porch and raised her hand in a wave. Molly turned off the engine and got out. But before she could take a step, the Harley pulled in alongside the Honda, blocking her path.

Unhurriedly, the rider dismounted and engaged his kickstand. Arizona sunshine reflected in his mirrored sunglasses before he took them off, tucking one stem inside the opening of his white knit shirt. Molly found herself staring into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

He didn’t look like her idea of a biker, she thought, dressed conservatively as he was in clean jeans and very white Nikes. His square chin—sporting a deep dimple—looked as if it had been carved from granite, hinting at a stubborn streak. His gaze was every bit as measuring as hers. An unexpected sensual pull lasted mere seconds yet took her completely by surprise. Why was this man following her? Molly wondered, her pulse slightly erratic.

“Do I know you?” she asked, though she doubted very much she’d have forgotten this man.

His smile softened his hard image, his teeth gleaming white against his tan face. “I haven’t had the pleasure,” he answered, holding out his hand. “Devin Gray.”

From the corner of her eye, Molly noticed Mrs. Bailey shuffling her feet impatiently. But she could hardly ignore the man’s offer to shake hands. “Molly Shipman,” she said, noticing that her fingers barely touched his skin before her hand was engulfed by his. Oddly fascinated, she stared at the contrasts, pale to tan, small to large, soft to hard.

He was the first to break away as he nodded toward the house. “I’m here about the rental. You, too?”

Molly swallowed around a dry throat and took a step back. “Yes.” Did she want to share a house with a ruggedly handsome biker? she wondered. However, she might have no choice in the matter, she realized as he fell in step beside her on the walk to the porch.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Bailey greeted Molly. “It’s good to see you,” she told the older woman, then stood aside as the newcomer introduced himself.

Della Bailey patted her short hair, which was dyed a becoming ash blond, and smiled at both young people. “I hate to rush you two, but I’m being picked up shortly by a friend. We’re going to the Indian reservation casino to play bingo.”

Molly knew Mrs. Bailey since she often came into the café to visit her daughter. She also knew that the widow had two passions: bingo and kids. A retired schoolteacher, she baby-sat several neighborhood children after school.

“We wouldn’t want to hold you up,” Devin said, opening the screen door for the short little woman to lead the way into the lower apartment. He watched Molly Shipman walk past, her eyes avoiding his. She seemed a little nervous and he wondered why.

“As you can see, this unit’s unfurnished,” Della began, showing them through a good-sized living room, one large bedroom and an old-fashioned kitchen with wooden cupboards. The smell of fresh paint was evident.

Not bad, Molly thought, checking out the living room with its tiny corner fireplace. She’d have to get rid of the heavy drapes, get something light and airy. She strolled on, admiring the cozy window seat in the bedroom, the bright blue carpeting, the sunny kitchen where her plants would thrive. Yes, it would do nicely. Best of all, no stairs to climb. As soon as Trisha had told her about the place, she’d hoped she’d like the lower. “I have my own furniture,” she said, opening the refrigerator, pleased at how spotless it was. When she looked up, she noticed that Devin Gray was studying her far more than the apartment, which brought a frown to her face. Was this man going to be a problem?

Devin could see by her expressive face that Molly Shipman was already moving in mentally. “Is the upper furnished?” he asked as Mrs. Bailey checked her watch. He had a few things, but he’d moved too often to drag along a houseful of furniture.

“Yes, and it has its own entrance and stairs in the back.” She led the way onto the back porch and pointed to a door at the far end. “That’s the laundry room. You’d have to share.” She started up the stairs. “The upper’s rooms are a bit smaller, but there’re two bedrooms. I believe you said you needed the extra room.” Devin followed her.

She’d already decided she wanted the lower, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at both, Molly thought as she trailed after them. Her gaze naturally fell on Devin Gray’s broad muscular back, the way the faded denim fit over impressive buns and long, long legs. Quite a package, her feminine side couldn’t help registering. But not for you, her practical brain reminded her.

Along with the usual appliances, the kitchen contained a small oak table with two chairs and checkered linoleum that looked newly installed. An archway opened into a square living room with a couch and pole lamp along one wall. A short hallway led to two small bedrooms and a bath. A double bed, dresser and night-stand were in the largest room, but the other was empty except for a studio bed.

“I suppose I should say this unit’s semifurnished,” Della said as Devin examined the second bedroom. “You mentioned you work from home. Is this large enough for what you had in mind?” she asked, peering at him through her new bifocals that she still evidently hadn’t gotten used to.

“It’s fine.” Devin turned from the window. “Is that pool in the lot next door yours?” She’d told him on the phone that she lived one house over. “It’s not exactly the ocean I’m used to in California, but it sure looks inviting.”

Della smiled. “Use of it comes with each rental. I keep the gate locked so no children will wander in, but give all my tenants a key.”

Just what he needed, Devin thought. His job consisted of putting the seat of his pants on the seat of the chair for hour after hour. Without regular exercise, not only would his muscles cramp up, but he’d start getting wide in the beam. “That’s great,” he told Mrs. Bailey.

He’d been staying at a motel since arriving last weekend. Last night, he’d driven around this neighborhood and found it quiet with a minimum of distractions. No basketball hoops or garages or kids playing in the street. There were also several restaurants within a few blocks for nights he didn’t feel like cooking, which were many.

The apartment was only temporary, of course, a year at the most. But for now, it suited his needs perfectly. “I’d like to take the upper.” He took out his wallet and started counting out bills, then handed her a folded sheet of paper. “And here are the references I mentioned.”

In the doorway, Molly felt a frown form. Devin Gray wasn’t someone she’d choose to have live above her. He didn’t look like someone who worked indoors. She’d wager he’d once been a California surfer from his tan and mention of the ocean. Carefree and seductive, she assumed from the looks he’d been throwing her way. Pretty successful at it, too, she imagined from that killer smile. He was too big, too masculine, too self-assured.

If the apartment wasn’t ideally located and priced right, she’d walk away. However, she’d handle it. Mr. Charm would soon learn she wasn’t the least interested. She’d been fending off men like him for over three years. Trisha had once said Molly had turned rejection into an art form. Molly took that as a compliment.

“I’d like to take the lower, Mrs. Bailey,” Molly said, reaching into her canvas bag for her checkbook. “First and last month’s rent all right?”

“That would be fine.” Della strolled to the kitchen, pleased that her vacancies were no more. “Maybe I’ll see more of my daughter with you practically next door, Molly,” she said with a laugh. “She works too hard.”

Molly was aware that, like so many single mothers, Trisha needed every cent she could scrape together to support herself and her eight-year-old son, Danny, even though the two of them lived rent-free in one of Della’s houses several blocks over. The boy’s father sent support checks only when the ponies were running well. Still, Trisha had that great kid, which was more than Molly had wound up with from her disastrous marriage.

But she wasn’t going to dwell on that today. Ripping out the check, she handed it to Mrs. Bailey. “I’ll definitely have Trisha and Danny over as soon as I get settled. I can move some boxes in tonight and the rest tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

Della held out a small ring with two keys on it. “It’s yours, honey.” She turned and took the money from the tall man as well and handed him his keys. “I’ll check out your references and if everything’s okay, I’ll have your lease ready tomorrow. Oh, wait. You said you’d prefer to rent month-to-month, right?”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve paid you for three months in advance, the first two and the last month’s deposit.”

“That’s fine.” They walked out onto the porch overlooking the fenced backyard.

Molly’s gaze took in the grassy area with a clothesline stretched between two poles and a small shed at the back. “I’d like to plant a garden at the far end, if you wouldn’t mind. Maybe some flowers. I’ve lived on the third floor of an apartment building for three years and I’ve really missed having a yard.”

“You’re welcome to garden, if you like,” Della said, heading for the stairs.

“One more thing,” Devin said, aware that his new landlady was anxious to get going. “I forgot to mention that I have a dog, a German shepherd, yard trained. Naturally, I’ll pick up after him, even cut the grass. King’s a good watchdog, as well. Hope that’s okay?”

“I like dogs,” Della said, “as long as they’re well behaved.” She heard a car pull into her driveway next door and her friend’s horn honking. “You two can work things out between you about sharing the yard. Molly, I’ll have your lease ready for you to sign tomorrow. Trash pickup’s Friday and cans are in the back shed. I’ve got to run. See you later.” One hand adjusting her glasses, the other on the railing, Della made her way down the stairs.

Devin turned to Molly Shipman and saw she was frowning. Again. Much as she had been throughout their tour. He wondered what was bothering her.

A dog, Molly thought. A big dog. She liked animals well enough, though she preferred smaller breeds. “German shepherds are large and sort of scary. I have a Brownie troop, eight six-year-old girls. We meet once a week at my home and do projects.” Her sister had talked her into being a leader awhile back and Molly had to admit she enjoyed working with the girls. But she couldn’t afford to be sued by a parent over a dog bite. “I’d hoped to be able to use the yard for some meetings.”

Once a week? Just what he needed, Devin thought. He knew from long experience that kids were noisy, accident prone and could create messes in minutes. There went his nice quiet neighborhood. However the apartment was just right and he was tired of looking. He tried a reassuring tone. “King’s good with kids. He’s friendly, even gentle. But I’ll keep him inside with me on the days you need the yard for your projects.” As for the garden, he didn’t add that King would probably eat the petunias and dig up her vegetables.

What could she say in the face of such a reasonable attitude? Truth be known, it wasn’t the dog that had Molly concerned, but rather his owner. The way those green eyes looked at her, looked into her, as if trying to read her thoughts. She’d just have to avoid him, that’s all. With her work schedule and outside projects, that wouldn’t be so difficult.

“All right, I’ll hold you to that.” Another glance at her watch had her digging out her keys. Hank Thompson, the café’s owner, frowned on his people being late. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.” She flashed a brief, distracted smile and skipped down the stairs, heading for her car.

Devin leaned back against the porch railing and watched her. Did he really want to live practically on top of such an attractive woman? Molly Shipman, with that head of shiny blond hair, eyes the blue-green of the sea on a cloudless summer day and a body even her plain white blouse and black slacks couldn’t disguise would be an unwelcome distraction.

He needed the place he lived and worked in to be a quiet haven with no diversions or temptations. Molly wasn’t overtly tempting, but he’d always been drawn more to the subtle than the obvious. Her staid costume and offhand manner had him more interested than if she’d been wearing something skintight and acting flirtatious. Or was his interest centered in the fact that he’d been single-minded about his work for so long, to the detriment of his social life?

Straightening, Devin breathed deeply and could still smell Molly’s scent, a light fragrance that suited her perfectly. In those big blue eyes, he’d spotted a keen intelligence, a definite wariness and something else. Something shadowy where a vague sadness lingered. It would be challenging to see if he could discover more.

Perhaps having an attractive woman one deck below wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He could ask her up for dinner, conversation, a little touchy-feely tension reliever. Maybe he could…

Annoyed with his thoughts, Devin ran a hand through his hair and frowned. He was here to work, not play. His deadline was a mere three months from now. He’d best keep that in mind.

He locked the door and left the porch.

Molly arrived at the Pan Handle Café and noticed from the big clock above the counter that she had five minutes to spare. She caught Trisha’s eye and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, indicating she’d gotten the rental. Trisha winked her acknowledgement before lowering the heavy tray and turning to serve her customers.

Molly waved at Hank at the cash register, greeted the short-order cook by name and walked on past the ladies’ room to the back locker area. The air-conditioning was set on high, but with all the heat from the kitchen, it was fairly warm inside most of the time. Quickly, she stashed her bag and fixed herself a tall iced tea with lemon. It was too hot for coffee some mornings. She sipped it slowly, glad that the breakfast rush hour was tapering off.

She was aware that many people looked down on waitressing, but as far as Molly was concerned, it was honest work that she enjoyed and was good at, and the tips weren’t bad. The Pan Handle was located in a small strip mall that bordered an enclave of older, well-kept homes peopled mostly by young families and year-round retirees who kept the ten booths along the windows, the six counter stools and the eight tables filled almost constantly. Word-of-mouth also brought tourists to the café with its down-home cooking and reasonable prices. And then there were the truckers who’d first discovered Hank’s place. Molly enjoyed the diverse clientele.

Of course, that didn’t mean she intended to spend the rest of her life waitressing. The people she worked with were aware that she was taking night classes, but only Hank knew that she’d attended the University of Arizona on a full scholarship and quit in her senior year before getting her degree. Foolishly starry-eyed, she’d rushed headlong into marriage. Four years later, divorced and on her own with no job skills to speak of despite years of schooling, she’d faced a frightening reality check. Although she’d had a variety of part-time jobs for spending money during her college days, she was poorly qualified for a steady full-time position.

After many long days of job hunting and being turned down mostly for a lack of experience, she’d stopped in at the Pan Handle for a cold drink and spotted the Help Wanted sign. Her smile shaky, she’d told Hank that she’d never waitressed, but she was a quick study and she badly needed a job. He’d hired her on the spot, earning a permanent place on her grateful list.

Of course, Molly worked hard and earned every cent she made. In three years, she was only two courses shy of enough accounting credits to take the state CPA exam. Dreams of her own company, her own business, kept her going through all the hours on her feet serving others and the late evenings she did typing, charging by the page. When that day came, she’d set up her office, hire a staff, eventually get a reliable car and maybe even a small house of her own.

Molly Shipman had vowed she’d never be beholden to anyone for anything ever again.

“So, you moving in soon?” Trisha asked, joining her after turning in two orders.

“I’ve got the weekend off.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thanks for telling me about your mom’s vacancy. It’s perfect. Another hour and it would’ve been snatched up.” As she’d driven away from the duplex, a young couple had stopped their car, eyeing the sign Mrs. Bailey hadn’t bothered to remove and taking down the phone number. “I owe you.”

“I’ll settle for a cold drink. It’s been a madhouse in here since six.” Trisha bent to rub her sore calves.

Molly poured the drink, adding two sugars for energy the way Trisha preferred her tea. “Tell Danny the living room has a cable TV hookup for when he stays over.” A tall, slim brunette, Trisha was outgoing and dated a lot, often leaving her son with Molly evenings when her mother was unable to keep him. Molly had taught Danny to play chess and now he was beating her regularly.

“Will do. He’ll be thrilled.” Trisha took a long swallow, then left to check on her orders.

Time she got to work. Setting aside her glass, Molly put on a bright smile and walked to the front to greet an older couple who were regulars.

Hank’s gaze slid to Molly Shipman and his face relaxed. Of his three full-time waitresses, it was Molly who pleased him most. He enjoyed just looking at her. He watched now as she delivered an order to an older couple, then went to pour coffee all around for three truckers in a front booth. He saw their eyes wander over her slender frame, frankly admiring, boldly appraising. She laughed at something one of them said, then politely dodged their comments and one wandering hand as she wrote up their order. Little did they realize that no matter what they said or did, Molly wasn’t buying.

Unlike Trisha who flirted outrageously and dated frequently, in three years, Hank had never seen one customer get to first base with Molly. Oh, she was friendly to everyone, some more than others, but there it ended. She always went home alone and her phone number was unlisted. Hank didn’t know the story of her marriage or the reason for her divorce, but he figured she had to have had a rough time. Never once did she speak of those years. Divorced himself, he understood, but at nearly fifty, it wasn’t so surprising that he didn’t want another go around. But Molly was only twenty-eight, too young to want to be alone.

If only he was a little younger, Hank thought uncharacteristically dreamy. Then the scowl returned and he called himself a fool. What would a lovely young woman want with a slightly pudgy guy with thinning hair and a bad hip? He’d better keep such thoughts to himself if he wanted to keep Molly as a friend and an employee.

Molly stepped up to the service counter and raised a questioning brow. “You okay, Hank?” she asked, wondering at his grimace as she handed him her order slip. Hank was usually easygoing.

“Hector’s going to be late,” he complained, blaming his mood on that.

“Oh. If you need me to stay longer…”

That was Molly, always willing to help out, but he couldn’t let her do that. “Nah, we’ll manage. I hear you’re moving.”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“I’ll get my nephew to help. We’ll go to your place with the truck. Is seven good?”

He’d known she’d been looking and had offered to help her move in some time ago. Still she hesitated, hating to accept favors and remembering that Hank had a bad hip. “Listen, Hank, you don’t have to…”

“That’s right, I don’t. I want to. Seven?”

She gave him a grateful smile. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Then thanks.” The bell over the door rang out. Molly swung around and waited for the new arrivals to seat themselves before going over with menus.

Carefully placing the last box in Bessie’s trunk, Molly closed the lid and paused to gather her shower-damp hair into a ponytail. Only April and already the daily highs were in the eighties, quickly approaching ninety, with four or five more months of summer ahead. You had to love heat to live in Arizona, she thought, settling behind the wheel. Fortunately, she did. She’d liked the weather in Colorado, too. She’d left for other more important reasons.

The car was loaded—trunk, backseat and even the passenger side—with boxes and bags containing nearly everything from her cupboards. If she could get her new kitchen in order tonight, she’d be ahead of the game, leaving tomorrow free to figure out furniture placement. Not that she had that much, just the necessities and a few luxuries that she’d managed to purchase over the last three years. But at least it was all hers.

She’d left her ex’s house without any of the lovely wedding gifts that her mother and sister had insisted were half hers. She’d taken not a plate nor pot nor pan from the kitchen, not a favorite photo or designer suit or piece of jewelry. Only her own things, though not the expensive clothes and jewelry Lee had gifted her with. She’d wanted no reminders of him or his marvelous family.

Even with no tangible evidence of her four-year marriage in the small apartment she’d moved into, it had been many months before she’d been able to sleep through the night without waking and remembering. Many long weeks when Lee’s hurtful words kept replaying in her head like a broken record spewing out a litany of her shortcomings. Endless days when she’d had to force herself to quit hiding and leave her small sanctuary to look for work. Though Lee had never laid a hand on her, she’d felt beaten up and beaten down.

But that was then and this was now, Molly thought, starting up old Bessie and moving out into traffic. She was beginning a new chapter in her life, a new place to live and, hopefully in about a year, more meaningful work that would lead to a bright future. She’d read somewhere that you can handle anything as long as you know one day it’ll end. That thought kept her going.

The sky over the McDowell Mountains was streaked with orange and purple in preparation for one of Arizona’s spectacular sunsets. Tonight Molly scarcely noticed as she flipped on the radio and heard a bluesy voice sing about moving on. She laughed out loud. Yes, that’s exactly what she was doing, and it felt good.

She was humming along when she turned into her new driveway and saw that her neighbor’s Harley was parked alongside the backyard fence. And there, guarding the gate, his black eyes on her and his ears on alert, was the biggest German shepherd she’d ever seen.

Slowly, Molly got out of her car, wondering if he could jump that fence, wondering how fast she could run after a long day on her feet. He was beautiful, she couldn’t help thinking, but dangerous-looking. His coat was mostly tan with black markings and he hadn’t moved a scant inch, just stood watching her. Drawing in a deep breath, Molly decided she’d best make friends with him if they were to share a yard. Determined not to show any fear, she walked closer.

“Better let me introduce you,” Devin said, coming down the back stairs. “If you’re with me, King knows you’re okay.”

“Fine,” Molly said, never taking her eyes from the dog.

Devin paused. “You know much about dogs?”

“I’ve never owned one, if that’s what you mean.”

He walked over to where she’d stopped. “Some dogs, especially trained guard dogs, consider eye contact to be an act of aggression.”

“Oh.” Molly’s eyes shifted to his face. “I didn’t know that.”

“Many people don’t. Even a smile can be a problem because when dogs go on the attack, they bare their teeth. So they sometimes mistake a smile where teeth are showing as a challenge.”

“I see.” She glanced over at the dog whose stance seemed more relaxed since Devin’s arrival. She avoided his eyes. “I thought you said he was friendly, even gentle.”

“He is, once he gets to know you. Let me take you over and he’ll know you’re a friend.”

Molly walked with him, her gaze fixed on the fence rather than the animal she didn’t want to give the wrong signals to. At the gate, she felt Devin stop and move close behind her. He took her hand in his, then stretched toward the big dog.

“Hey, King,” Devin said in a firm voice. “Meet Molly, our new neighbor.” He drew Molly’s hand closer to King, allowing the dog to get familiar with her scent.

A scent that seemed oddly familiar to him already. She’d changed into denim shorts and a loose-fitting black shirt. Her bare legs were long and shapely. Devin felt his pulse stumble.

Molly’s breath backed up in her throat, whether from nervousness about the dog or because the man she’d met mere hours ago was all but wrapped around her. Her head only came to his chin. He was so tall, exuding a sense of power, yet making her feel oddly protected.

She watched the big animal sniff her hand, glance up at her, then lick his owner’s hand once with his pink tongue. After a moment, he touched his wet nose to Molly’s thumb. “Does this mean we’re friends?” she asked, wondering if everyone who came to visit her would have to go through this ritual before being accepted.

“I think he likes you,” Devin said, his voice a little husky. His face was almost in her hair, as he drew in a deep breath. He could smell shampoo and bath powder. “Did you just shower?”

The question surprised her. “Wouldn’t you, after eight hours slinging hash, so to speak? First thing I do after every shift is strip and shower.” Molly’s eyes grew round as her words echoed in her head. Why on earth did she blurt out every thought so graphically?

Devin’s fertile imagination pictured the shower scene perfectly. He glanced down at her small hand resting in his. He found himself not wanting to let go of her.

Molly felt her fingers grow damp with nerves. It had been years since she’d allowed a man to get this close. “How long must we stand here like this?” Molly asked, looking over her shoulder at him, a smile appearing at the absurdity of the situation.

“Two hours, three at the most.” He grinned, squeezed her hand and reluctantly let go.

“Well, that was fun,” Molly said to cover her embarrassment, “but I’ve got boxes to unpack.”

“I’ll help you,” he offered, walking with her to the car.

“Thanks, but I can manage just fine.”

Stubborn, independent and beautiful, Devin decided. She’d soon learn he could be stubborn, too. As soon as she opened the trunk, he lifted out what he guessed was the heaviest box.

“I told you…”

“Yeah, I know. Look, you’ve put in an eight-hour day, right? Mrs. Bailey tells me you’re a waitress and I know that’s hard work. I’ve done my share of slinging hash for tips and minimum wage. There are no strings attached if I haul in a few boxes for you, honest.” Holding the heavy container, he waited while she studied his face. He could almost see the wheels turning while she tried to figure out whether or not to believe him.

Molly didn’t want to set a precedent on the first day sharing this house with him, allowing him to think she was some helpless female who’d be ever so grateful for his heavy-handed help. She’d let him, this time, but she’d set some ground rules.

“What else did Mrs. Bailey tell you about me?” she asked, picking up a second box and heading for the back door. Maybe she’d have to have a little chat with her landlady about being less than pleased at being Topic A with her other tenants. Molly hadn’t been crazy about living in the large three-story apartment complex she was vacating, but at least a person could remain anonymous there if she wished. And she definitely wished.

Devin waited until she unlocked the door, then followed her into the kitchen and set the box on the counter where she indicated. “Not much, just that you waitressed at the Pan Handle with her daughter. Is the food good there?”

He was pretty adept at controlling the conversation, she decided. “Since I eat more than half my meals there, I must think so.”

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” Devin answered, following her back out to the car.

Molly waited until every box, bundle and bag was inside her new kitchen before turning to him. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.” She turned aside and began measuring shelf paper she’d brought along, obviously dismissing him.

“Where do you want to stack these canned goods?” he asked, poking around in a sack.

He was either obtuse or being deliberately annoying. Molly stopped and drew in a deep, calming breath. She checked her watch, then looked up at him. “Look, I’ve been on the move since six this morning and it’s nearly eight. It’s been a long day and I really want to get this done tonight. So, if you don’t mind…”

“It’ll go much faster if we do it together. I moved my stuff in earlier and it takes forever if you work alone.” Devin wasn’t sure why he wanted to help her. Maybe it was because he was a nice guy. Or maybe it was because she looked dead on her feet and he knew how that felt. More likely it was because she attracted him and it had been a long while since anyone had.

Scissors in hand, Molly studied him. He wore a V-neck black T-shirt and tan shorts, a generous sprinkling of dark hair visible on his muscular legs and what she could see of his chest. She’d never been especially drawn to obviously virile-looking men. Why then did this one interest her despite her usual reluctance? “Are you always this insistent?”

Grinning, he shrugged. “Sometimes even more so.” Damn but he had a dynamite smile. He was wearing her down and she was too tired to argue. “Just my luck.” She indicated the long cupboard at the far end. “Cans in there, if you insist.”

Chalk up one for our side, Devin thought as he opened the pantry cupboard. “Any particular order? Want them alphabetized or arranged by category, like fruits one side, vegetables opposite?”

Though he had his back to her, Molly sent him an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be kidding? Do you honestly do that in your kitchen?”

Still smiling, he began unpacking cans. “Yeah, but it’s real easy at my place. I have two cans of soup and one box of microwave popcorn.” He studied the can he held. “Spaghetti sauce. Funny, I’d have bet you made your own sauce from scratch.” His mother always had, even while raising six kids and working full-time.

Carefully, Molly stretched to fit the shelf paper she’d cut in place. “Fast and easy, that’s my style. Actually, I’ve never mastered the fine art of cooking. Growing up, my mom cooked, then at college, our landlady was a terrific cook.” And when she’d married Lee, he’d tasted one or two of her efforts and hired a cook, but she decided not to mention that. “Today, with all the shortcuts available, you can eat really well and not know how to do much besides read the labels.”

He glanced over, taking in those incredibly long, sleek legs. “Yeah, but I thought all women knew how to cook, like it was in the genes or something.”

“Sorry to explode that little myth.”

Devin finished emptying one sack and went searching for another from where they were stacked on the floor while Molly went to work on the second shelf.

“Where in California are you from?” she asked. All right, so she was a little curious about him.

“The L.A. area.” He unloaded boxes of crackers, pancake mix, pasta. “How about you? Are you a native? It seems everyone I talk to in Arizona was born somewhere else.”

“Not me. Born and raised in Phoenix.”

“Never lived anywhere else?” He found that hard to believe. She didn’t look small-town and, by Los Angeles standards, Phoenix was almost backwoods.

“I lived in Tucson during my college years. And, for a while, in Colorado.”

He caught the change in her tone at the mention of Colorado, the reluctance. “Not a happy time?”

Her head swiveled to him. He was too quick, a man who actually listened, not just to words but to voice inflections. It was unnerving. “No, it wasn’t.”

Molly was grateful that he apparently decided to let that alone. They worked in silence for awhile, until she finished papering the shelves and bent to retrieve the dishes she’d carefully wrapped last night. She stretched to reach the top shelf while her sore muscles protested, but she ignored them, as usual. When there was work to be done, Molly just did it.

She’d almost forgotten he was there when he spoke up. “Are you just off a divorce?”

Surprise and irritation warred for dominance in her blue eyes. “What makes you ask that?”

Devin shrugged. “You’re skittish, kind of secretive, touchy. And you have a sad expression around your eyes when you think no one’s watching you.”

Stopping with a dinner platter in her hand, Molly frowned. “What are you, a psychiatrist?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “Worse. I’m a writer.”

“Figures. Well, save your psychoanalysis for your characters.”

“I’m right then. You’ve just gone through a bad divorce.”

“Your vibes are a little off. It’s been three years.”

“Whoa! Three years and you’re still so testy. Must have been bad.”

Molly had had enough. “Let’s turn the tables here. What about you? Are you married? Have you ever been? Divorced? Children? How is it that you’re probably at least thirty and still renting furnished apartments? Bad relationships or just bad judgment? And how do you enjoy the third degree?” Letting out a whoosh of air, she ran out of steam. Turning aside and brushing back a lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, she set the platter on the counter with unsteady hands. “Oh, Lord. I’m sorry. I have no right to go on the attack. I hardly know you. I must be really tired.” One hand braced on the counter, she stood with her eyes downcast.

He stepped in front of her. “It’s all right. I goaded you and I deserved your tirade. I apologize. Occupational hazard. I have this insatiable need to know everything about everyone I meet. Gets me into a lot of trouble, as you can see.”

She still hadn’t looked up, so he went on. “To answer your questions, I’m not married, never have been, and no children. I’m thirty-three and I left California mostly because I have this big, overwhelming family and I need a quiet place so I can write without interruptions. I’ve had a few relationships, one in particular that lasted quite awhile, but when she realized I meant what I said when I told her I didn’t want the house, the picket fence or the two-point-five children she had in mind, we parted quite amiably. Bad judgment? Yeah, I’m guilty of that occasionally, but who isn’t?”

“Certainly not me,” she said so softly he had to move closer to hear the words.

Devin dared to reach up and touch her chin, forcing her to face him. “I’m sorry if I was out of line, Molly. Don’t be angry, please.” The word fragile came to mind. He hadn’t figured under all that bright energy that she’d be fragile.

His eyes were the color of jade tonight in the glare of the overhead kitchen light. So deep a green they were almost black. Maybe she was being taken in, but they also seemed sincere. “I’m not angry, just tired. Let’s forget it.”

Turning to gaze about the kitchen, Molly saw that only two boxes of dishes remained unpacked on the floor. “I think it’s time to call it a night. I’ll get to the rest tomorrow.” She walked over and picked up her canvas handbag, then snapped off the overhead light.

Standing in the moonlight on the back porch, she locked the door, then made a mistake. She looked up at him again and their eyes collided and held. Molly saw far more than she wanted to see in those green depths.

Slowly, Devin trailed a fingertip along the silk of her cheek and saw the pulse in her throat leap. “You’re going to be a distraction I don’t need, Molly Shipman.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t want to get involved with you, with anyone. I want you to ignore me as I plan to ignore you.” She stepped away and didn’t look back. “Good night.”

Walking to her car, Molly wondered if she had the fortitude to stick to her guns.

Chapter Two

Devin turned off his computer with a nod of satisfaction and leaned back. It was working just fine, thank goodness. His computer was the only item he’d carried up the stairs and into his spare room with the same care he might have shown delicate bone china, if he had any. In a way, computers were just as fragile. Unexpected jarrings or, God forbid, a near-drop and all that intricate wiring inside could cause the loss of a great deal of important data. Whole files could be erased or be extremely difficult to retrieve.

With all the many moves in his travels, fortunately he’d never had a problem. But he’d heard horror stories about systems crashing and motherboards that needed replacing after relocation. So he babied his equipment as if his livelihood depended on each and every component part. Because it did.

Stepping back, Devin gazed around his new office. The computer desk was in place along with his lucky chair, a somewhat beat-up old leather swivel that he’d sat in to pound out his first fiction pieces back when he was writing short stories on an ancient portable Smith-Corona. He had a sleek electric typewriter now as backup on the long table that also held his printer, copier and fax machine. Amazing the machinery a person had to have to write today. He’d read that Ernest Hemingway had carted an old portable Underwood all over Europe and done fairly well on it. But this was the nineties.

Devin strolled over to his bookcase filled to overflowing with reference material, books dating back to his college days and a shelf of well-read paperbacks he couldn’t seem to give up. With a sense of awe that was still very present in him, he reached to the top shelf and picked up his first published book, Murder at Oak Creek Canyon. Never had he seen anything more beautiful than his name above the title or his words and thoughts inside.

For as far back as he could recall, Devin Gray had wanted to write. And he had—essays, a journal, stories, even some very bad poetry—for his eyes only. Then, as a student at the University of Southern California, he’d met a professor who’d recognized his talent and encouraged him. In the beginning, he’d written short stories, nine his first year after graduation as he’d traveled all over the southwest, working all sorts of odd jobs to pay for rent and food. After two years, they’d finally begun selling. The income wasn’t much but the euphoria of seeing his name in print kept him going.

Devin lovingly ran his hands over the dust jacket. He’d kept moving, traveling, learning, researching. A hundred short stories later, he decided to try a novel. His love of the west combined with his fascination with mysteries led him to concentrate on western mysteries, which only a handful of authors were writing at the time.

He’d hired an agent who’d begun submitting his work to various publishers. It had taken three years—three long, hard years—before his first book sold. The following year, he’d published the second just as the first was published in paperback. Now, at long last, he was on his way, contracted for two more for more money than he’d dreamed possible.

Replacing the book alongside his second novel, Devin anchored them between two brass owl bookends, gifts from his father. He strolled into his living room, stopping to look out the large double windows. He could see Camelback Mountain in the near distance, serene as always under a clear, sunny sky. He’d visited many parts of Arizona in his travels, and fallen in love with the redrock country he used as the backdrop for some of his books.

Recently, when he’d decided it was time to leave the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles for a variety of reasons, he’d picked Scottsdale on the eastern border of Phoenix. Because it was small enough, western yet hardly provincial, classy yet homey. And it was only an hour’s flight to visit his family if he got the urge.

Here he could live quietly with a minimum of interruptions and only an occasional pang of guilt for not being at the beck and call of his huge clan. Devin loved his parents and five siblings and their spouses and his eleven nieces and nephews. But there was total bedlam when all the Grays got together, which was often enough to distract him big-time. They all seemed to thrive on chaos where he preferred quiet solitude. He’d decided to rent for a while and see if he liked the area well enough to build his dream house here. Already Scottsdale felt like home.

The almost constant sun rose early these days, and he’d been up with it, arranging his television set across from another old favorite, a stretch-back leather lounger. He’d hooked up his stereo in his bedroom and unpacked a few family pictures he set out in every apartment he’d ever occupied. Devin took a moment to study one framed photo of the entire clan taken at his parents’ anniversary party last year. There was no denying the Grays, for they all resembled their father with his black hair, green eyes and that prominent cleft in a square chin.

His mother was a lovely woman, but not one of her six offspring had inherited her blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes. Yet she’d been the guiding force of the family, working long hours alongside her husband at the family hardware store, making sure it succeeded, then grew from one store to two, then three and finally six. She’d run the household of six children strictly, relying heavily on the help of her eldest, Devin. She’d piled a lot of responsibility on him at an early age and he’d come through, always there for household chores, baby-sitting, often discipline. Even attending college, he’d lived at home because the family had needed him. Perhaps that was why he’d escaped into travel soon after graduation.

It had felt good, being on his own. Yet even on his travels, he’d been constantly called home for this emergency or that disaster where his help was needed. When he’d settled down in an apartment clear across town, they’d taken to inviting him over or dropping in constantly, hanging on the guilt if he begged off. He’d felt hounded, smothered. He’d simply had to get away.

At the moment, he didn’t even have a phone, though they’d promised him service Monday. He’d put in an address change at the post office, but he was going to guard that information for awhile. He wouldn’t put it past several members of his family to come charging over to check out his new digs. An unmarried son, no matter what age, was always fair game.

Through the window, he saw Molly’s Honda turn into the drive followed by a truck stacked high with furniture. Molly pulled up close to the back door, then quickly jumped out and walked over to the two men getting out of the pickup. One was tall and thin, young enough to still be in his teens, wearing a baseball cap backward. The other was middle-aged and balding with the start of a pot belly. Quickly the three of them began unloading furniture.

Should he go down and offer to help? Devin wondered. Last night, he’d helped her in the kitchen because he was curious about her more than anything else. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want his assistance, as she probably would again if he went down. If solitude was what he wanted, if noninvolvement was what he’d decided on, if being left alone to do his work was his primary goal, then he’d best stay away. After all, she had two guys to give her a hand.

Who were they? he wondered idly. People she’d hired? Relatives? Friends? Surely Molly wasn’t romantically involved with either. He watched as the teenager’s eyes followed her as she reached into the truck and hauled out a lamp. Devin couldn’t blame the kid. She was wearing another loose cotton shirt over jeans and white canvas shoes. Her face was free of makeup and her hair was pulled back and anchored with some sort of plastic gizmo. She looked about sixteen. Devin saw her smile at the boy before walking away and noticed the teenager’s face redden. Poor kid had a crush on her.

Stepping back, Devin decided he could spend his hours more gainfully than watching his neighbor move in. He walked into his office, pulled out his chair and stared at the computer. From somewhere below, he heard a laugh drift up. Female, smoky, mellow.

What the hell! They’d finish faster with another pair of hands. He started for the stairs.

Devin saw that the two guys were in the pickup untying a dresser before unloading it. “Hi. I thought you could use a hand.”

The kid wearing the baseball cap turned toward him. “Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.” He glanced over at his uncle.

Hank glanced at the newcomer. “We can handle it, but thanks.”

Real friendly, Devin thought. “I’m a neighbor,” he said by way of explanation.

“Uh-huh.” Hank concentrated on untying a snagged knot, obviously hoping the man would go away.

Annoyed, Devin picked up a kitchen chair that was standing alongside the truck and carried it onto the porch. The screen door had been taken off the hinges and placed off to the side. Giving a quick warning knock on the doorjamb, he walked in and spotted Molly in the kitchen. He strolled closer and saw she was setting up a small bowl that held an assortment of colorful stones, a hunk of fern and a blue fish nervously swimming around. “Hey, there,” he said, not wanting to startle her.

Wiping off the bowl, she looked up. “Hey, yourself. Meet Jo-Jo, my beta fighting fish. My niece named him.”

Devin set the chair down and leaned over for a closer look. “He doesn’t look very scary like a fighter should.”

“He would if you were another fish. These little guys are so mean you can’t put more than one in a bowl or they’ll kill each other.” She scooted the bowl into the far corner of the kitchen counter and stood admiring him.

“So you got him for protection, eh?”

She smiled at that. “Actually, I got him because I wanted something alive in the house…” She waved toward the other side of the room. “…other than my plants.”

She did have plants, Devin thought, gazing at two hanging baskets, a tall ficus in a red pot and several small containers along the two windowsills containing African violets. “They must keep you busy watering and trimming.” He didn’t have a plant or a fish at his place. Only his dog who right this minute was whining in the fenced yard wanting to inspect the men unloading the truck.

Devin set the chair he’d carried in next to a white pine table, noticing in the sunlight that poured in through the windows that she had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, something he hadn’t seen last night. They made her look even younger. “I came down to see if you needed another pair of hands.”

“Molly,” came a gruff voice from the open front doorway, “you wanna come show us where you want this dresser?” The burly older man was sweating profusely and staring at Devin none too friendly-like.

“Sure, Hank.” She hurried ahead of the men, moving into the bedroom and pointing to the wall where she’d decided her dresser would go. Stepping aside, she waited until they’d set down the heavy piece, Hank grunting with the effort. “That’s perfect. Thanks.”

Wiping his broad forehead with a soggy handkerchief, Hank made his way back to the living room. “We’re going back for the living room stuff. You coming, Molly, or are you staying here?” His eyes shifted to Devin as if reluctant to leave her here with him.

“If you don’t need me, I think I’ll stay and make up the bed and put things away.” She noticed Devin standing in the archway. “Devin, this is Hank Thompson, the owner of the Pan Handle, and this is his nephew, Jerry. They volunteered to move me. Hank, this is…”

“Yeah, I know, your upstairs neighbor. We met.” Wondering why this guy was so curt with him, Devin decided to give it one more shot. “You sure I can’t help? I’d be glad to go along.” He tried a smile. “I’ve got a strong back.”

“We’ve got things under control. Be back soon, Molly.” Stuffing his kerchief into his back pocket, Hank followed his nephew outside.

Frowning, Molly watched them get into the truck. “That was a little rude,” she commented softly, wondering why her boss was being so unfriendly. “Hank’s usually not like that.”

“Maybe we were enemies in another life.”

“He’s a little protective of his girls, as he calls the three waitresses who work for him.” Molly checked several boxes on the floor, searching for the one filled with linens.

Or maybe good old Hank had designs on Molly himself and wanted to issue a warning. “Is he married?”

“Divorced. The Pan Handle seems to attract divorced people. Every one of us except Hector, the evening shift cook.” Hoisting the box, she headed for the bedroom.

Curiosity had Devin following her. “Do you and Hank…you know…date?” The man surely was acting territorial. Of course, it was none of his business.

Molly removed the mattress pad from the box and tossed it onto the bed before raising her eyes to Devin’s face. Studying him, she recognized that unmistakable male-female interest in his eyes that she’d become aware of last night on the back porch, and wondered what to do about it. She didn’t want to be as rude as Hank, but that sort of thing could become a problem, living so close as they would be. And it had absolutely nowhere to go. Perhaps it would be kinder to lay it all out for him once and for all.

“No. I don’t date Hank. He’s a good friend and old enough to be my father. I don’t date anyone else, either, for that matter.” She waited for the disbelief, the inevitable questions. She’d been down this road before.

Moving to the opposite side of the bed, Devin automatically grabbed one end of the mattress pad and began pulling it into place. “You don’t date anyone? I guess your ex really did a number on you.”

Intent on making him see, Molly adjusted her side of the pad to fit. “Actually, my decision has little to do with him.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but close enough. “I simply don’t have time. My work at the café, including quite a bit of overtime some weeks, keeps me very busy. I take night classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Arizona State, except the summer session. During tax season, I work part-time for a CPA. With all that, I scarcely have time to get in six hours of sleep, much less a date.” She reached for the pale-peach fitted bottom sheet, wondering why she was bothering to explain herself to this stranger.

Maybe because he was so damn persistent. Grabbing his side of the sheet, Devin bent to maneuver it into the upper corner. “C’mon, Molly. Everyone needs a little R-and-R now and again. Haven’t you heard about all work and no play making Jack—or Jill—very dull?”

Why was it that men thought that their mere presence in a woman’s life would change dull to unbearably exciting? “I take time for myself. I have friends, two in particular, former college roommates, and Trisha. I go shopping with my mother, have an occasional dinner out with my sister, take my niece to the movies. Oh, and sometimes I baby-sit Trisha’s little boy when she goes out. I watch television, read, garden. I think my life’s pretty full.” She sent him a challenging look.

He didn’t let her down. “Were you always so reclusive, content with work, family, friends and TV? Don’t you get lonely for a one-on-one with a man? You probably dated a lot before your marriage. You had to have. I mean, a woman like you…”

Molly’s head jerked up from securing her corner. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”

Devin straightened, wondering why she was so defensive. “I mean a woman who’s very attractive and obviously intelligent. Why would you choose to spend all your free time with your mother, old college friends and a couple of kids?”

She had dated a lot in college and some after she’d first walked away from Lee. The problem was that by the second date, indeed if they’d waited that long, they’d been all hands and pressure and a wet, seeking mouth. So she’d stopped dating, stopped hoping there was someone out there who could care for her for all the right reasons, a mature man who was his own person. One who could love a flawed woman with a trampled heart.

After three years, she’d about convinced herself that no such man existed, and she didn’t want the other kind.

“It’s just easier, that’s all.” She picked up the top sheet and shook it out, then realized what she was doing. She was making up her bed with a near stranger, an intimate act if there ever was one.

Molly drew in a deep breath. “Listen, I can do this myself. Don’t you have some work to do?” Maybe rude was all he understood.

He’d watched the play of emotions revealed so clearly on her transparent face. “You really have a great deal of trouble accepting help, don’t you?”

Their conversation was exasperating her. “When I need help, truly need it, I’ll ask. But I’ve been making beds alone for years. Don’t you have a book you need to write, or is this part of your research?”

He smiled at that. “Are you worried you’ll wind up in one of my books?”

“Not really.” She began spreading out the top sheet. “My life is too dull to interest anyone.”

Despite her admonitions, he pitched in on his side of the bed. “I doubt that, not if someone were to dig deep enough. Readers like to read about people’s good points and bad. Genuine people, warts and all.”

“I have as many warts as a pondful of frogs.”

“Toads.”

“What?” She reached for two pillows, then their cases.

“Toads have warts, not frogs.”

“I stand corrected, since you’re the writer. Did you major in English or journalism or American Literature? How does one become a writer?” All right, so he was interesting to talk with. And, Molly had to admit, she had few adult conversations that didn’t center around a menu.

“I majored in Business Administration at my father’s insistence since he was paying the tab. But I minored in English and took all the lit courses I could squeeze in.” He stuffed the fluffy pillow into the case, struggling to get it to fit. “As to how someone becomes a writer, I think it’s something some people just have to do because they have these stories in their head they need to get out. And because they’re unable to fathom holding down a structured job, day after day, doing the same thing over and over. Like my parents did. Or rather still do.”

“What do they do?”

“They’re in hardware. Own and operate six stores in the L.A. area. They’ve worked twelve-hour days seven days a week as long as I can remember.”

“So it’s the long hours you want to avoid and the monotony?”

“Not even that.” He caught his half of the lightweight cotton blanket she spilled onto the bed. “Apparently they love what they do. Different strokes for different folks, as they say. I like to set my own hours. Sometimes I write half the night and sleep all day. Some weeks I work every day, other weeks only three days. Depends on how the book’s going and how close my deadline is. I like the freedom of making my own choices without punching a time clock.” Finished, he straightened, wondering if in stating his preferences, he’d offended her since waitressing was as structured as working in a hardware store.

Stopping to gaze out the window, Molly sighed. “I understand perfectly and I couldn’t agree more.”

Devin walked over to her side of the bed. “Tell me why.”

As Molly turned to face him, they both heard the toot-toot of Hank’s truck horn. “I’ve got to go.”

He touched her arm. “Later, maybe?”

“Maybe.” She walked around him, needing to go outside. Hank wasn’t in the best of moods and she didn’t want to upset him. She also didn’t want to reveal any more about herself right now. Devin Gray seemed able to knock aside her usual defenses and get her to talk about herself far more than usual.

Interesting, Devin thought as he walked toward the back door. He decided to go back upstairs so old Hank wouldn’t get his nose any further out of joint. Besides, he’d discovered that he and Molly Shipman had more in common than he’d thought.

Worth pursuing, he decided as he poured himself a cold drink in his kitchen. Definitely worth pursuing.

It was two o’clock by the time the last of her things had been brought over and unloaded. A grateful Molly opened two cold drinks and handed them to her helpers. “You can’t know how much I appreciate all you’ve both done, guys.”

“No thanks necessary,” Hank answered for both of them before tilting his head back for a long swallow.

Molly couldn’t help noticing how her employer’s mood had brightened after he became aware that Devin had left. She still couldn’t figure out why Hank had been borderline rude. Walking out to the truck with the two of them, she decided there was no point in bringing up Devin’s name.

She smiled at Hank. “Now I’ve got the rest of today and all day tomorrow to put everything away so I’ll be ready for the early shift on Monday.”

Jerry moved closer to the fence enclosing the pool. “You get to use this?”

“Yes, it’s part of the rent. I’m sure Mrs. Bailey wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take a swim, Jerry,” she offered. “You, too, Hank. I know you’re both hot and tired.”

“Nah, we don’t have time,” Hank said, as he drained the soda can.

Molly watched a disappointed Jerry stroll back. She reached up to give him a quick hug. “Maybe some other time, then.” She saw the blush he couldn’t prevent before he turned away.

Hank’s narrowed gaze was on the upper apartment. “He give you any trouble, anything at all, you let me know, you hear?”

Molly almost smiled, but she knew that would hurt his feelings. Not only protective but almost fatherly. If her father had stuck around long enough, maybe he’d have felt the same way. “Why would you think Devin would give me trouble?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t trust him. He’s got shifty eyes.”

She knew he meant well, but at twenty-eight, Molly didn’t think she needed quite so much protection. Nevertheless, she owed Hank a lot. Stepping close, she put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his.

“Thanks, for everything.”

“Yeah, sure.” Somewhat embarrassed, he climbed behind the wheel.

Molly watched them drive off, then hurried back inside. She still had a lot to do to make that small apartment into a home.

From his upstairs window, Devin stood looking down. He’d seen Hank glare up at his place, guessing he’d then issued a warning to Molly about him. Over what, he couldn’t imagine. Apparently it hadn’t bothered her for she’d given Hank a big fat hug.

Stepping back, he stuck his hands in his pockets, annoyed with himself. Why should he care who Molly Shipman hugged? To be fair, she’d hugged the kid, too. She’d stiffened each time he’d touched her yesterday, but she hugged these two freely. Because she knew them well, he decided.

Maybe he’d get to know her well, too. He wouldn’t mind taking her in his arms, holding her close, feeling her heart beat against his. No denying it, she intrigued him. A man couldn’t spend every spare minute working. He’d operate on the reward system, he decided. He wouldn’t allow himself to check on Molly until he’d finished the chapter that was halfway completed. No guilt that way.

Whistling, he went back to his office.

Sunday morning just before ten, after putting in three less-than-fruitful hours on his novel that suddenly wasn’t going all that well, Devin decided to ride his Harley to the nearby strip mall and pick up the L.A. Times. He felt nostalgic about his hometown newspaper.

Jogging down the steps, he decided he’d pick up some bagels and coffee to see if he could tempt Molly with some breakfast. He’d be willing to bet she was so busy settling in that she’d forgotten to eat.

Leaning over the fence, he rubbed King’s head briefly, not feeling guilty about leaving him behind since he’d taken the dog on a half-hour run around six. As he unlocked his Harley, he saw a vintage blue Cadillac drive up, its horn honking away.

Two women got out, one on the chubby side and dark-haired, the other older and very blond, artificially so most likely, Devin thought. A curly-headed girl of five or six climbed out of the back and squealed Molly’s name. Molly stepped off the porch, looking surprised. “Samantha!” she cried.

The child hugged her aunt happily. “Mom says you’ve got cable TV now. Does that mean Disney, Aunt Molly?”

“You bet it does, sweetheart.” Molly smiled down at her pug-nosed niece.

“She probably hasn’t had time to get someone to hook it up yet, Sam,” the girl’s mother said.

“I hooked it up myself,” Molly informed her sister, then moved to take a large pan from her mother. “What’s all this, Mom?”

Gloria Shipman withdrew a box from the back seat before answering. “It’s roast chicken and vegetables. I just know you won’t take the time to eat right.” She held up the box. “And chocolate chip cookies.”

“Mmm,” Sam murmured. “We’re having a welcome-to-your-new-home party, Aunt Molly.”

“What a terrific idea.” Although she still had a long list of things that needed doing, Molly smiled her welcome. It was so seldom that the four of them got together, mostly due to her busy schedule. “Let’s go inside. I’ve got coffee made.”

Though he felt a little overwhelmed by four females all at one time, Devin couldn’t very well retrace his steps and sneak upstairs, nor could he continue to stand there staring. As unobtrusively as possible, he walked his Harley down the drive, giving a wide berth to the new arrivals.

But he wasn’t fast enough to escape the notice of an inquisitive little girl. “Wow, a motorcycle!” Samantha abandoned Molly and ran over. “Is it yours? Will you take me for a ride?”

“Sam!” The child’s mother hurried over to clamp her hands on her daughter’s shoulder. “What have I told you time and again about talking to strangers?”

Looking more mischievous than repentant, Sam was ready with an excuse. “He’s not really a stranger if he’s in Molly’s yard, is he?”

Aware of her precocious niece’s friendliness, Molly went over, still carrying the pan her mother brought. “Actually, he’s not, Lucy. He’s my neighbor, just moved in upstairs.” Quickly, she introduced her family.

Devin acknowledged each of them, noting that Molly didn’t resemble any of the three. Her sister and niece had dark hair and eyes, as did her mother despite the obvious fact that Gloria Shipman dyed her short hair even blonder than Molly’s. Both women were several inches shorter and full-figured whereas Molly could be described as tall and willowy. She must take after her father, he decided.

“It’s good to know you’ll be living here with my daughter,” Gloria Shipman said, her approving gaze roaming his tall frame. “Not that this is a bad neighborhood, but a woman alone can’t be too careful.” Her smile was just short of flirtatious.

She can’t help herself, Molly thought, for the umpteenth time. An attractive woman in her youth, Gloria still turned on the charm for every man she met, young or old, tall or short, rich or poor. She basked in the glow of attention from men as much as Molly turned from it.

Molly sent an apologetic look to Devin, but she needn’t have bothered. He’d read Gloria like a book.

“I agree, Mrs. Shipman. I’ll certainly keep an eye on your daughter.” He turned his attention to Sam whose wide eyes were checking out the chrome of his Harley. “It’s not safe for someone as young and pretty as you to ride one of these without a helmet, and I don’t have one small enough to fit you. Maybe one day, we’ll pick one up. Okay?”

“You mean it? Great.” Sam’s mind raced with possibilities. “Is that your dog?” she asked next, spotting King who was pacing along the fence.

“Yeah, but I’d rather you didn’t go over to him until I take you to meet him, and I don’t have time right now. Is that all right?”

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. “Okay.”

Molly had to hand it to Devin. He’d appeased the daughter without upsetting the mother. His people skills, which hadn’t charmed Hank, were more in evidence today.

Her head cocked, Molly’s sister Lucy had been studying the man with the Harley. “Did Molly say your name is Devin Gray? Are you the Devin Gray who wrote Murder at Oak Creek Canyon? You are, aren’t you? I recognize you from the picture on the back of the dust cover.”

Devin seemed embarrassed. “I guess you caught me.”

Lucy’s round face moved into a big smile as she turned to her sister. “I’ll bet you didn’t even know that this man’s famous?”

Molly was taken aback. Devin had told her he was a writer, yet she hadn’t even bothered to ask what he’d written. She sent him her second apologetic look in as many minutes. “Lucy works at a bookstore in the mall.” She felt she had to say more, to explain. “I don’t have much time to read fiction.”

“You should find the time to read this one,” Lucy insisted. “It takes place here in Arizona, up in Sedona.” Her smile beamed at Devin. “You’ve got a second one just out, something about the Grand Canyon, right?”

“Yes. Death at the Grand Canyon.”

“My, my,” Gloria murmured. “A celebrity in our midst.”

“A very minor one, I assure you.” It was the first time he’d been recognized with the exception of book signings, Devin realized, and the attention made him oddly uncomfortable. Molly’s sister probably wouldn’t have recognized him if she didn’t work in a bookstore. He’d rather people concentrated on searching out his books rather than the author.

“I’ll have to get you to autograph a copy for me,” Lucy went on.

“Any time.” Devin cleared his throat. “Well, nice to have met you all.” He nodded to Molly, winked at Sam, then climbed on his Harley.

All four of them watched him ride off, his dark hair whipping about in a strong morning breeze.

Gloria was the first to speak as she turned to her oldest daughter. “Molly, you didn’t know he was a famous writer?”

She shrugged. “He’d told me he was a writer, but I didn’t ask what he wrote.”

Lucy exchanged a knowing glance with their mother. “Of course you didn’t. I’m surprised you knew his name, as cautious as you are.”

Molly felt she had to defend herself as she led the way into her apartment. “I only met him two days ago.”

“Leave her alone, Lucy,” Gloria admonished. “Now that Molly knows he’s an important writer, besides being quite a hunk, she’ll warm up to him.”

Whether he’d written War and Peace or drove a garbage truck, Molly knew she had no intention of warming up to Devin Gray. Not wanting to have this same old discussion again, knowing full well that both her mother and sister were critical of her hands-off-men policy, she decided to bring a little levity into play. “Mom! A hunk! I can’t believe you said that.” Holding the roasting pan on one arm, she slipped the other around her mother and hugged her. “There may be snow on the roof, but there’s still fire in the heart, eh?”

“Well, I’m not dead nor am I blind. He’s a very attractive man, Molly. And he probably makes a pile of money. You could do worse.” She stepped through the door Molly held open.

“You saw him for five minutes and you think I should set my cap for him?” She loved her mother, but her constant nagging that she should find a good man to take care of her rather than work so hard got on Molly’s nerves. She’d had a so-called good man, and where had it gotten her?

“Who said anything about permanence?” Lucy asked with a grin. “You don’t have to marry him to have a little fun with him. I’m going to have to get his books. I wonder if he’s a sexy writer.”

Molly set the roasting pan down on the kitchen counter. “So, you haven’t read his books?”

“Not yet, but I intend to. I’ll bring them over after I finish so you can read them, too.”

Molly wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to read what Devin Gray had written. It would indicate more interest in him than she was willing to admit to.

Determined to put her neighbor out of her mind, she took Sam’s hand. “How about the grand tour, which should take all of five minutes? The apartment’s not real big, but it’s sunny and clean and close to work.”

“I think it’s charming,” Gloria commented, leading the way.

By four that afternoon, Devin had had it. He had a crick in his neck and his shoulders ached. He’d been at the computer since he’d returned with The Times, leaving it to read later. On his ride, he’d worked out one of his plot problems, an old habit of his, and he’d gone to work immediately after returning. Finally, he was back on track.

Rolling his shoulders, he saved his material and shut off the computer. His rumbling stomach reminded him he hadn’t put anything in it lately except several cups of coffee. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and examined its pitiful contents. It looked very much like he’d be having canned soup and a glass of milk again. He really had to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

As he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, he heard King give out several playful barks. The German shepherd was three years old and not much of a barker. Chewing, Devin sauntered out onto his back porch. He couldn’t have been more surprised at the sight that greeted his eyes.

Molly was hanging sheets on the clothesline with King trailing her every step. Devin could hear her talking to him, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He saw her reach to take the stick from King’s mouth, then throw it across the yard before bending to her clothes basket for a pillowcase.

The big dog raced across the grass, picked up the stick and hurried back to her. Smiling down at him, she petted his large head, then reached to secure the pillowcase. Devin could swear he saw King move close to Molly and nuzzle up against her bare legs. How had she managed to win his dog over in a couple of short days?

She was wearing a long yellow top that came nearly to the hem of her white shorts. She had incredibly long and very shapely legs. Definitely a distraction, one that got his juices flowing every time he looked at her. Watching her bend down to hug King’s head, Devin felt a foolish flash of jealousy. How far gone was he that he was beginning to envy a dog? he wondered.

As Molly gathered up her basket and spare clothes-pins, Devin went down the stairs and met her at the gate. “Don’t you ever let up, take a break, maybe sit down and relax? I hear you moving around down there constantly. I would imagine you’re exhausted.” She didn’t look exhausted, just a little warm. The temperature had to be over ninety.

“Not really. I needed to get settled in since I have early shift tomorrow morning.” He was wearing a black T-shirt over gray knit shorts and hadn’t bothered to shave. The word hunk that her mother had used floated back to her. Yeah, it fit. “I hope I’m not making so much noise I’m disturbing you.” The house had to be at least thirty years old with a few squeaky floors and air vents that allowed some sounds to travel between the two units. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from writing the great American novel.”

He saw her mouth twitch and realized she was teasing him. “Not to worry. My books will never become required reading in school. Purely escape stuff. And you’re not disturbing me.”

“Good.” He seemed genuinely modest, had seemed uncomfortable at Lucy’s comments. She liked that about him. She felt King’s wet nose at her back through the cyclone fencing, turned and smiled before raising a hand to acknowledge him.

“I see you made friends with King.”

“Yes. He’s quite the sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Devin glanced over at the pool, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. “I was just thinking of cooling off with a swim. Want to join me?”

Molly had no trouble picturing that hard, masculine body in a swimsuit. “Thanks, but I’ve still got some things to do.” Carrying her basket, she walked off. “Have a good swim.”

Damned if he wouldn’t, Devin thought. It would have been nice to have company, but he’d go alone. He needed the exercise.

Molly stood at her kitchen window, gazing out through the gauzy curtains she’d brought over from her former apartment, watching Devin do laps in the pool. He was big and looked very strong with not an ounce of fat on him. She’d been counting and was up to twenty. Finally, he eased out and brushed his wet hair back with both hands as water dripped from the dark curls on his chest and legs. He turned to straighten a lounge chair while Molly admired the smooth skin of his back, the muscles rippling as he moved. He sat down in the chair and leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the hot sun dry him.

Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers over those broad shoulders, to examine that deep cleft in his chin. It had been so long since she’d touched a man, or allowed one to touch her. That brief moment when he’d first introduced her to his dog, the nearness of his big body close to hers, the way his hand had lingered on hers, had awakened a dormant need. She would deny it if asked, often denied it even to herself, yet there were times like now that she longed for that strong male touch that was like no other. A man who could make her want and need and ache.

Like she was aching now.

Four years she’d been married to Lee Summers, and there had been some good times at the beginning. He’d been very attractive, too, and very aware of it. Yet she’d learned the hard way that even strong, attractive men have their weaknesses. Lee’s had killed any feelings she’d had for him.

Gazing now at Devin Gray, she could easily see his attraction, his strengths. And she couldn’t help wondering what his weaknesses were.