Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway

Blue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake—and the family ski resort—from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action...and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can’t deny her a safe place to stay—in one of his cabins.

Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust—losing her money to her father’s legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who’s not from her wealthy world. She’s after safety and he’s chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway

“Ridgway’s writing is impeccable.”

—RT Book Reviews on Make Me Lose Control

“This sexy page-turner [is] a stellar kick-off to Ridgway’s latest humor-drenched series.”

—Library Journal on Take My Breath Away

“Emotional and powerful...everything a romance reader could hope for.”

—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on

Bungalow Nights

“Kick off your shoes and escape to endless summer. This is romance at its best.”

—Emily March, New York Times bestselling author of Nightingale Way, on Bungalow Nights

“Sexy and addictive—Ridgway will keep you up all night!”

—New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen on Beach House No. 9

“A great work of smart, escapist reading.”

—Booklist on Beach House No. 9

“Sexy, sassy, funny, and cool, this effervescent sizzler nicely launches Ridgway’s new series and is a perfect pick-me-up for a summer’s day.”

—Library Journal on Crush on You

“Pure romance, delightfully warm and funny.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie

“Christie Ridgway writes with the perfect combination of humor and heart. This funny, sexy story is as fresh and breezy as its Southern California setting. An irresistible read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs on How to Knit a Wild Bikini

Can’t Fight This Feeling

Christie Ridgway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In memory of my mother, who fostered my love of books, fashion and family. I love you forever, Mom.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Blue Arrow Lake, where the mountains stand guard over pine trees, deep lakes and the hardy souls who live there year-round. Brett Walker, the oldest of the Walker clan, works hard in his landscaping business and to keep his heart safe after more than one emotional upheaval. But there’s a woman who threatens his equilibrium, and he’s not sure how to fight off the temptation

of her.

Angelica Rodriguez led a privileged life…but now it’s shattered. She’s looking to build something new for herself and is deeply attached to this beautiful mountain enclave. But it includes Brett Walker, who she’s crushed on for months…and who seemed to disapprove of her on sight. Circumstances force them together, though, and she begins to hope that she can soften this granite man.

Trusting another person with your secrets and your happiness is never easy, as these two find. There are rewards to the risk and both Brett and Angelica have so much to offer each other. He needs her sunny smiles; she needs his unwavering strength. As always, it’s a pleasure to tell the story of a couple finding each other and finding a way to get past their fears. Ready for me to take you on a sexy, emotional ride? Come on board, relax and let the events unfold. Destination…romance!

Christie

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Extract

Copyright

Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.

—Jim Bishop

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN BRETT WALKER caught sight of the flashing lights in his rearview mirror, his heart gave a quick jolt and he wondered why he was being pulled over. His DMV tags were for the correct year. He was up-to-date on his bills. The license for his landscaping business was current, too. As he pulled to the side of one of the narrow lanes in the wealthy enclave of Blue Arrow Lake in the Southern California mountains, he thought perhaps one of his three younger sisters might have called the sheriff’s department to execute a welfare check. Poppy was the most likely choice. But Shay might have done it, too.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding his two youngest sisters exactly, but they were so damn starry-eyed over the men in their lives. While all four Walker siblings were pretty hardheaded, only his other sister, Mackenzie—Mac—had the same hard soul as he. All the smiles and sighs and grins and kisses a person had to witness when hanging around Poppy and Ryan and Shay and Jace rubbed said soul raw.

So he’d been pacing himself on the Walker fests.

Brett unrolled his window as a man wearing a tan uniform strolled up to the driver’s side. Placing both hands on the wheel—this wasn’t his first rodeo—he glanced up. “Don.” Even a law-abiding citizen felt a spurt of relief at recognizing a longtime friend. “What is it, a broken taillight?”

“Naw, nothing like that.” He hitched up the belt bristling with equipment. “I saw you go by and thought I’d take the opportunity to have a little chat.”

Brett remembered another “chat” he’d been forced to have with a law enforcement officer. His gut curdled at the memory. The result had been a two-day stay in the lockup. “You’re making me anxious here, Don,” he said. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

The other man snorted. “You’re wearing your usual granite face. How’s the family?”

He meant Brett’s sisters, since his mother and father had been gone for years. “Poppy and Shay are both engaged now.”

“I heard that. Flatlanders?”

It was what the mountain people called those who came from “down the hill” to visit their peaks and pines at 5,000 feet and beyond. Those who usually resided by the beaches and in the cities of SoCal could hardly believe it when they climbed into their cars and took a two-hour drive to discover a place with four actual, authentic seasons. Lakes for summer play. Snow for winter games. The spring and fall were quieter, but no less beautiful to residents like the Walkers who lived here full-time and had done so for one hundred fifty years.

The full-timers had to share with those flatlanders, though. The resort mountain communities of the area had palatial homes near ski runs and expansive mansions on the banks of private lakes. Wealthy people came up on weekends to their alpine retreats, which gave rise to businesses that provided for the visitors’ needs and tastes: gourmet grocers and house-cleaning services, organic restaurants and landscape-maintenance companies.

“Yep, flatlanders,” Brett told the other man.

“Rich?”

Brett shrugged. “Eye of the beholder, right?” Money didn’t impress the Walkers. The opposite, really, and he’d been inclined to dislike Ryan and Jace on that principle alone. But the men his sisters had chosen had proved themselves, which hadn’t always been the case.

Shay had been the product of a brief affair between their mother and a wealthy visitor when his parents’ marriage had hit a rough patch and his father had temporarily decamped to South America. But Dell Walker had ultimately returned and treated Shay as his own for the rest of his life—her bio dad had never shown his face again.

Poppy had become a single mom when her son’s rich-but-shallow father had run back to Beverly Hills.

Brett had been screwed in his own way by the moneyed. He’d earned the chip on his shoulder.

“Business good?” Don asked now.

“Sure.” This time of year, he was still mowing and trimming, but soon enough he’d be planting bulbs for spring and protecting flower beds and shrubbery from the coming harsher weather. “We’ll see what happens in winter.” Then he switched to snow removal. If there wasn’t any white stuff to shovel or plow, he’d be in for a dry spell.

“But you’re still out and about the area every day, right?”

Brett’s eyes narrowed. Don wasn’t just shooting the breeze. “Yeah...” He drew out the word, uneasy again.

Don cleared his throat. “I don’t like to sound an alarm...”

Except that’s exactly what he was doing. “Spit it out.”

“Looks like we have a string of burglaries,” he said, frowning.

“Here?” Brett glanced around. This particular community was gated, and besides the patrolling sheriffs, residents could let a security service know their schedule and request daily checks.

“Here, there, across the lake, on the mountain ridge. There isn’t a real pattern we’ve detected, other than break-ins and missing valuables. You and I both know there are ways to get to these homes that bypass the gates and kiosks.”

“Yeah.” Brett ran a hand over his short hair. Thieves could come by boat or zip around on dirt bikes and avoid the paved roads. “We had trouble with kids in our cabins during the summer.”

“I thought of that,” Don said. “Any trouble since?”

“No. I’m living out there now.” Four miles off the mountain highway was a tract of Walker land that had once been a successful, though small, ski resort. After a wildfire came through and destroyed nearly everything, it had been left to nature. Then, last spring, Poppy had decided she wanted to refurbish the dozen cabins that remained standing. Despite the initial objections from the rest of the siblings, they were making progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same. “We think the fire in one of the bungalows was set by local kids. This seem the same? Locals?”

“They’d know how not to get caught.”

Unless they were naive enough to let themselves be used, Brett thought. But he shook it off because he wasn’t eighteen any longer and at the mercy of a lying little rich girl and her daddy who thought his spoiled darling could do no wrong.

“Keep your eyes open, will you, Brett?” Don said. “Since you’re cruising around all day, you might catch sight of something or someone that will help us crack this.”

“Will do.”

With a wave, Don returned to his car and Brett continued on with his day. But uneasiness continued to dog him. If people suspected area kids were the culprits, it wasn’t a large leap to any local being blamed. If the owners of the vacation homes began distrusting the help they hired, it could impact the bottom line of people like Brett with his landscaping business. His sister Mac, too, who operated a cleaning service.

This wasn’t good.

His schedule full, Brett’s day didn’t finish until he was nearly out of daylight. Muscles aching, he pushed the lawn mower up the ramp into his truck’s bed. Then he settled into the driver’s seat and grabbed some water, practically hosing it down his parched throat. He’d brooded over the burglaries while he worked at a handful of properties. The usual mowing and clipping, but he’d also raked up mountains of fallen leaves. The pinecones had seemed to have it in for him. Two of the prickly buggers had fallen directly on his head.

He wanted a cold beer, a long shower and a hot meal.

Since he’d have to make yet another stop to purchase two out of the three, his lousy mood was only amplified as he started off in the direction of the highway.

It was quiet in the neighborhood. Nothing unusual for a midweek autumn day. But, remembering Don’s words, he paid more attention than he normally would. That’s why he slowed and gave a piercing once-over of the Rodriguez place.

“Liar,” he muttered to himself.

The piercing once-over was all about the damn woman he wanted to be all over—Angelica Rodriguez.

He sighed. She was so exactly not the type for him. She’d spent the summer at the house that now looked empty of life. Her mother was an infamous supermodel, now divorced from Angelica’s father, a hedge-fund manager with a Midas touch. Brett didn’t think the young woman did anything but dream up ways to torture him. When he arrived to work on the grounds, she’d come outside wearing radiant smiles and little sundresses.

She was evil like that.

Not to mention how she tempted him in other ways. Freshly made lemonade. Oatmeal and raisin cookies—his favorite. He didn’t know how she’d discovered that fact, but he wouldn’t put it past her to use Daddy’s money to purchase a background check of him.

All summer he’d been completely, uncomfortably, maddeningly aware she’d had an itch to go slumming. With him.

But looking at the huge villa-style house on the lake, dark except for a couple of dim security lights mounted on the outside, he guessed she’d gone home...or at least to some other Rodriguez-owned domicile. In Bel-Air, maybe. Malibu. For all he knew, Paris.

Thank God. He’d been losing his will to hold out against her. Would any man blame him? She had liquid brown eyes, a wealth of silky, espresso-dark hair, a body...

Don’t think about her body.

She’d once told him she’d modeled for a time in childhood to early teens, until she’d gotten too “fat.” Translation: long legs, beautiful features.

And breasts.

Bountiful, distracting, unforgettable breasts.

Brett closed his eyes, and he could still see them, damn it. Beneath a tank top. Under a loose-fitting shift. Once he’d seen her in a bikini.

That day, he’d been afraid he’d lose his eyesight. Because not only had he garnered a glance at her front, but she’d turned around and he’d spied her luscious butt in bathing-suit bottoms.

Yeah, that kind of “fat.”

It should be against the law.

Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes to take a final look at the place before moving on. He could see it clearly enough through the iron bars of the wide double gate. Now that she was gone, he was going to forget all about her.

A tiny light moved behind a window.

Brett rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Was he seeing things? Blinking hard, he surveyed the place once more. The light was gone—

No, there it winked on again.

A prickly sensation skittered down his spine.

Putting his truck in Reverse, he slowly backed up the street and parked twenty-five yards away. There was more iron fencing at the sides of the property and it didn’t prevent him from seeing that light moving again, a firefly behind the glass and the briefest outline of a familiar figure. The hair on the back of his neck rose. All his nerve endings were awake now, and the weariness from the day’s endeavors were replaced with something else—curiosity, anticipation, maybe some dangerous combination of the two.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he climbed out of the truck.

He didn’t bother pulling out his cell phone. This wasn’t a police matter. It was something else—the someone skulking about the inside of that mammoth house was none other than its mistress.

Don’t think of the word mistress.

His instincts were certain it was her because, since first seeing her, his body reacted in just this way when she was anywhere in his proximity. His skin would twitch, his scalp would tingle and he’d turn around and Angelica Rodriguez would be there in one of her witchy outfits—jeans, a pair of hiking shorts, a voluminous beach cover-up, it didn’t matter what she wore—and he’d have to steel his spine to be as hard as that other part of him was becoming.

No, I don’t want lemonade. Or a cookie. Or to spend endless nights in bed with you.

“Liar,” he muttered again. He’d wanted it all.

But she was doing something shady, he could feel that, too, and so he made his way around the side of the house; his aim, that moving light. There was no fencing between the house and its lake access and soon he was prowling toward that window.

Then he was right outside it. In the minuscule glow of the penlight she had in her hand, he could make out parts of her as she moved about the den. The dark pools of her eyes. The elegant line of her small nose. The dip above her bowed upper lip. Without a hesitation, he rapped on the glass.

Jumping, she shrieked. He could see the sharp sound of surprise on her startled face, which jerked his way, feel the vibration of it in his fingers, which were pressed flat on the pane.

She trained the light on him. He smiled at her. Toothily, he supposed, because she came toward the window at a wary pace until there was only a couple of inches between them.

And yet they were still worlds apart.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “Why don’t you let me in?”

* * *

ANGELICA RODRIGUEZ STARED through the glass into the early evening darkness and cursed fate.

She’d been doing a lot of that lately, as the very foundation of her life had cracked and then fallen away in the past few days. Some cheery—and at times annoying—inner voice kept reminding her to see this situation as an opportunity, but it sure didn’t feel that way when the man who had disliked her at first sight was now staring her down.

The man who, from first sight, she’d liked entirely too much.

“Let me in,” he said again.

Um, no. It didn’t seem wise to be too close to him when all her defenses were in this rocky state. So she smiled and waved both hands in a gesture that was supposed to communicate that she didn’t need him around or that she couldn’t exactly hear him or perhaps she was just too busy for a chat...anything that would get him moving along so she could sneak out of the house where she wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.

She turned away from the window to scoop up the papers she’d left on the desk and he rapped again.

Like a demand.

Holding on to her cool, she glanced over her shoulder. There he was, thirtyish, muscled and a bit threatening-looking, even though in the darkness she could only see his bulk and not those very fascinating scars on his face. One slashed through his brow to his hairline. Another crossed the bridge of his nose.

Angelica had never found the courage to ask him about them.

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the back door that led to the lake-view terrace. “Open up.”

The sounds of the words were not hampered by the glass, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to obey! Past June she would have opened up to him. She’d wanted to, and she’d been rebuffed enough times that it embarrassed her to count them. It had been amazing to her, how drawn she’d been to him then. For a woman who had a lousy history with the opposite sex—lousy enough that she was relatively inexperienced when it came to them—she was surprised to find Brett Walker brought out a different side of her.

The idea of kissing him had consumed her instead of making her cringe. The sensation of his arms around her was something she’d wanted, not wanted to run away from.

Now she didn’t have time for fantasy. She had a real life she needed to build for herself.

His mouth moved again, four syllables that she thought he might never have said aloud before. “Angelica—”

Twisting away from the sound, from him, she moved forward at the same time...and tripped over a trash can beside the desk. That sick sense of falling lasted only milliseconds. Then her palms slammed to the hardwood, preserving her nose from a flattening. The penlight she’d held rolled away, dashing light on the floor and baseboards.

Adrenaline was still shooting through her system when she heard him knocking on the window again. Ignoring it, she got to her knees and breathed, trying to slow her heartbeat. She shook out her hands.

Cursed fate. Her own clumsiness.

The knobs on the back door rattled. She glanced through the den’s open doorway, past the kitchen to the terrace. He was standing out there now, looking even bigger than before. More menacing. Impatient.

His fist pounded on the glass and it sounded so loud she worried the noise of it might carry across the lake and alert the sheriff’s department or the private security force. On a sigh, she clambered to her feet and approached the French doors.

She turned the lock and inched one open, prepared to tell him to go away.

He pushed, forcing himself inside.

In retreat, her feet tripped again, and she thought she might go down once more. Brett Walker grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. “Are you all right?”

She wrenched her arm away. “I’m fine.” Deciding offense was the best defense, she scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your flashlight moving around and decided to investigate. Power out?”

“No—” she started, but it was too late. He’d flipped on the closest switch. She squinted as the overhead lighting blazed on. “Please turn that off. The glare gives me a headache,” she lied.

He instantly turned it off, surprising her. “Sorry,” he said, his voice going softer. “Do you get migraines? My mother did. I know it’s hell.”

Guilt stabbed. “Um...well.” She couldn’t think of what else to say as her brain became occupied with the notion that handsome, sexy, manly man Brett Walker had a mother. It seemed as if he should have been carved from a giant redwood. Hewn from a granite mountain outcropping. Fallen from the sky like a meteor to dazzle humanity.

Of course, she’d met his sister Shay—beautiful—but to think of Brett with a parent meant he’d once been a boy. It boggled the mind.

Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness again and she saw one corner of his full mouth hitch in a sort-of semblance of a smile. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m having a hard time picturing you as someone’s little kid.”

“I was a typical one. Too loud, hated taking baths, relished teasing my younger sisters.”

It was the most conversation he’d ever had with her. She resisted the urge to hold the words close to her chest. The time for being thrilled over a tête-à-tête with Brett Walker was gone. More important matters should be occupying her mind.

The next thing she knew, he had hold of one of her forearms. “What?” she said, instinct causing her to try tugging free.

His clasp was gentle but firm. “Checking for damage. You went down hard. Not uncommon to sprain a finger that way. Break your wrist.”

He was running a warm, callous hand over her, from fingertips to wrist in a calming gesture. Inside she was quivering. On the outside, she kept still as he moved each finger individually, then rotated her wrist. “Hurt anywhere?”

She shook her head. He let that arm go, only to take up the other one. His thumb stroked the tender inside of her wrist, where the veins seemed to be scrambling like every clear thought in her head. She was pure sensation: hot skin, thrumming pulse, a heartbeat loud in her ears.

The edge of his thumb traced the outside of hers, then probed the triangle of flesh between it and her forefinger. “Tender?”

She shook her head. That was him, his ministrations so gentle they made her ache.

“Sensitive?”

This time she nodded, because his touch made her so aware of the difference between the two of them. He was hard male; she was soft female. He could be the port she needed in the current storm that was her life. One move would put her against him, and she could cling to all that muscled strength. Lean on him to hold her up.

But men had only disappointed her before, and remembering that, she snapped back to reality and stepped away.

Brett’s eyes narrowed, which reminded her again that he didn’t even like her. “You could have a snuffbox injury—scaphoid fracture—if you’re in pain there.”

“I’m fine,” she said again. “Really.”

He studied her face. “What’s going on?”

My father has been arrested for fraud. Our family properties have been confiscated and all his accounts have been frozen. Before being taken into custody, my dad siphoned off all my personal monies saved from my time modeling and from my trust, and he put them who knows where or used them for who knows what. I have no place to live, no money to live on, and I broke into my former home so I could collect some things beyond the clothes on my back.

“My father’s putting this place up for sale,” she said, lying again.

Brett’s gaze ran around the gourmet kitchen, where copper pans hung from a rack and spices were lined up on a shelf. He looked at the couches and chairs in the adjacent family room. “With all this stuff inside?”

“Uh-huh. Will add to the value as a very famous interior designer picked out everything from the paint colors to the window coverings to the custom furnishings.”

His mouth curled. “I just bet.”

It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to be impressed. “Anyway, there was a mix-up and I didn’t get a chance to pack my suitcases or retrieve my passport from the safe in the den.”

“That is a headache,” he said, though she wasn’t sure he accepted that as a logical explanation for why she was skulking around.

She smiled anyway. “So...I’m just going to make a quick trip upstairs and dump a few things in a bag. The rest I’ll get another day.” Without taking her eyes off him, she moved backward, heading in the direction of the stairs. “See you around.”

He prowled toward her. “I’ll go with you.”

“No!” She swallowed, modulating her voice. “No, no. You don’t need to do that.” While months ago she might have swooned at the idea of having him in her bedroom, now wasn’t the time to have him in there, distracting her.

“I’ve seen women’s underwear before,” he said.

Of course he had. “Not my underwear.” Curses! That had come out a little...throaty. Flirtatious even.

One of his brows winged up. “I’ll close my eyes when you go through that particular drawer.”

She’d reached the bottom of the staircase and put one hand on the newel. “This is completely unnecessary—”

“It’s completely necessary. There have been burglaries in the area. I don’t feel right leaving you here alone.”

“You didn’t worry about me being alone all summer,” she retorted, then felt her cheeks go hot. That sounded like a complaint from a silly woman with an even sillier crush. “Never mind,” she muttered, and turned to stomp up the stairs. Arguing would only prolong this whole embarrassing encounter.

Still trying to do her business without attracting the attention of anyone who knew she shouldn’t be in the house, she only allowed herself to turn on the closet light. If Brett wondered about that and why she pulled the curtains across her windows first, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just stood in the middle of her rug, hands in his pockets, while she hurriedly packed two suitcases and gathered up her toiletries from the bathroom and put them in a smaller bag.

The only noise he made was when she tried to stack all three pieces of luggage in preparation for wheeling them out the door. “You can’t take them down the stairs that way,” he said. One went under his arm, the other he gripped in his right hand, the third he took up in his left. “This all?”

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth and tried sounding gracious. “Thanks.” For months she’d wanted a bit of his attention and now it was coming at the lowest point of her life when she couldn’t even enjoy it.

Maybe because he didn’t seem to be enjoying it.

Great.

They made it outside and she locked up after setting the alarm. The key went into her pocket instead of its hiding place behind the mailbox. She’d return it later.

Brett didn’t comment as he followed her to her car, which she’d parked down the road. If he asked why she’d avoided the driveway...

She hadn’t a clue. Trying to think up some excuse only gave her the beginnings of that headache she’d laid claim to earlier.

He must have seen it. Because after placing her things in the trunk of her car, he studied her face with a new intensity. “Cool compress on your forehead. Pain relievers,” he said. “Rest.”

“Yeah.”

“You have someone to take care of you?”

No. I realize now I never have. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re certain everything’s okay? There’s nothing I should know about?”

He’d never wanted to know anything about her. “Yes.”

“Good.” He touched one fingertip to her cheek. “Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.”

CHAPTER TWO

AT BLUE ARROW LAKE’S Hallett Hardware, Angelica stood at the rear, stocking lightbulbs, her tension unwinding with every minute she arranged the cardboard boxes on the shelves. Working at her part-time job was one of the few things that made her feel at peace these days. She’d taken the job before the financial disaster as a lark to help out her friend Glory Hallett when the other woman had lost an employee.

There was something soothing about unpacking cartons. The task was defined. It had purpose. A customer would come in, needing a 40-watt candelabra bulb, and she’d know exactly where to direct them. Better, she could convince them that the more expensive energy-efficient halogen bulb would be the best choice. Yes, more expensive in the short-term, but in the long run a smarter selection for both economic and environmental reasons.

She supposed some people would laugh themselves sick at the idea of Angelica Rodriguez—she of fancy boarding schools and an expensive women’s college—enjoying work at a hardware store, but it was the first time she’d ever actually earned a paycheck.

Well, there was the modeling she’d done as a youngster, which had paid ridiculously well, but those gigs had been arranged by her mother, and she’d been so self-conscious as she grew older that when she turned twelve the photographer’s assistant had started giving her mojitos before a shoot. The hangovers had been hell, so she’d started packing on the pounds until she’d lost her shot at a modeling career.

Turned out she never grew tall enough anyway.

The smell of rum and doughnuts still made her nauseous, though.

“What’s that face for?”

Angelica swung around to see Glory coming down the aisle.

“What did that indoor floodlight ever do to you?”

Angelica smiled at her friend. They were opposites in practically everything. While she was tallish—though not tall enough for worldwide fame and European runways—Glory was petite. Angelica’s long, brunette hair and dark eyes were nothing like Glory’s short blond feathers and big blues. Until now, Angelica had led a fairly useless life, while Glory had been working at the family hardware store since she was old enough to push a broom and weigh a brown paper bag of nails. They’d struck up a conversation when she’d come browsing at the store one rainy spring weekend and just...clicked. Upon her return for her summer stay, she’d revisited the store and over one coffee and then a lunch, a friendship had fully formed. “The bulb is innocent. I was just mulling over my life.”

Glory frowned. “What’s happened now?”

“Nothing new.”

“Did you get your clothes?”

Angelica nodded. “Last night.” She decided against mentioning her run-in with Brett Walker. Glory didn’t know about that silly crush she’d suffered, and there was no reason to tell her now. Away from the house where he landscaped on a weekly basis—she had no idea whether the authorities would have him continue the service—she’d likely never see him again.

Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.

It had been a macho-man parting shot, that’s all. He wouldn’t care enough to find out any more about her or her situation. His complete disinterest all summer had made that abundantly clear.

“I wish you’d come live with me,” Glory said.

“No, no. You have that adorable one-bedroom cottage that is perfect for you...but not you and me. I’ve got that room at the Bluebird. They have reasonable weekly rental rates.”

If you had more money coming in.

She didn’t say that, but perhaps Glory could read minds. “I wish I could offer you more hours,” she said.

“Please.” Angelica touched her friend’s arm. “I’m grateful for what I have. I’m here in the mountains, far from the limelight of the financial press.”

“They’ll be looking for you, you think?”

“Probably. Yes. I was warned about it by the lawyers, anyway.” There was precedent for the families of fraudsters being hounded. Daddy, how could you? she thought now. Reporters—and those he’d swindled—would want to know the answer to that question, too, and she didn’t have one. At his insistence, after college she’d gone back to their home in LA, where she’d been a hostess for his business soirees for a couple of years. But as time went on, he’d become increasingly reclusive.

He’d never shared the why of that or the what for. The man had never made it a secret that he’d wanted a boy and that her gender was a great disappointment to him. Though she’d excused it as a cultural and generational thing, they’d never been close.

He’d been her dad, though. And she’d been dutiful, always seeking his approval, she saw now, instead of her own brand of happiness.

Glory picked out another package from the carton and stared down at it. “No word from your mom, either?”

“Not one. Likely traveling around Europe or Asia with Hubby Number Four.” Angelica watched her friend frown, knowing that she’d find this baffling, too. While Glory was an only child like Angelica, her parents were still married to each other and lived in relative contentment in their beloved mountains.

Which were becoming beloved to Angelica, as well. “I’m happy to be here,” she told Glory again. “It’s going to be okay for me.” As soon as she managed to build a new life.

“I—” But what her friend was about to say was interrupted by the sound of the bell on the door. “We’ll talk later,” she said, and headed toward the front of the store.

Angelica hoped not. Hashing and rehashing the particulars of her sucky current situation would only pierce the bubble of peace she’d found in Hallett’s. During her shift, she wanted the most difficult thing she tackled to be the box of misplaced goods that required reshelving.

In the distance, she heard Glory greeting the customer. “Good morning,” she said, in her friendly, I-know-you voice. “How’s it going, Brett?”

Angelica froze. Brett? Brett Walker? The deep-voiced response told her that it was indeed him. Why? Shouldn’t he be somewhere with his truck, working? She took a peek at the slice of front window she could see, and the sun was still shining. Perfect weather for him to be out on the job, away from here. Away from her.

Because, darn it, she couldn’t seem to keep her feet rooted to the floor. Instead, they were creeping closer to him, her traitorous eyes wanting to get a glimpse of him. Shielding herself behind a rotating display of work gloves, she peered through the leather-and-fabric fingers.

Did he have to be so ruggedly good-looking? In the height of summer, he’d worn long shorts and work boots. A T-shirt that he’d often take off as he pushed the mower, allowing her to see the muscles in his back flexing. His arms were roped with muscle and more than once she’d stood at a window, hidden behind a curtain kind of like how she was hiding now, just to watch his pumped biceps and flexing forearms.

Those were covered now. Today a plaid shirt was buttoned over his torso and a worn pair of jeans encased his long legs. Hugged his most excellent butt. He ran a hand over his hair as he talked to Glory, a gesture she’d seen him make a dozen times. It always made her curious, that habitual movement, because his hair was shorn short enough that it never appeared disordered. The stuff was brown, but tipped in gold, highlights that a woman would pay a mint for in a salon, but that only needed his constant exposure to the sun.

Then there were those intriguing scars that only served to make him more sexy. More male.

Still ogling, Angelica tuned into what Glory was now saying. “That’s right. I know those clippers are in from the sharpener’s. They’re in the back room somewhere. Hold on a second and I’ll find them.”

Angelica had to bite her lip to stop from volunteering for the task. Not only could she put her hands on them immediately—she’d designated a space in the storeroom for items delivered from the man who did the work—but Glory was hopeless when let loose in that area. She moved perfectly ordered items around, reshuffled organized paperwork and generally made a mess.

As Brett waited, the bell sounded again, signifying another customer.

Argh! Usually, with Glory occupied elsewhere, she’d be hurrying forward to help the person. But that would give her away to Brett, and she really wasn’t up to a second confrontation with him in two days.

She was too busy to deal with her ridiculous response to him.

He murmured something, greeting the newcomer, she supposed. A local, she guessed, since the hardware store was hardly the midweek hot spot for the town’s wealthy visitors. Drumming her fingers on the skirt of the sturdy, butcher-style apron she wore over her clothes, she wondered how long she could let the latest customer go without service.

Already, her conscience was pinching at her. Then it got worse. “Where’s Angel?” an elderly man enquired.

“Angel?” Brett repeated. “You mean Glory?”

He’d make that assumption, Angelica thought, because he didn’t know the name that Mr. Bowman used for her. C’mon, Glory. She sent out vibes toward the back room. Get out here with Brett’s tool!

With him safely on his way, she could help the customer asking for her.

“No,” Mr. Bowman said. “Angel. That dark-haired girl who works here. She’s my color muse.”

The dear, Angelica thought. One of her favorite parts of the job was keeping the display of paint chips organized. She loved playing with the colors and imagining them on walls, on furniture, covering the trim outside a house. Mr. Bowman had found her there one day and she’d helped him pick choices to freshen the interior of his home.

“Bob...” Brett cleared his throat. “I really don’t think there’s any Angel—”

“Of course there is. This is one of the days she works.” His voice rose. “Angel? Angel!”

The jig’s up, girl, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. “I’m here, Mr. Bowman. Do you want to meet in the paint section?”

“Certainly,” the old man called back.

Angelica let out a breath. Maybe, while she was busy with Mr. Bowman, Brett would collect his tool and carry on his day. They’d never have to come face-to-face.

She gave all her attention to the older gentleman, who loved the shade they’d picked for his office and now wanted something to brighten the kitchen. They picked several tagboard swatches that he would bring home for his wife’s ultimate approval. Before he went on his way, she kissed his cheek and he beamed at her. Then he wandered toward the front door.

Angelica, breathing easy, turned in the direction of the lightbulb shelves. Her face almost mashed into Brett’s plaid shirt as he came around a corner. She skittered back.

His gaze ran over her, from her jeans and low-heeled boots, to the apron covering her long-sleeved tee. She’d written her name in block letters on the beige twill in blue permanent marker. It was situated in the vicinity of her collarbone, so there was no reason for her breasts to respond as if he was staring at them. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You actually work here.”

“I’m helping out.”

“That’s your name on the apron, Angel. Some of it, anyway.”

“Angelica wouldn’t fit.”

“Huh.” He was still staring at her. “I guess I now have a new appreciation of having a short name.”

“Even better for you, two of the five letters in yours are the same.”

His brows rose. “Yeah. Made it so even a mountain yokel like me could learn to write it.”

She glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t.” There was a speculative light in his gray eyes. Against his tanned face, they looked almost like clear water. “What are you doing working here, Angelica?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She loved the store and the hours she spent here gave her more job satisfaction, she suspected, than any career in high finance ever could.

“It’s not your kind of place.” He glanced around, his gaze roaming over the bins of nails and the spools of chain in various gauges. “A woman like you...”

The word spoiled went unspoken. So did good-for-nothing. One time she’d overheard him talking to his sister, and he’d referred to Angelica as a useless piece of fluff. Out loud.

She should despise him.

“Don’t you know...” she started sweetly. “Oh, but you wouldn’t, so let me explain. Some of us, you know, we elite, we have a program.”

“Oh, yeah?” His eyes narrowed and now he crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of program?”

“Kind of like...like scouting.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, how’s that work exactly?”

“We earn badges for doing things the common folk do.”

“Badges.” He sneered the word. And though of course he couldn’t possibly believe her, she continued in a haughty tone.

“Yes. Badges. For learning to boil water. Or helping out an elderly man. Or earning a paycheck for an honest day’s work.”

And with that she swept off. It wasn’t a flounce. Only a rich, spoiled girl would do that, and the woman who was now Angelica Rodriguez was so far from that, it wasn’t even funny.

* * *

THE PROPRIETORS OF THE Bluebird Motel had decided to close for the season early. The small rooms weren’t properly winterized, so it had always been open for the fair-weather seasons only. Despite that, Angelica had thought she might have a few more weeks in room 4. Now they told her she could have her spot with the reasonable rates for just a few more days. The owners wanted to get to their second home in Phoenix as soon as possible.

Which meant Angelica needed a new place to live and another job to pay for it. Other rentals in the mountains were more expensive.

The village of Blue Arrow Lake was composed of fancy boutiques and lovely restaurants, but she’d struck out finding work in any of them. It was an in-between time. Not the summer when people came up to play in the sunshine and not the winter when they came for the snow. Still, as she walked to her car parked on a side street, the buttery color of the fall sunshine was buoying. The air smelled clean with just a touch of nuttiness from the drying leaves and grasses. The cool nip to the air was bracing.

As if to reward her rising mood, she saw a help-wanted sign posted in the window of a small building. Over the door was another that read Maids by Mac.

While she didn’t have retail experience and had never worked in a restaurant, she’d gone ahead and asked about jobs anyway. It seemed she might have a better shot at a business that was actually advertising for workers. And perhaps cleaning wasn’t something that required a wealth of prior professional experience.

Of course working as a maid might not be a coveted career choice, but Angelica was desperate enough to squelch any hesitation and hurry for the door. The knob turned and it swung soundlessly, allowing her to enter a small office space. Behind a counter was a desk with a computer and phone. A filing cabinet sat in one corner. A half-open closet door revealed shelves neatly stocked with cleaning supplies. No one was in the space, but another door was open at the rear that revealed a tiny courtyard. There she saw the back of a woman as well as a bistro table on which two coffees were set. The woman was talking to someone, but Angelica could only see a pair of long legs in jeans from where she stood.

Unsure whether to call out or just wait to be noticed, Angelica hesitated. The slender woman had hair as dark as her own, though shoulder length. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a thin, slouchy sweater in pale blue.

“You seem more grouchy than usual,” the woman was telling the other person in the courtyard. “What’s up?”

The human attached to the legs—a man—grunted in reply.

Maybe the woman sensed Angelica then because she suddenly looked around. “Oh!” She had eyes the same icy blue as her sweater. “There’s someone here. Just a minute,” she called out. Then to the grouchy man, “Don’t go anywhere, honey.”

And it was a familiar voice that responded. “Not moving. I have to make some calls.” Brett Walker’s voice.

Brett Walker here! Several days had passed since their contact in the hardware store and she wasn’t thrilled to run into him again. But Angelica couldn’t exactly retreat, now that the woman was coming toward her, wearing a welcoming expression.

Wait, Angelica thought, her stomach starting to jitter. The brunette had called Brett “honey,” and he wasn’t the kind of man to whom you threw out casual endearments. Could it be...was it possible... Might this woman be Brett’s wife?

She felt a flush climb up her throat. What if all this time she’d been mooning over a married man? Maybe every night he’d gone home to this pretty woman with her warm smile and arresting eyes and laughed about Angelica’s obvious crush.

“Can I help you?”

Her gaze shifted to the woman’s left ring finger. No wedding band. She knew Brett didn’t wear one either, but if these two worked with their hands it was conceivable they left their rings at home. She should have pumped Glory for information on the landscaper. Oh, why hadn’t she pumped Glory?

“Miss?” the woman prompted again, her smile fading to a puzzled expression.

Embarrassment coursed through Angelica once more. She had to think up some excuse! With Brett—unmarried or not—nearby, she didn’t want to beg for a job application. It would be mortifying for him to find out she was nearly broke. He didn’t have a high opinion of her as it was, so she didn’t want to add the term wastrel to the list of labels he applied to her.

Her gaze jumped around the room and landed on a plaque hanging on the wall. She gestured toward it. “I’m visiting the local businesses that are part of the Mountain Historical Society,” she said, improvising like mad. Though she actually was a volunteer for the group, so it wasn’t such a stretch, she decided. “I wanted to thank you in person for your past support and give you a report on the overwhelming success of our recent auction.”

The woman came closer. “Say it again?”

Angelica realized she’d been almost whispering. Hoping like heck that Brett was preoccupied with his phone calls, she cleared her throat and drifted nearer the counter. “The Mountain Historical Society auction we held at the end of the summer. I was part of the committee that put it on.”

“Oh.” The other woman blinked. “Are you from around here? I thought I knew just about everyone.”

“I’m a relative newcomer.” She stuck out her hand—what else could she do? “Angelica Rodriguez.”

“Mackenzie Walker.” Her grasp was firm. “But everybody calls me Mac.”

Mac Walker. “Nice to meet you.”

“So how’d you get involved with the historical society?” Her assessing gaze took in Angelica’s black jeans, black boots and the black-and-white sweater she was wearing that had white chiffon cuffs and a matching chiffon underlay that peeked out below the hemline. “It’s not something I’d guess a newcomer would join.”

Glancing toward the courtyard, Angelica saw the legs hadn’t moved and she could hear Brett murmuring, presumably into his phone. “It was my friend Glory Hallett,” she said. “She knew I had some experience putting together fund-raisers and she invited me to serve on the committee with her.”

“Now Glory I know,” Mac said. “And I remember hearing about the big party that accompanied the auction—at one of the fancy mountain lodges, right? I think my sister and her fiancé attended.”

“It was a wonderful event at the Aspen & Oak Lodge. Dinner, dancing and then the silent auction. We had many beautiful and valuable things to offer, thanks to Walter Elliott. When he passed away, he left the historical society the contents of his mountain home.”

At the mention of the name, Mac stiffened. “That’s right. Walter Elliott,” she repeated.

“It was quite the success,” Angelica said brightly. “We hope to have an annual fund-raiser from now on. Maybe next summer you and your husband—”

“What are you doing here?” Brett said, strolling into the office. His gaze was trained on Angelica’s face. He didn’t look pleased to see her.

Mac glanced over at him. “This is An—”

“I know who she is.”

The other woman’s brows rose. She looked from Brett to Angelica and back again. “You two are acquainted,” she said, in a speculative tone.

Angelica felt herself flushing again. “Uh, hardly. Not even a little bit, really. I’ve seen him around once or twice.”

“Not even a little bit?” Mac repeated.

Maybe the other woman was the jealous type who would scratch her eyes out for merely looking at her husband. If Brett was married to her, Angelica was sure she’d probably find herself very possessive. “I should be going,” she said, taking a step back.

“Not so soon,” Mac replied, a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. “We’re just getting friendly.”

Angelica fanned herself. “Is it a little warm in here or is it just me?”

“I think it’s just you,” Mac said, with a light in her eyes that Angelica didn’t trust. “I’m perfectly comfortable. How about you, Brett?”

He was still staring at Angelica as if she was something he’d brought in on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m always comfortable.”

“Well. Um.” Angelica wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I was just popping by to give you that update.”

“What update?” he asked.

Mac’s expression looked way too innocent. “On the historical society fund-raiser. Angelica had a hand in it. Remember the one that Poppy and Ryan attended about a month ago?”

“I don’t listen to half the things she prattles on about,” he said.

Mac rolled her eyes in Angelica’s direction. “Men! And then they wonder why they have so much trouble with us. If only they’d pay attention every once in a while.”

Rather than speaking, Angelica responded with a tentative smile. With that pair of crystalline eyes on her, it was hard to think.

“I rarely have trouble with women,” Brett said.

“Because they’re often much too accommodating,” Mac retorted. She directed her attention back to Angelica. “Are you married? Have a boyfriend?”

“No. I’m, um, on my own right now.”

“Isn’t that fascinating? Brett’s on his own right now, too.” She shot the man a look. “Or has that changed?”

When he didn’t answer, Angelica gestured between the two on the other side of the counter. “Oh. I thought maybe you two might be married.”

Mac let out a loud hoot. “No, thank you. He’s my brother.”

It wasn’t relief or anything like it that sluiced through her, Angelica told herself. Or if it was, it was only because it would have been humiliating to have spent so much time fantasizing about a guy who was already spoken for. “I met your sister once, then. Shay?”

“Sure.” Mac glanced over at Brett. “So our brother introduced you?”

“Angelica introduced herself,” Brett said. “And if I recall correctly, she thought Shay might be my girlfriend.”

“Hmm.” Mac tucked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “You seem very interested in my brother’s relationship status,” she murmured.

Angelica barely registered the other woman’s remark, as the memory of that particular meeting ran through her mind again. “You told her I was a useless piece of fluff,” she said to Brett. It had hurt then. It still hurt.

He winced. “You heard that?”

“Never mind,” Angelica muttered. “I’ve got to go.” The universe, clearly, had its back still turned to her. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, nodding to Mac. Then she headed for the door.

“Wait,” Brett began, but she was already out the door.

When it shut behind her, she began jogging, even though the heels of her boots wobbled on the uneven sidewalk. No matter, she needed to put distance between herself and the man who always made her feel awkward and uncertain—not to mention hot and hyperaware of every inch of skin.

“Hey!”

She’d only made it half a block from Mac’s business so, pretending she didn’t hear Brett’s voice, she moved faster.

Then a hard hand closed around her elbow. She skidded to a stop. Rounding on him, she yanked her arm from his hold. “What now?” she demanded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

He stepped back, then he smiled.

It was devastating. He’d never smiled at her, but there it was, a slice of white teeth and attractive lines around the corners of his beautiful eyes. How she despised herself for being so susceptible to him. She slammed her hands on her hips. “Well?”

“You’re pretty cute when enraged.” His smile widened when she made a low, furious sound in her throat and he held up his palms. “You can retract your claws, kitten. I’m not here to steal your catnip.”

Still, he stole her breath. And if she wasn’t careful, he might steal something else. “What are you following me for?” she demanded.

“To deliver an apology.”

“Did your sister put you up to this?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s all my own idea, okay? That was a lousy thing I said to Shay. I was probably in a crappy mood and just mouthed off.”

“Probably in a crappy mood?”

“Okay, I’m sure I was in a crappy mood. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“I am devastated to hear that,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

He winced again. “Angelica—”

“Never mind.” She pretended to wipe a slate clean. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.” He continued to watch her. “So.”

“So.” She refused to twitch. Then she couldn’t stand the silence a second longer. “Well... Have a nice life.”

One of his eyebrows rose, the one with the intriguing scar.

“We’ll likely never see each other again,” she explained.

“It’s a small town,” he said, rubbing his palm over his hair in that habitual gesture.

She shrugged. “Just in case, then.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Just in case then,” he finally agreed. “Be happy.”

It would only take a job, some place to live and a way to forget all about him. “I intend to,” she said, and hoped that intention was enough to make it so because luck hadn’t been on her side lately.

CHAPTER THREE

BRETT RESISTED THE urge to watch Angelica walk off and instead turned to his truck, parked just a few feet away. Apology made, apology accepted and that should be enough to put her from his mind forever.

The breeze picked up as he fumbled with his keys. Autumn was doing its thing in the mountains. Warm sun, cool air, both energizing, and he should be looking forward to a day of vigorous outdoor work. Instead, he felt as if a weight was tugging him down.

We’ll likely never see each other again.

It had nothing to do with that.

The door unlocked, he jerked it open. The tall pile of paperwork he’d forgotten he’d set on the driver’s seat when he had exited the car began to slide off the cracked vinyl. He lunged for it, just as a rough, rogue gust caught at the sheets and sent them swirling. They flew about in the air, some behind the truck, some above the truck, some somersaulting like tumbleweeds along the asphalt in every direction as the wind blew.

He swore out loud and tried corralling the mass by stomping on the sheets near his feet and trapping others against his body. No way was he going to collect them all, he thought on a groan, snatching another that flew past his head. This was going to be a bookkeeping disaster.

Then, he glimpsed a figure in the periphery of his vision. He turned his head to see Angelica dashing about the scene, gathering up the errant documents. He allowed himself one second—okay, two—to admire her upturned ass when she bent over, then he continued on with his own search and seizure.

Several minutes later, the crisis seemed to have passed. When he turned in a 360, he couldn’t see any more fleeing papers. Angelica came toward him, her hair messy and her cheeks flushed, a mass of invoices and handwritten notes clasped against her chest. “I think we might have gotten them all.”

His own arms were full. “A good portion, anyway.” With his toe, he pushed on the lever that folded the driver’s seat forward and then stowed what he held on the narrow rear seat. Turning to Angelica, he said, “Let me take those.”

“I’ve got it.” She shuffled forward. “You stand behind me and block the wind while I set them down.”

He pivoted and she half turned to sidestep into the narrow space he created between his body and the truck. The wind picked up again, tossing her hair so it slid across his face in a silky caress. It smelled amazing and he instinctively moved closer, blocking the breeze and also blocking her in.

She set down her stack, then moved back, her behind meeting his groin. At the contact, she froze.

He told himself not to bury his face in her hair. He told himself not to slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

So he didn’t do either of those things.

But he also didn’t step away. Which meant that when she spun around, they were face-to-face. Chest to chest. If he bent his head, they’d be mouth to mouth.

They stared at each other and all he could think about was how damn beautiful she was. It was the face of a heartbreaker, with fine-grained, golden-tinted skin and large eyes framed by sooty lashes. The lush mouth was maddening.

Tempting.

She put her hand over his heart, attempting to push him back.

The thrust didn’t rock him. He covered her fingers with his, then frowned at how chilled they were. “You’re cold.”

“A little,” she admitted. This time, when she shoved at him, he retreated, though he still had her hand.

“Let me buy you a hot chocolate,” he said. Her cool skin, that killer face... It compelled him to offer her warmth. Sweetness.

She hesitated.

Her reluctance twisted something inside him. Did she consider him not good enough for her? He let go her hand. “You can still have a nice life,” he muttered. “Just after the damn drink.”

Then he ground his back teeth, instantly regretting his harsh tone. Why the hell was he like this around her? She put up his hackles. Made him feel prickly and irritable.

He was never the most genial of fellows, but he was actually considered by some women to be charming. No charm for her, though. No wonder she didn’t want to spend another minute around him.

“Never mind,” he said, making to climb into the truck. “Sorry.”

This time it was she who grabbed his elbow. “I’d like that. The hot chocolate.”

He blew out his breath, waiting a long moment to see if she’d change her mind. When she continued to stand there, he shut the vehicle’s door and pointed toward the corner. “Oscar’s Coffee.”

Inside the small shop were picnic tables painted a soft yellow. Brett directed her to one as he went to retrieve the beverages. He said yes to whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings without asking her.

Her gaze brightened when he put the oversize ceramic mug with its peak of fluffy stuff in front of her. “Yay. You got me the extras.”

“I don’t believe for a second you’re one of those women who denies herself. I’ve smelled the cookies you bake.”

She eyed his beverage, which was exactly the same as hers. “And here I expected you to order a cup of dark and bitter brew for yourself.”

“I like my sweets, too.”

“But not my cookies.”

He refused to squirm on the bench. For months every instinct had warned him against getting “cookies” close. Those instincts were still clamoring at him even now, but she must have entranced him with those warm, melted-chocolate eyes.

Her hands surrounding the cup, she delicately sipped her drink. Then she set it down and licked at the cream on the top of her lip.

He told himself the little action didn’t make him hard, but that was a lie. Clearing his throat, he attempted to think of something else. “Fund-raisers, huh?”

She glanced up.

“You told Mac about the one for the historical society.”

“Oh. Right.” Lifting her cup, she delicately blew on the liquid surface she’d revealed with her last sip.

Her pursed lips didn’t do anything to ease his tight muscles. “You learn how to do that in school?” he asked.

“Plan fund-raisers?” At his nod, she shook her head. “I was actually an international finance major in college. I had the mistaken idea that studying the subject might win my father’s approval and that he’d then bring me into his business.”

Somewhere along the line, Brett had learned her father was a well-known and wildly successful hedge-fund manager, whatever the hell that was. “But he dashed your hopes?”

“All for the best,” she said, waving a hand and directing her gaze back to her drink. “I’m not suited for that kind of risk, and it turns out I like to keep myself busy with more tangible activities.”

“I have a degree in landscape architecture,” he heard himself say. “But I can’t stand being cooped up in an office for so much of the day, sitting at a desk. So I don’t design landscapes as much as put my hands on them.”

She looked up, her eyes widening. “Oh.”

His voice turned dry. “Not quite the uneducated country bumpkin you thought, huh, uptown girl?”

Her brows slammed together. “It wasn’t that. I was surprised you managed to share three sentences about yourself.”

God, there he went again. If he could manage it, he’d kick his own ass. “I—”

“And that we might actually have something in common.”

That shut him up. All he’d been doing since the moment he’d caught sight of her the very first time was telling himself they were opposites in every—wrong—way. He’d used that thought as a wedge, a shield, an impenetrable wall that prevented him from eating her cookies, from asking her out to dinner and from doing what he really, ultimately wanted—taking her into his bed.

He rubbed his hand over his hair, aware she was studying him. Suppressing the urge to touch his scars, he wondered what she thought of them. What she’d think if she knew that he liked them as a reminder of important lessons learned.

“So...” she said now, a thread of amusement in her voice. “That’s quite a filing system you have.”

Glancing up, he enjoyed the way her small smile curved her lips. “You’d think six years in the army would have drilled organization into my marrow, but the minute I got out, I went back to sloppy paperwork.”

“You were in the service?”

“Tenth Army Mountain Division.”

“Mountain,” she said. “That must have significance.”

“It was formed during World War II for warfare in the Alps. The civilian ski patrol was used for recruiting purposes, and they found soldiers on the slopes and in ski clubs all over the States. Those same soldiers developed skiing as a vacation industry after the war.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” He sipped at his chocolate. “Our grandfathers came back and laid out the ski runs and designed the lifts and operated the ski schools that this area became known for. So when mountain kids join up, the Tenth is tradition.”

“Where were you stationed?”

“Fort Drum, New York. But I spent time in Florida and a year in Afghanistan.” Just saying the word brought the whop-whop sound of choppers into his head, the taste of red dust to his tongue, the pungent scent and the oily feel of blood onto his skin. Pushing it from his mind, he rubbed his hand over his hair and switched subjects. “When my time was up, I was ready to come home.”

“No career as a military man for you?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to get away for a while, save some money. But my life is here in my mountains with my family. So I started my business, thus giving birth to my really lousy filing system.”

“You can get help for that, you know.”

“Yeah. And I’ll have to hire someone and a crew eventually, after I sweat out a bit more of my restlessness and start soliciting design work. Maybe next year.”

“Until then, paper chaos.”

He shrugged. “I had a part-timer working in my office at the end of the summer. But then high school started and she’s much too busy for me now.”

At her raised brow, he added a little more. “Kid’s a whiz with just about everything. She’s my sister Shay’s stepdaughter-to-be.”

“Your sister’s getting married?”

“Two out of the three of them. Both Shay and Poppy.”

She opened her mouth, but he pointed at it before she could get a word out. “Don’t ask me a damn thing about the weddings. I make it my job not to absorb a word they say about them.”

“You don’t approve?”

“The men they’re marrying, Ryan and Jace, are great. It’s the constant chatter about dresses, rehearsals and seating arrangements that make me want to bash my brains in with a shovel.”

“Something else we have in common. I’m not a big fan of weddings, either.”

Okay, now she surprised him.

“Don’t look so shocked. Not every woman dreams of that big day. Between them, my parents have been married seven times. For all but the first, of course, I’ve been standing by in something itchy or ugly, pretending I believe they’ll have a happy-ever-after.”

“Seven divorces then?”

“Six. My mother’s still married to her current, though I doubt they’ll last.” She gave a little shrug.

The small, indifferent gesture felt like a punch to the gut. For some reason he’d assumed she was like his little sister Poppy, who walked through life with stars in her eyes. She wore her open heart and her belief in happy endings right there on her sleeve.

But Angelica had a more jaded view and it wasn’t sitting well with him. Just as he’d felt compelled to chase away her chilled hands with hot chocolate, now he wanted to gather her up and soothe those old hurts he sensed.

It was a damn dangerous urge, because going soft for a woman was a sure way to get himself crushed.

Had that T-shirt.

Brett looked down at the table. Their cups were drained, meaning it was time to move on and move her out of his life. He hitched back his chair and she immediately took the hint and rose from her own. He stood, too, and they were close enough that if he had all the time in the world he could count each one of her luxurious lashes.

We’ll likely never see each other again.

With that in mind, maybe he could kiss her.

His hand drifted toward her. He snagged an errant lock of hair with his forefinger and brushed it away from her cheek. Her color heightened and he saw her fight a shiver—and lose.

Hell. He closed his eyes a moment, willing himself to keep still. But her visceral response to his touch only made him want more...more access to her hair, her skin, her body. More opportunities to watch her react to his hands on her, his mouth on hers...

Opening his eyes, he saw she was staring at his shirt buttons, hard. Her fingers were curled into fists and as he watched, she swallowed. “Time to go,” she said.

Neither of them moved. That weight was back, anchoring him to the floor, slowing his heartbeat to a funeral dirge. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” She edged back, now far enough away that it would take effort to claim that kiss he shouldn’t be thinking of. Smart girl.

He cleared his throat. “That ghastly pile of paperwork is waiting for me.”

She glanced up. Their gazes caught. “You know, maybe I could...” Her voice trailed off.

The sentence didn’t need to be finished for him to understand the half-spoken offer. And why she’d stopped herself. Unless they went separate ways, their certain collision wouldn’t end pretty. Yes, a very smart girl.

“No,” he said. “You’re not suited for that kind of risk, either.”

Brett might as well have been saying those words about himself.

* * *

ANGELICA WALKED WITH Glory from the parking lot to the headquarters, and museum, of the Mountain Historical Society. It was a stucco bungalow seated among tall pines and partnered by the blacktop parking area made bumpy by roots that had caused deep ruts and sudden swells. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very much fun this evening,” she warned her friend. “I should have stayed home.”

The darkness was barely alleviated by a lone dim light on a tall pole, but she didn’t need to see Glory’s face to know the other woman sympathized. “Another call from the lawyers?”

“Yes. Any day now, they say, the word will get out.” While she had nothing to do with her father’s perfidy, she still felt terrible about it. And, to be honest, felt terrible for herself. Terribly alone. She sighed.

Glory linked arms with her. “It’s good for you to do something besides mope. You need more work and making contacts is the right way to find it. You’ll get better acquainted with people and then who knows what might come up?”

Though the auction wrap-up meeting was open to the general membership, Angelica didn’t expect many besides the committee members would bother to attend. It looked as though she was right. When she gazed about the conference table, the only one there who hadn’t been directly involved was Vaughn Elliott—whose grandfather had donated his mountain home’s contents to the group.

They’d made over a million dollars from the silent sales.

Angelica stared as the committee chair, Ruth Nagel, made the announcement. The older woman could hardly contain her excitement. “I think Piney is our good luck charm!”

They all glanced through the open doorway to the lobby, where a seven-foot stuffed bear loomed over the welcome desk. It had been part of the Elliott estate, but they’d unanimously decided to keep it as the society’s mascot of sorts.

“Maybe we should be grateful to Angelica, too,” Glory put in. “It was she who curated the items, providing context and provenance whenever possible.”

Ruth beamed and toasted her with her foam cup of terrible coffee. “Thank you, Angelica.”

She waved the gratitude away, though she did appreciate it. Glory had cajoled her onto the committee early in their friendship and she’d enjoyed the work she’d put in. It had been interesting to catalog the historical items, everything from exquisite furniture to antique sets of golf clubs to a beautiful world globe inlaid with abalone shell.

“Maybe we should contact the buyers and get them to write up testimonials we can put in next year’s program,” Vaughn Elliott said. About thirty, he was tall and golden-haired and maybe with a trust fund or something because Angelica didn’t get the impression he worked for a living. “I’d be happy to take that on if you’d give me the list of names.”

“Can’t do it,” Ruth said. “That’s confidential info...something the lawyers insisted upon. Anyway, next year we won’t be having an auction—just a big black-tie event. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Vaughn nodded, seeming satisfied. “I’m sure my grandfather, wherever he is, is thrilled by the value of his gift.”

There was little more to cover. Each of them made promises to write up their thoughts and ideas for improvements for the coming year’s committee. “Though we would love all of you to continue,” Ruth said. When several people murmured an assent, her gaze zeroed in on Angelica. “Please say you’ll be helping again.”

She hedged. “I’m not sure of my long-term plans.” But under the circumstances staying in the mountains would suit her best. She had familiarity, a friend or two, and it would keep her hidden away from the financial media. “But right now I’m still able to work my weekly shifts.” The tasks weren’t rigorous, but helping with the database and creating packets for new members was a good way to keep busy.

Short minutes later, the meeting adjourned. Vaughn walked her and Glory to their cars. “I still think the members would like to hear from the auction winners,” he said, sounding a bit peeved. “Ruth is too worried about keeping that list sacrosanct. Any way you can get your hands on it?”

“Nope,” Glory answered, digging through her purse. “I think only the executive board or maybe just the president has access.”

Angelica didn’t say that she, actually, did know the password to all the files and thus had access. When updating the member roster, she’d noticed the other list was in the same directory.

Vaughn wandered off to his own car, a pricey SUV that looked like an overmuscled panther. Angelica frowned at her little convertible, wondering if she could trade it for something more practical for winter in the mountains and if doing so would require any cash outlay.

“Ready?” Glory said. “We agreed on Mr. Frank’s, right?”

“That was your idea. I told you I wasn’t sure.”

“C’mon,” Glory cajoled. “It’s ladies’ night. The drinks are really cheap.”

“I don’t know. In my mood I might get sloppy drunk and make a fool of myself.”

“No, you won’t.” Glory snatched Angelica’s purse from her hand and fished out her keys, too. “Because you have a higher purpose.”

“What’s that?” She eyed her friend. “Tonight, getting sloppy drunk might be the higher purpose.”

Glory grabbed Angelica’s hand and slapped her keys into her palm. “What did I already tell you? Once you get more acquainted with people, who knows what might come up?”

Angelica had to admit it was at least some kind of plan. She had a life to form for herself. Hunkering down in her room at the Bluebird with its clunky television and four available channels was no way to network. So, on a sigh, she turned to her car and, once behind the wheel, followed Glory to the restaurant they’d agreed upon, just outside of the village of Blue Arrow Lake.

“This is a locals’ hangout,” Glory said as they approached the door of Mr. Frank’s. “Red vinyl booths, bar straight out of the 1950s. No blenders on the premises...so you have to take your hard booze on the rocks or not at all. No trendy cocktail orders. Got it?”

Angelica held open the heavily carved door for her friend. “I’ll resist my urge to ask for a mango-kale daiquiri.”

“Still,” Glory said, taking her by the arm to lead her toward the dimly lit but clearly crowded lounge, “it’s very popular on ladies’ night. Everybody will be here... We’ll make sure you meet at least some of them.”

They found stools on the short end of the L-shaped bar. A heavyset man in white shirtsleeves and a red vest slapped napkin squares in front of them. He glared at Glory. “I remember what you asked for last time and the answer is still no. I won’t make anything with the ridiculous name of—of—” His face turned red and he broke off. “You’re getting a beer.”

She winked at Angelica and leaned close to whisper. “I invent names of drinks just to embarrass him—last time it was ‘climax on a cloud.’ He’s an old friend of my dad’s.”

“You?” the bartender growled at Angelica.

She folded her hands on the bar like a perfect student. “Chardonnay, please.”

He shot her a glance of approval before going about fulfilling their orders. “You new around here?” he asked, placing the generous pour in front of her.

Glory spoke before she could. “This is my friend Angelica Rodriguez. She’s seeking work, if you hear of anyone who needs help. She’s part-time at the store and I can give her a glowing recommendation.”

He ran an assessing gaze over Angelica. “Has a flatlander look about her.”

Angelica bit her lip. She knew the word was synonymous with other to the people who lived full-time in the mountains.

“Yep,” Glory said, waving a hand. “But she’s up the hill now and wants to stay that way.”

Angelica busied herself with her wine as an excuse not to watch the man’s reaction. Too much was at stake.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the bartender said, and she glanced up. He winked at her. “I can pass the word.”

“Thank you.” Angelica decided she’d leave him a huge tip, no matter the slim state of her wallet. “I appreciate your kindness.”

He double tapped the bar with the flat of his hand and then turned to obey the summons of another customer. Glory glanced around the crowd, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t checking out the clientele. “Like I said, it’s popular here on ladies’ night.”

Angelica made a more surreptitious examination. There was warm laughter and a convivial, community feel with people grouped mostly in threes and fives and sixes. Because of that, a couple huddled close in a cozy booth caught her eye. The man was turned from her so she only saw his expertly cut black hair and wide shoulders. All his attention was focused on the slender blonde beside him who was obviously in full-on flirt. A little smile playing on her lips, she was gazing up at him through her lashes.

The big diamond engagement ring on her left finger flashed in the light from the candle on their table. A sudden pang of envy made Angelica rub at the spot over her heart. She hadn’t lied to Brett. Weddings didn’t make her go spontaneously squishy. Still, looking at those two, so wrapped up in each other...it was lovely. So lovely she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

Quickly, she looked away, embarrassed by the effect they had on her. Loneliness was to blame, she decided. Uncertainty. The fact that her foundation had swept away from beneath her feet.

“Ugh,” Glory said, turning from her perusal of the bar to hunch around her beer.

“What?”

“My dad’s here.” She grabbed Angelica’s elbow. “Don’t look! He’ll see us and come over.”

Angelica laughed because she liked Glory’s dad. He was solid and friendly and had never cheated a soul—you knew it by looking at him. “What’s the matter? Does he know you stayed out past curfew last night?”

“I wish,” Glory grumbled. Her lack of a love life was the subject of much lamenting. “There’s nobody to get naughty with. By the time I was twenty, I’d dated every decent boy in the area. And every smart girl around here knows to keep her distance from flatlanders.”

“Glory, you didn’t stay away from me,” Angelica pointed out.

“I know. We just hit it off from the first. But it’s also different because you’re another woman.”

“Still—”

“We’ve had this argument before,” her friend said, cutting in. “It comes down to this. Unless a man lives permanently in the mountains, I’m not risking heartbreak by even giving him the time of day. I’m this generation’s face of Hallett Hardware, which means I’ll be behind the register until the day I give the keys to my son or daughter. No sense falling for some dude whose life is a long distance away.”

Angelica sighed, but could hardly blame her friend for her practical outlook. When her dad had retired, only-child Glory had been given the reins to the store. It was expected she would hold them until she passed them on.

If Angelica had a place like this where she belonged, among people she’d known all her life, who watched out for her and who’d have her back no matter what—well, she’d be careful not to jeopardize that either by falling for the wrong person.

That kind of stability was what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. Close family. Trustworthy friends. A place where she could sink her roots deep.

Glancing over her shoulder, she cast another look at the happy couple. Some people had it easy. They found their partner and their place without effort. Those two had probably recognized each other by matching glows and then gracefully—and gratefully—given in to the inevitable.

Her body seized as a familiar figure strode up to the couple’s table.

Brett Walker interrupted the pair’s intimate conversation without hesitation. He lightly cuffed the back of the man’s head and when he shifted, leaned around the other guy to buss the blonde on the cheek. She bounced on her seat and pointed at a free space on the curved banquette.

When he slipped onto the cushion, Angelica told herself to look away. But her gaze refused to budge because he was actually smiling at the woman, a real smile, a free smile, that looked relaxed and warm. Everything he wasn’t in Angelica’s presence.

Then the blonde made a gesture toward the bar and it was clear what would happen next. Brett would make his way there to pick up a drink and he’d see Angelica and...

She didn’t know what would happen. She only knew she had to get away before he caught sight of her.

Murmuring something about the ladies’ room to Glory, she slid off her stool and scurried in what she hoped was the right direction. A doorway led her to a darkened hall that didn’t lead to restrooms, but instead a solid door with a sign that read Emergency Exit Only. Alarm Will Sound When Opened.

She approached it anyway, with some vague idea of hiding in the shadows there until...sometime when she felt it was safe enough to return to the bar.

Behind her back, a man called her name. “Angelica?”

Her eyes closed. Of course Brett had seen her escape. “Um...yeah?”

The rug muffled his footsteps, but she sensed his approach. The hairs on the back of her neck jumped to attention. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Can’t a woman have a little alone time?” she snapped out, without turning toward him.

She didn’t need to see him to sense the rising of one of his eyebrows. “Hiding by the back door?”

With a shrug, she tried to indicate nonchalance instead of idiocy.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course not!” She glanced over her shoulder to see him rub his palm over his hair, his expression frustrated. “Why’d you follow me?”

“I—”

“Never mind. I’m leaving.” But she did nothing more than turn to face him.

“What are you doing here, anyway? This doesn’t seem your kind of place.”

She was supposed to be networking, she remembered. Making contacts in hopes of finding another job. Because she was without family, without a home, without more than a few dollars to her name.

Suddenly, it was too much. Overwhelmed by her situation, overstimulated by the presence of the man she’d been attracted to for months, she felt another upwelling of those useless tears. Angry at her herself, she dashed them away with the edge of her hand.

“Angelica.” Then he was close. Closer than when they’d been saying goodbye at the coffee place the other day. Closer than ever before. She felt his breath on her temple and his body heat made her own skin prickle.

His fingers gripped her chin to tilt her face to his. Then he groaned, the sound frustrated. Resigned.

“This is a bad idea,” he murmured.

And before she could agree, because having his hands on her was terrible, he kissed her.

His lips were hard, his tongue insistent. She opened for him—there seemed no alternative—and he swept inside in the same way he swept away all her sensible thoughts. Her fingers clutched his biceps and they swelled under her touch.

His head tilted, and the kiss went deeper. Her tongue slid along his, and they both shuddered. He crowded her until she stepped back, her shoulder blades to the wall. That didn’t stop him, he just kept pressing into her and instead of being nervous of his big, masculine frame surrounding her smaller one, she only felt...turned on.

And, strangely safe.

One arm curled around his neck and she tilted her hips, the jut of his sex against her belly. His hands clutched at her hair and he pushed into her, harder, and then...

He tore his mouth from hers. Stepped back.

“Bad idea,” he muttered again, and was gone.

Angelica sagged against the wall, struggling to bring her breathing under control. Her fingers shook when she brought them to her lips, which felt both bruised and scorched.

A hysterical giggle tried to climb up her throat. She thought of what she and Brett had done. What Glory had said.

Once you get more acquainted with people, who knows what might come up?

A little one-on-one with Brett Walker was probably not what her friend had in mind.

CHAPTER FOUR

NURSING HER BEER, Glory Hallett kept her attention on her glass and her back to the rest of the crowd at Mr. Frank’s. Angelica had just left after returning from the ladies’ room, looking wide-eyed and unsettled, as if a ghost had goosed her in the back hall.

Her father was a bastard for taking his daughter’s money—not just her trust fund, but money that she had earned and invested from her modeling days—and for putting her into this position. Glory might have her beefs with her own dad, but he wasn’t a criminal. She peeked over her shoulder to see him in a far corner at a table with his cronies. Even though he was an exemplary citizen, she didn’t want to engage with him tonight. A girl should get to enjoy a beer without having her pops come over to talk shop, which was exactly what he’d do if he spotted her.

Maybe she, like Angelica, should head for home. Another ladies’ night at Mr. Frank’s felt suddenly flat. If she hung around much longer, surely Hank Hallett would notice her presence and come out of his very tenuous retirement to decide it was time to once again intrude on the course the business’s new management had set.

“This seat taken?” a deep voice asked.

“No,” she answered, not distracted from the morose turn of her thoughts. Sighing, she decided leaving was the best option she had. She could spend the rest of the evening debating whether to join an online dating service—not for the first time—knowing from the outset nothing would come of registering even if she did. She already knew every eligible man living in the local mountain resort communities. Outside the area...well, given that she’d never be leaving it because of her ties to the store, finding a man with a life down the hill would be a big waste of time and only bring the potential for heartbreak.

“Great,” the newcomer answered.

His low-toned voice niggled at her, and her gaze flicked to the right. When she saw a rangy body climb onto the stool, she took a longer look. Her heart jumped in her chest. “Oh. You.”

His eyes cut to her. They were dark, to match his dark, shaggy hair. She refused to wiggle on her seat, despite the fact it seemed he was having trouble placing her. Embarrassing! She remembered his face.

His glance dropped down to her chest. She wore a button-up Henley over a tank top and, yes, she was revealing a bit of cleavage. After working in a hardware store sixty hours a week, on occasion she did like to remind people she was a woman. But maybe she should feel a little insulted by his ogling.

His eyes lifted to hers. “You’re...Glory. I remember your name’s written on the apron you wear at work.”

Yay! All was forgiven! She smiled at him. “Hello, stranger.” Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. “Glory Hallett, of Hallett Hardware.”

His handshake was manly and brief. “Kyle Scott, of...”

She mentally cursed herself for her introduction. Did it sound like bragging? When he’d come in for some Spackle, rollers and paintbrushes, he’d been wearing threadbare jeans with a T-shirt that was probably as old as he was. It wasn’t easy making a living in the mountains. With housing and groceries and gas at resort prices, those who did certain jobs—say house painting or general handyman tasks—didn’t have an easy time of it. But she came from mountain pioneer stock and knew well that all work was honorable.

“Kyle Scott of Evergreen and Piano Keys,” she finished for him, naming two popular paint colors.

He blinked, clearly astonished.

Glory grinned at him. “I work in a hardware store. We sell cans of that stuff. I recognized those splashes on your clothes.”

He looked chagrined. “I have to admit I bought that paint over at Murphy’s,” he said, mentioning one of their competitors in the bigger town on the north side of the mountain. “I didn’t know about Hallett’s at the time.”

“Well, now you do.”

He smiled, slow. “Now I do.”

Glory swallowed the last of her beer. Then she signaled to the bartender, Murray. “Can I buy you a beer?” she asked the new guy, signaling for two without waiting for his answer.

At his silence, she glanced over, hoping she hadn’t stepped on his ego. “It’s ladies’ night,” she said. “I get a break on the price.”

“Oh. Well, then.” A strange expression crossed his face. “I appreciate it.”

Upon arrival of their drinks, she tapped her full glass to his. “What should we drink to?”

“New friends?” he suggested.

Warmth curled like a kitten in her belly. “You in these parts for a while, stranger?” It was just a beer, she reminded herself. No need to get worked up about his permanent address.

“Kyle,” he repeated. “I hope to be here for some time, yes. We’ll see how it goes.”

He hoped to be here for some time! It was good, though, that he appeared to understand that earning enough to pay mountain prices wouldn’t be easy. “I can put your name and number in our files,” she offered. “And we have a bulletin board near the front of the store where you can post a flyer. Customers often ask if we know of workers who do general home maintenance. That’s your gig, right?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure.” She shrugged, pretending it was a casual proposal. Something she’d do for anyone she happened upon in Mr. Frank’s. But the truth was, she had a sudden stake in his ability to make a mountain living. There was something about the man and his dark, intense eyes that caused her heart to race. Her whole body felt as if it was coming alive.

If he could afford to stay in the area...

She slid another quick look at his handsome face. There was a sudden change in the air, too. A first-day-of-school feeling. A first-day-of-the-rest-of-your-life feeling that sensitized the surface of her skin and made the oxygen she sucked in seem even thinner than normal.

No way was she going to ignore it.

Turning toward the new guy, she placed her elbow on the bar. “So...tell me about yourself. You really want to put down roots in the mountains?”

His gaze shifted from her to his beer and he hesitated.

Too long. Mortified heat crawled up her neck. “Um, sorry,” she mumbled, and turned back to her own drink. “I’ll shut up now and let you enjoy your evening in peace.” Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid. He was probably married or gay or simply not interested in her in any way. Just because she’d been instantly attracted...

She remembered the day he’d walked into the store. The bell over the door had rung with its usual cheery sound, and she’d looked up from dusting the boxes of wooden matches that her dad insisted they stock but nobody ever put in their basket. The stranger had looked a little lost and a lot hot and she’d smiled to herself as she approached and asked if he needed help. There was something about a man and any kind of shopping task—even when it was hardware stuff. They always roamed the floor with an air of bafflement, as if the entire process confounded them.

Whether a woman was browsing or knew exactly what she wanted, she walked through a store with the confidence of a general on a battlefield.

He’d asked to be pointed toward the painting supplies and then he’d strolled off in the direction she’d indicated, leaving her to admire the set of his shoulders and those long legs. But she’d dismissed him from her mind immediately after he’d made his purchases, however. Because mooning over a visitor wasn’t a practical thing to do.

Yet now that she’d run into him at mostly locals Mr. Frank’s and he said he was hoping to remain in the area...well, that seemed promising.

Not if he wasn’t interested, however.

The proprietor of a locally owned and operated hardware store had to be nothing but practical. So even if he wanted to be more than temporary to the mountains, if the spark wasn’t mutual, she wasn’t going to waste a moment worrying about it.

“Glory.”

“Hmm?” She chirped it, faking happy and unconcerned. Her gaze stayed stubbornly glued on the TV above the bar. The coverage of an early snow in Wisconsin was fascinating.

“I’ve forgotten the steps,” he said.

“Mmm.” She made a mental note to check on her order of snow shovels. You never wanted to be deeply discounting surplus in April, but you’d better have plenty in stock between New Year’s and Valentine’s Day.

Kyle released a sigh. “So it’s no wonder I’ve already stumbled on them. Give me another chance?”

She shook herself and shot him a quick look. “What?”

His expression was sheepish. “Is there a way to tell a woman you’re rusty when it comes to bar pickups?”

Rearing back, she felt another hot flush overtake her. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up!” It was sort of a lie, but still.

“Hell,” he muttered, slapping his palm to his forehead. “I did it again.”

“Did what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I...work a lot. Don’t get out much.”

Which sounded like Glory. “So...?”

“So, it was more like I was trying to pick you up.”

Her eyes rounded. “You really are rusty. You’re not supposed to admit the pickup intention right out loud like that.”

He laughed.

She liked the sound of it. “Though to be truthful, I’m not into that kind of thing anyway.” Yes, she’d wanted to talk to him, feel out the boundaries of the attraction she felt for him, but a pickup implied sex and she didn’t jump into anyone’s bed.

He grimaced, and as if he could read her mind, he said, “Yeah. I bet it sounded like I was after sex, huh?”

“Um...it did.”

His hand slapped his forehead again. “I’m terrible at this, see?”

He was too good-looking to be “terrible.” She figured he’d had plenty of opportunities to know women in every way possible.

“You’re looking skeptical,” he said.

“It could be just a good line,” she told him honestly and lowered her voice to a manly tone. “‘I’m inexperienced and utterly harmless despite my good looks and fabulous smile.’”

His mouth curved upward.

Yep, fabulous smile, Glory thought.

“I didn’t say I was ‘inexperienced.’” Mischief sparked in his eyes. “Just out of practice.”

Smiling herself, she shook her head. “Looks like the rhythm is coming right back to you.”

Their gazes met and she had to suppress a little shiver. Truly, she hadn’t felt this sense of something-good-about-to-happen since she was twelve and found she was assigned to a seat beside Harper Adrian, the cutest boy in the seventh grade.

Of course, Harper had cheated off her the entire year and written a nasty note about her on the bathroom wall the last day of school.

She sighed.

Frowning, Kyle redirected his gaze to his beer as if he had his own heavy thoughts. “I like it here,” he said. “I like working with my hands and I like that it’s...simpler. Not like down the mountain.”

“I like that you like it here,” Glory said, smiling. “But it’s down the hill.”

He glanced over at her.

“You’ve got to use the proper locals’ lingo if you intend to become one. We call it down the hill.”

“Locals’ lingo...” He drained the remainder of his beer. “About that—”

A meaty hand clapped on her shoulder. “Glory girl! I didn’t see you come in.”

She stifled her groan and half turned. “Dad. Having fun?”

“Sure. But I’m glad I caught you. I think we need to have a little chat.”

“Oh, gee, Dad. I’m just about to...” What? Make another move on the total stranger? Or leave the bar and lose out on learning any more about him?

“This won’t take long.” The stool on her other side was unfortunately empty and her father slid onto it.

Glory peeked at Kyle and saw him stifle a yawn. Then he stood and withdrew some bills, leaving a nice tip for the bartender.

She was losing out on him, anyway. Her dad started yammering in her ear as Kyle sent her a smile and then tapped two fingers to his forehead in a silent goodbye. In return, she pinkie waved, saying farewell, most likely, to the most interesting thing that had come her way in months. Possibly years.

“About that bin of pumpkins...” Her father droned on. “I think they do better at the back of the store, where we’ve always kept them, not out on the sidewalk where you have to drag them in before closing every night.”

Hank Hallett didn’t like change. Glory supposed she shouldn’t be looking for anything in her life to alter either, not when she’d already predicted this very serious discussion regarding pumpkin placement.

She snuck a look over her shoulder in the direction of Kyle Scott’s exit. His hand was on the door. As he pushed it open, he glanced back. Their gazes tangled once again.

And Glory felt a new rush of hope, despite how impractical and nonsensical it might be. She sighed. Likely nothing would ever come of it.

* * *

AS THE BROTHER OF three younger sisters, Brett had a keen appreciation of male companionship. It was why he enjoyed the little ritual he’d established with his brothers-in-law-to-be. A couple of times a week, they met for morning coffee and he always looked forward to it.

It was a no-stress way to start the day, hanging with the two men who didn’t expect any more from him than the occasional comment on the news playing on the TV hanging in the corner. Brett was no less relaxed now, even though it was the first time he’d been in Oscar’s Coffee since buying Angelica hot chocolate.

He’d banished her from his thoughts.

That he dreamed of her, well, he wasn’t going to beat himself up for that. A man didn’t have control over his sleeping self. But in his waking hours he had disciplined his mind not to linger on her big brown eyes, silky hair, bountiful breasts. He didn’t think about the way her long lashes swept the pink-edged apples of her cheeks.

Her small hand, cool in his.

“What’s got that expression on your face?” Ryan Hamilton asked. “Do you need a muffin or something? The breakfast burritos are good.”

Brett glanced over. “Huh?”

“You look hungry, man.”

Guilt poked at him. Made him grouchy. Small hand, cool in his. Yeesh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, wanting to soak his head in cold water. She’s supposed to be banished from your thoughts!

A server approached, their coffees on a tray. She slid them onto the table, plucked their number from the silver holder, then sent Brett a bright smile. “Long time no see, honey.”

Blinking, he noticed it was Danielle Shore. “You’re working here now?”

She nodded, her blond hair swirling around her shoulders. “Just one shift a week. Not getting enough hours at the boutique.”

A tough time of year for the full-timers. Autumn and spring were the slow seasons in the mountains. “I hope you can stay busy, Danielle.”

Tucking the tray under her arm, she edged nearer, close enough to nudge his thigh with her knee. “I can think of things we can do to fill my spare time.”

He considered her obvious proposition. They’d dated for a few months a couple of years before. But it had faded and they’d gone their separate ways. But Danielle’s good looks hadn’t diminished in the least. She was California-mountain-girl pretty, with that blond hair, those blue eyes and the dash of cute freckles over her nose. A round two might not be a bad idea.

Some vigorous sex might be just what he needed.

He opened his mouth to suggest a dinner later that week.

But then the image of dark-haired, dark-eyed Angelica popped into his thoughts. Her mouth pursed like a kiss as she blew on the surface of her hot chocolate in this very establishment.

Their actual kiss.

It had been a very bad idea. He’d said so...out loud. But that hadn’t stopped him from reaching for her. From taking her mouth, certain and sure, as she wound an arm around his neck and pressed eagerly against his body.

It was her hair that had finally stopped him. He’d buried his hands in the silky strands and the fragrant stuff had seemed alive, winding around his fingers as if it could bind him to her.

Keep him tied up until he was helpless against her and what she could do to him.

Crush him. Suck the life from him. Break him into a million little pieces.

He’d been hurt like that once before, but he sensed that the havoc that beautiful, spoiled princess Angelica could wreak would be so much worse.

With a little smile for Danielle, he patted the pocket that contained his phone. “Maybe so,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. His interest in a date with her had evaporated. “I have your number.”

She sashayed away in tight jeans and a little T-shirt, but Brett couldn’t drum up an ounce of regret.

Across the table, Jace chuckled into his coffee. “That’s a first. Ryan Hamilton’s pretty face completely ignored in favor of Brett’s grunts and grumbles. Poppy must have put out the word that the other women around town better not even glance at you.”

Ryan, looking like the movie star he’d been, settled back in his chair and eyed the still-smirking Jace. “I’m going to tell Shay you’re dying to discuss the flower arrangements for your wedding.”

Jace winced. “Ouch. That’s pretty harsh, brother.”

“Could be worse. You don’t watch it I’ll tell her you have an opinion on her Big Day hairstyle.”

The other man groaned. “Don’t. I beg you.”

Brett shook his head at the other two. “I tried to tell you both. I counseled you, even. You shouldn’t have popped the question. There’s no need for a wedding, or a marriage even. My sisters would stick with you guys without all that hoopla.”

Jace placed his coffee on the table and turned to Brett. “I want to make promises to your sister,” he said, his voice low. “And I want her to make them to me. Publicly.”

Ryan nodded, looking equally serious.

What Brett wanted was to scoff. Call them fools. But that seemed too damn rude, even for him, and he really did wish the best for the two couples. He didn’t think Poppy or Shay would ever do a number on the hearts of these two men.

Too bad his choice of female companions hadn’t always been so stellar.

Looking around the room instead of looking at them, his gaze snagged on the TV. As if to underscore his condemnation of his own lousy instincts, Lorraine Kushi’s face appeared on the screen. She’d worked for years at an LA news affiliate, and when she came on he always switched the channel to avoid the sight of her sharp beauty and the memories it dredged up. He stood now, bent on doing just that, when a name flashed on the screen. Ralph Rodriguez.

Ralph Rodriguez was the name of Angelica’s father.

Brett sank back in his seat as Lorraine reported the latest financial scandal. Angelica’s father had stolen millions of his investors’ dollars in a Ponzi scheme that had finally gone bust. The Feds had kept him in custody—for several days now—and the news had finally leaked.

His personal accounts and property had been frozen or put under the government’s control. Rumor was he’d even robbed his own daughter while trying to cover up the crisis.

Angelica. Her father jailed. Her money gone...or at least inaccessible.

Did she know?

Of course she knew. It all made sense now. The darkened house. Her creeping around inside it. He’d suspected something was off. Then there was the job at Hallett Hardware.

In this very coffee shop, she’d told him she’d once wanted to work with her father but she hadn’t been welcomed. All for the best, she’d said. I’m not suited for that kind of risk.

Not suited for the things her father did. Breaking the law. Cheating other people. Betraying family.

“Where are you going?”

He glanced at his companions, realizing he’d jumped up from his chair and was heading for the door. The two men were staring at him. “Where are you going?” Ryan repeated.

“I’ve got to go check on someone—I mean something.” He needed to see her. To make sure that she was okay. While he cursed this drive to protect her, he couldn’t deny it, either.

The morning air, as crisp as a pippin apple, didn’t cool the heated urge. But as he unlocked his truck, he realized he had no idea where to find her. Where was she living now that the mansion on the lake was in government hands?

He slid inside, trying to think it through. Hallett Hardware. It was his best bet.

But a dumb idea, he realized, as he pulled into its small parking lot. The place was dark. It wouldn’t open for another couple of hours. Frustrated, he banged on the steering wheel with the heel of his hands. Did she know the story was out?

If so, would she look for a new place to go?

Maybe she’d run from the mountains and he’d never see her again. She’d banish herself. That made sense, didn’t it?

His hands thumped the steering wheel again. Then he cursed, because there was no reason for that idea to bother him so. It was what he wanted. Distance from gorgeous Angelica Rodriguez who fascinated him in a way he was sure would only lead to disaster.

A knock on the driver’s side window caused him to jump. His head whipped around to see Vaughn Elliott, dressed in dark jeans and a wool coat. Brett had never warmed to the guy, but then again he had a knee-jerk distrust of Richie Rich types. Vaughn was certainly that. As far as Brett knew, he lived off family money and got off by playing cop. The sheriff’s volunteer patrol car that he so often cruised around in was parked beside the truck.

Vaughn knocked again on the glass.

Brett unrolled the window. “Yeah?”

“Good morning.”

“Uh-huh.” Brett stared at a shiny piece of metal that was pinned to Vaughn’s lapel. “You wear a badge now?”

The other man shifted on his feet and looked a little embarrassed. “The sheriff thought it was a good idea.”

“Right.” Wrong. Brett would bet this particular volunteer liked the—fake—authority the emblem conferred upon him. Everything about the arrogant jerk rubbed him the wrong way. “You here to arrest me?”

Vaughn looked back coolly. “Have you done something wrong?”

An image of Angelica popped into Brett’s mind again. That kiss in the shadowy hallway at Mr. Frank’s. What he’d been on the brink of doing. Sex in a public place was against the law, right? Shoving the idea of it out of his mind, he shrugged for Vaughn’s benefit. “Nothing I’m willing to share,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Thought I’d pass along the word about a burglary last night.”

Brett straightened in his seat. “Another house was broken into?”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard?”

“Don Fleming clued me in a few days ago,” he said.

“Ah.” Vaughn nodded. “Well, this does seem part of the same string.”

“What was taken?”

“I don’t know all the particulars. It was the Smithfields’ vacation home. There were some silver pieces missing for sure and an antique globe in a walnut stand.”

Brett frowned. “Silver? An antique globe? That doesn’t sound like the kind of loot kids would take.”

“There was cash missing, too, I’m told. And, uh...” Vaughn seemed to think. “The medicine cabinets were rifled. A TV is gone.”

“Hmm.” It seemed to him an odd assortment of plunder, but Brett didn’t know anything about what items could be fenced. Or the criminal mind.

The sheriff’s volunteer patted the roof of the truck. “Keep vigilant.”

Brett resisted rolling his eyes. “Will do,” he said, and succumbed to the urge to mock salute.

The other man didn’t appear to sense his irony and returned to his vehicle. Brett watched him roll slowly out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

As he did, he saw Angelica’s vehicle drive past the hardware store. Most of her face was hidden behind a pair of celebrity-sized sunglasses. Without thinking, he pulled out after her. If she wasn’t working at Hallett’s today, where was she going?

More important, how was she faring?

At the next turnoff, an SUV took advantage of the gap he’d left between their vehicles and slid into place behind Angelica. Brett didn’t mind. He could watch her just as well from here. Their short parade continued on for half a mile until her lights signaled and she hung a right into a parking lot bordering a rustic set of buildings that housed a branch of the county library, a gourmet market and a fancy day spa.

He followed at a sedate space, wondering about her destination.

Was she intending to massage her worries away?

His mind got busy again, picturing her naked on a table, a towel covering the delectable curve of her butt. Maybe he’d sneak in, pay off the real masseuse and help himself to the wealth of her golden skin.

He’d warm his hands by spreading coconut oil between his palms and then he’d stroke her shoulders, knead the tight muscles there. After long minutes he’d work his way down her back.

She’d moan.

At the thought of the sound of her pleasure, he had to shift on his seat and adjust the tight fit of his jeans. Damn, he thought, watching her exit her car as he idled behind a commercial-size Dumpster. Could he do it?

But instead of the spa, she approached the library and pushed some books through the mouth of the outside depository. Then she returned to her car, those big dark glasses still obscuring most of her face and all of her mood.

He’d go to her, he thought. Shove up the shades and look deep into her eyes. His hand went to the door handle. Then he’d tell her—

Just as a law enforcement vehicle whizzed by on the highway, the bar of lights on its roof flashing, and he caught himself. His hand jerked away from the door.

Maybe he was a criminal. Because it was criminally stupid to forget the promises he’d made to himself.

She wasn’t for him.

She wasn’t his concern.

This unfamiliar need to serve and protect would only cause him trouble.

CHAPTER FIVE

BRETT RETURNED HIS focus to the only places it should be: work and family. He spent long hours on other people’s property, tiring himself out physically so that the only energy he had left was to grab take-out for dinner before heading to the remote cabin where he was living on the family property.

Though there was plenty of gourmet fare to be had in Blue Arrow Lake, he was grateful for the invitation to have a home-cooked meal with his siblings and their significant others at Poppy and Ryan’s place a few days later. He arrived with a stack of fresh clothes and used one of the guest bathrooms at the expansive estate to clean up before joining the rest in the huge kitchen. Ryan handed him a beer and Poppy slid a plate of appetizers his way. He only took time to greet Mason, Poppy’s son, and then he chugged half the beer and ate a handful of crackers and cheese.

“Good,” he said around his last bite. “Thanks.”

In a more mellow mood than he’d been in of late, he settled onto his stool at the granite island and listened to the family chatter. Mason was sharing something about the classroom hamster. London, Jace’s teenage daughter, commented—kindly—without looking up from texting on her phone.

“Kid,” Brett called, waving to get her attention.

She glanced at him, her expression open, her face devoid of the heavy black makeup she’d worn when she’d first arrived months back. “Yes?”

“High school going okay?”

“High school’s going great. I’m on the homecoming committee and the yearbook staff, and my chemistry teacher wants me to wash the beakers and stuff during my free period. I’ll even get paid.”

“Yeah? Proud of you.” Then he injected pitiful into his expression. “Too busy to help out with my files every once in a while?”

Her brows came together and her voice took on a scolding tone. “Uncle Brett.”

He loved that she called him that, he’d admit it. She was a great kid and that she feel comfortable in the family was a goal of every Walker. “I know, I know,” he said, hanging his head.

“You’ve let the paperwork get away from you again, haven’t you?”

He thought of the sheets swirling in the wind and Angelica and he racing around to retrieve them. Her pink cheeks, upturned ass, cold hands. His very basic urge to warm her in every way possible. “You can say that again.”

London sighed. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, returning her attention to her cell, “my next free Saturday morning.”

“Thank you,” he said humbly. “I sure appreciate it.”

His sister Mac dropped onto the stool beside his and spoke into his ear. “You big con.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, all innocence.

“Making London feel sorry for you. She’s not onto you yet, but any minute now...”

“Shh,” Brett said. “I’m milking it for as long as I can. And it’s true I need her help. You know how lousy I am with the invoices and billing.”

Mac shook her head. “Anyway...you hear the news?”

“Uh...” He’d been avoiding all media, not wanting to get sucked into any drama involving the duplicitous Ralph Rodriguez. “No. And I’m liking keeping my head clear of such stuff, thank you very much.”

“There was another break-in.”

The relief that she wasn’t talking about anything Angelica related was short-lived as the new information sunk in. He groaned. “I don’t like this.”

Poppy nodded. “Me neither. I’m worried about you out at the cabins by yourself when there’s criminal activity going on in the area.”

Ryan slid his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Sweetheart, your brother could scare the crap out of a grizzly bear if he had a mind to.”

Brett appreciated the vote of confidence, but all he said was, “Hmm.” Then he tapped his chin. “Should we abandon the property again then, Pop?”

“No,” she said quickly. After a second her eyes narrowed. “You’re teasing.”

The idea of refurbishing the cabins at the abandoned property and turning them into a revenue stream for the Walker family was her baby. Somehow, though legend said the land was cursed, the siblings had been persuaded to get behind the idea. After a fire in the most secluded cabin in the woods occurred a few months back, Brett had even moved into another of the bungalows, partly as security and partly to make it more convenient for him to do his share working on the buildings in his—admittedly limited—free time.

“I’m teasing,” he admitted.

Jace strolled up, beer in hand. “Sorry I haven’t been much use out there recently.”

“Hey, I understand,” Brett said. “You’ve got to get your home base established here.” Glancing over at London, he wagged a thumb in her direction. “Somebody else seems to be getting established just fine.”

The other man smiled at his daughter. “I’m a lucky guy.” He reached over to snag Shay’s hand and draw her to his side. “Even mountain fires have been blessings for me.”

“When the days get shorter, I’ll be able to work on the interiors of the cabins in the evening,” Brett said. “You and Shay have most of the exterior repairs done, so we’re ready for harsher weather.”

“I just wish we knew what was going on with the break-ins,” Mac said.

They all nodded. Poppy looked worried again. “I don’t know that I like you cleaning houses alone, Mac.”

“She could scare a grizzly, too,” Brett said, elbowing her ribs. “Look at that mean face she makes.”

“I’m serious,” Poppy said. “You should have a partner.”

“I do need some help,” Mac conceded. “Haven’t found the right candidate yet.”

“I can do Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Poppy offered.

Ryan opened his mouth, then closed it. Smart man, Brett decided. Poppy, as Ryan’s wife, didn’t need to lift a finger. But that wasn’t the Walker way. They came from hard-working people.

“I’ll meet you at the Maids by Mac office Tuesday at 8:00 a.m.”

Brett took another swig of his beer, unwinding a crucial bit more at the idea that the two sisters would be working together.

“Speaking of the office reminds me of other news,” Mac started. “Angelica Rodriguez.”

Shay straightened. “You know Angelica?”

Mac slid a gaze at Brett. “She came by the business. Seems she knows our big bro.”

“Mmm.” Shay had a speculative gleam in her eye. “He doesn’t like her.”

“She’s all right,” Brett heard himself say in a defensive tone.

His youngest sister stared. “Oh, really? That’s a change of tune.”

“Who is Angelica and what does she have to do with Brett?” Poppy demanded.

Mac was watching him, too. “Beautiful, stacked—”

“Say no more.” Poppy waved to end the conversation. “Brett has a pile of beautiful and stacked ladies he’s left behind.”

“Hey,” he protested. “I’m right here, you know.”

His sisters ignored him. “This one’s different,” Mac insisted. “Get this. She’s a rich flatlander who also worked on that big auction event for the historical society you and Ryan went to last summer. Glory Hallett recruited her.”

“She also works at Hallett Hardware,” Brett heard himself interject again.

“Interesting,” Mac said, sparing him a glance. “And if you kept up with the financial news—”

“I don’t,” Poppy and Shay admitted together.

“—you’d know that her father was a megapowerful hedge-fund manager who just swindled a boatload of people out of their life savings. It’s been reported he took his only daughter’s money before he was arrested.”

Poppy, with her tender heart, looked stricken. “Oh, no. Those poor people. And poor Angelica, too.”

“You don’t even know her,” Brett growled.

Poppy’s big gray eyes fastened on his face. “Well? Did she deserve it?”

“No,” he said, though it felt as if the word was pulled out of him. “I suppose not.”

And there she was, front and center in his head again. The rest of the meal he heard the family talking and laughing around him, and he didn’t join in, aware he was brooding but unable to yank himself out of the dark place.

See? She was bad for him in so many ways.

On the way home, he turned left instead of right, deciding to take a cruise through town before heading for the highway. He wasn’t ready for the isolation of the cabins just yet. Maybe he’d stop off for a beer at Mr. Frank’s. On a whim, he slowed as he passed Hallett Hardware. It was closed for the night, of course—

But there was Angelica’s flashy convertible parked in the lot beside it.

Slowing, he could see her figure in the driver’s seat.

Move along, he told himself.

His feet and hands didn’t listen and he pulled into the spot beside hers. In the dim light from an overhead streetlamp, her face was a pale blur. When he approached her window, she rolled it down.

An inch.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“That was my line.”

“I’m great, thanks.”

Before she could push the button that would move the window back into place, he curled his fingers around the edge. The glass was cold against his palm and his fingers registered that the interior of the car wasn’t much warmer. “What are you doing out here?”

“Communing with nature, not that it’s any if your business.”

The nose of her convertible was pointing directly at a battered Dumpster. “Lovely view,” he said.

“I like it.”

He bit back a smile. This was new, this prickly snideness, and some piece of him liked it. Liked her. Of course, that had always been the problem. How much he wanted to like her. How much he wanted her.

How soft—well, and hard—that wanting might make him.

“Good night,” she said.

How are you really doing? he wanted to ask. What’s going on with your father? Is there anything you need? How can I help you?

Fuck, he thought. There it was again. The urge to serve and protect. Keep her warm. Feed her. Soothe her with kisses. Distract her from her woes with sex.

Okay, that last might be a more selfish wish. But God, you couldn’t blame a guy. Even in the shadows her face could stop his heart. The thought of her kiss could make him stiff even when it was thirty-four degrees outside and he was in shirtsleeves.

“Stay away, Brett.” Her whisper floated through the centimeters of space she’d left open between them.

He removed his fingers from around her window. Staying away had been his intention from the beginning. But when she insisted on it now, wouldn’t you know that the perverse side of him no longer wanted to agree. Now it clamored to do the opposite.

All his common sense, all those hard lessons he’d learned, receded in the background. He ran a hand over his face and into his hair, feeling the scars beneath his callous palms. When Angelica was around, it was as if every bit of wisdom he’d gained fled.

“Go home, Brett.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he said. But he still didn’t move.

As if sensing his internal struggle, she glanced at him. “Really. I’m not your problem.”

But she seemed to be his concern, no matter how hard he tried to shake that fact. Not until she rolled up her window, effectively cutting off communication, did he return to his car and drive away.

* * *

KYLE SCOTT CARRIED over the threshold of Hallett Hardware a rotund deli bag and an unfamiliar sense of excitement. Inside, it smelled of a pleasing combination of WD-40 and a light feminine fragrance. Pausing a moment, he breathed it in.

His muscles, especially those in his arms and shoulders, were sore. That was unfamiliar, too. He was more accustomed to a stiff lower back and legs frozen from time spent at a desk or at a conference table. But this pain felt good and he flexed his free paint-speckled left hand.

Looking down at his flesh peppered with green dots made him frown. Maybe he should have done a complete cleanup before his impromptu visit to see Hardware Hottie, aka Glory Hallett. But the idea had come to him like the flash of a lightbulb and he obeyed his sudden inspirations as a general rule. Over the years, they’d fattened his bank account—though at the same time draining all the life out of the social side of his world.

Anyway, he thought Glory would forgive his disheveled state. She was aware he was painting a house. For now, that was all she had to know, right?

Maybe he should feel bad he’d encouraged her impression he was a mere handyman who hoped to stay in the mountains, but the freshness of a woman being interested in him without knowing his net worth was irresistible.

He could hear her voice at the rear of the store. Clearly she was helping someone in plumbing supplies. And wasn’t that novel, too? He sure as hell didn’t know anything about angle stops and wax gaskets and he only found it more intriguing that this young woman was obviously well versed in the steps required to change out a toilet.

His father would appreciate that trait, he was sure. As a gastro-intestinal surgeon he’d likely have a lot to talk about with her.

A lot more than his father, mother, sister or brother had to say to him. They were all in medicine: two surgeons and two orthopedists, and they considered Kyle the cuckoo that had been left in their well-feathered nest. It had shocked the hell out of them that he refused to take his place in medical school.

What he did after that had left them completely flummoxed.

But now he was at Blue Arrow Lake, painting a house and bringing a woman he barely knew lunch. The idea had come to him as he was using the roller on the porch ceiling.

Bring Hardware Hottie lunch, an inner voice urged. Become better acquainted with her in the guise of Kyle Scott, home-maintenance dude. Feel out the way things are going with her and if it seems right, then hit her with the whole truth.

He was still standing just inside the hardware store’s door when she came around the corner. Her feet stuttered at the sight of him and she reached out to clutch an endcap featuring various sizes and colors of duct tape to steady herself. Kyle drank her in.

She was small and built on a delicate scale. Her hair was nearly platinum and cut in way that curled around her ears and showcased her triangular face. Pink lips. Dusting of gold freckles. Big blue eyes—no, turquoise—that warmed with pleasure as she looked him over, too.

His hands itched to snatch her up and kiss her. Instead, his fingers tightened on the brown bag and the crinkling sound had them both redirecting their gazes to what he held. His arm lifted. “I brought us lunch.”

“You did?” Her mouth curved and he didn’t think he was wrong that it was delight that turned up the corners of those pretty lips.

“I did. I needed a break and thought maybe you could take a little time off, too.”

She grimaced. “I don’t have anyone to take my place.”

“Oh.” Ridiculous to feel so deflated. After all, he understood what it required to build a business and keep one going.

“But if you don’t mind sitting with me by the register...” she started.

“Would love to,” he said, and followed her lead to the glass-topped counter at the side of the store.

She dragged a stool toward him, the plastic seat advertising a waterproofing product. Hers was matching except it promoted an automatic sprinkler system. “What’d you bring?” she asked, glancing toward the bag.

He scratched at the whiskers on his jaw. “I hope you don’t think this was cheating.”

Her brows rose. “Oh?”

“I asked at the deli two doors down for your favorite sandwich.” He reached into the bag. “Tuna salad on rye.” With a flourish, he set the wax-paper-wrapped package before her.

She stared at it.

“I was trying to make a good impression.” Had the clerk got it wrong entirely? Maybe Glory was allergic to fish. Maybe the seeds in the rye bread got stuck in her dentures.

Then she looked up at him, her smile dazzling, her teeth obviously all her own. “Nobody has put out that kind of effort to please me in...maybe never.”

“Not never,” he scoffed.

Her smile still digging a dimple into her now-pink cheek, she unwrapped the paper around her sandwich, neatly cut in the middle. “And two pickles!”

“You have to have two pickles, one for each half.” He pulled out his own meal—avocado, turkey and Swiss on sourdough.

Glancing over, he saw Glory was staring at him. “Nobody gets the double pickle thing. Did they tell you I always order that way at the deli?”

“Nope. It’s the way I always order at the deli.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Are you trying to pick me up again?”

“With double-dill breath? I don’t think so.” He crunched into the first sour gherkin.

With a little laugh, she applied herself again to her meal. They ate a few bites in companionable silence until she broke it. “Still painting, I see.”

He held out his speckled hands. “Yep. How about you? How’s your day been going?”

“We received a shipment of red, white and blue bunting. I carry the decorations—but starting in May, not September. A frustrating phone call later, I think it’s straightened out.”

Kyle’s sandwich was the best he’d ever eaten. Or maybe that was the company. He grinned at her. “I heard you talking quite knowledgeably about toilet repairs.”

She shook her head. “Now that’s an image a girl wants to put in a guy’s head.”

His grin widened. “No, no. I was quite impressed. How do you know that stuff?”

“My dad. I’m hopeless at keeping our back storeroom organized—or so says my friend Angelica who works here part-time—but I’m aces when it comes to advising on how to fix things. Reps come into the store and talk to me about products and I’ve gone to a seminar or two, but the best learning begins at home. Since I could walk, I’ve been helping my dad around the house.”

“No ‘girls play with dolls and boys with tools,’ huh?”

She shook her head. “No boys in the family. I’m the lonely only.”

Kyle tilted his head. “Are you? Lonely, that is.”

Pursing her pretty lips, she shook her head. “I don’t know how I could be. I’ve got customers coming in and out of the store all day long. Not to mention my retired—” she made air quotes around the word with her fingers “—dad popping in all the time to comment upon my business practices.”

Kyle knew from experience a person could be lonely anywhere: in a packed boardroom, among the tables of a bustling company cafeteria, pounding out miles on a treadmill in a busy state-of-the-art gym.

On a sigh, Glory touched a finger to the nearby revolving display rack from which hung floatable key rings. “Take this stand for example. In summer, two rows of the chains are fine, they’re very popular. But now that winter’s coming on, on the lower rung I added a selection of miniature flashlights that you can hook to your ring. Dad did not like it.” She made a stern face and lowered her voice. “All the flashlights are situated in Aisle F and always have been.”

Kyle could commiserate. His own parents hadn’t liked change either, especially the changes he wanted to make to his life. He’d been on the Scott-beaten path to a medical career and then diverted to go his own way. He’d tried to explain his interests to them, but they thought their field was the only one of value, and at best they’d been bored by his shop talk.

Most women he’d tried dating hadn’t understood about business, either. They’d been impressed by money but not the man. Of course, he’d not had a chance to meet them as Kyle Scott, house painter, but still, he thought this instant connection he felt with Glory was...special.

She reached over and plucked one of the spare pennies sitting in the ashtray next to the register. “For your thoughts,” she said, sliding it close.

He put his hand over hers. At her jolt of reaction he almost lost his hold, but he curled his fingers under her palm and gently squeezed. “I’m thinking I like you, Glory Hallett.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you sure, or are you just trying to butter me up?” she asked, her voice light. “Tell me the state of the toilet at that house you’re painting.”

“As far as I know, my ballcock is in prime working order.”

Her face turned pink even as she laughed. “Do you even know what a ballcock is?”

“Sweetheart.” He gave her a look of gentle reproof.

“Oh, you.” Now her face went really red. “You’re being so bad.”

“Not in the slightest,” he protested, enjoying himself to the utmost. “I didn’t say a word when you asked about buttering you up.”

She laughed out loud now. “And I thought the double dill had lifted my mood. I’ve got to admit it’s in the stratosphere now.”

“Yeah?” He smiled at her.

As if suddenly shy, Glory glanced down. Then her chin came up and her turquoise eyes were aimed right at his. “Yeah.”

God, she enchanted the hell out of him. He let go of her hand so they could return to their lunch. But they continued to talk, him asking questions about the products he could see on the nearby shelves. She gestured with her pickle and munched on her tuna-and-rye and he watched her every gesture with an avid gaze.

Glory, Glory, his inner voice commented. Hallelujah!

Then a customer came in, interrupting their private bubble. With an apologetic look, she slid off her stool to help the older gentleman who wanted parts for his pond pump. Kyle finished up his sandwich and finally, reluctantly stood. The house wasn’t going to paint itself.

Glory waved the customer out the door and looked over. “Time to get back to work?”

“Yeah.”

She walked with him toward the entrance. They lingered there. He flattered himself that she didn’t want to end their interlude any more than he did.

“I have something for you,” she said. “A gift. A little payback for lunch—which I’ll get next time.”

“No—”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And after that we’ll be splitting the checks.”

Kyle stopped himself from saying any more. Her concern about his finances was so damn uncommon and so endearing...and the fact that she was talking about next times wasn’t something he wanted to halt.

“Okay,” he conceded, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. “Gimme my present.”

From the front pocket of her butcher apron, she pulled out a soft cap of lightweight material. A painter’s hat. “Here’s a secret. You cover your head and you won’t be combing Evergreen out of your hair every night.”

“Thanks.” He took it from her and put it on at a jaunty angle. “How do I look?”

She was smiling as she pretended to consider the question, but as her gaze roamed over him, he saw the smile die and her body still. In the air between them, sexual tension hummed like a happy bee.

Kyle leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “I have a secret, too, Glory.”

“What?” she whispered back.

“I might need your help with my ball cock after all.”

And when she began to laugh, he kissed the sound off her lips. At his first touch she went serious again, and he did, too, because it had never been like this for him before. This sense of excitement, of rightness, of connection.

When someone passed on the sidewalk beyond the front window, they broke apart, both breathing hard.

“This isn’t the place, the time,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But come back soon? I’m really liking getting to know you, Kyle.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he said with a smile. Then he left, taking the spurt of guilt he felt with him. There was an important part of him that she didn’t know and that he was intentionally keeping from her. It could have come out at the bar. It should have come out today.

But damn, everything was going so well. If he spoke the whole truth now, it might ruin what they were just beginning to build.

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