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Seeking Shelter
Angel Smits


For Amy Grey, home has always been Rattlesnake Bend, Arizona, population 423. It's a safe place to raise her daughter, Katie.Then free spirit Jace Holmes rides his motorcycle down Main Street, rumbling through Amy's carefully ordered life with news about the father she never knew and stirring up questions about her family's past. The best thing for all would be if Jace kept on riding.Too bad Katie immediately tags Jace as a potential daddy. Sure, there's no denying the attraction between Amy and Jace, but her life is here and his, well, isn't. Yet the longer Jace is in town, the more her visions of tomorrow match Katie's. But can Amy open herself up again? Because opening herself to change is the one way to convince Jace to stay.







A place to belong

For Amy Grey, home has always been Rattlesnake Bend, Arizona, population 423. It’s a safe place to raise her daughter, Katie. Then free spirit Jace Holmes rides his motorcycle down Main Street, rumbling through Amy’s carefully ordered life with news about the father she never knew and stirring up questions about her family’s past. The best thing for all would be if Jace kept on riding.

Too bad Katie immediately tags Jace as a potential daddy. Sure, there’s no denying the attraction between Amy and Jace, but her life is here and his, well, isn’t. Yet the longer Jace is in town, the more her visions of tomorrow match Katie’s. But can Amy open herself up again? Because opening herself to change is the one way to convince Jace to stay.


“I feel like I know you.”

Jace moved closer, carefully. He reached out and took a lock of Amy’s hair between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing gently before letting go so the strands could curl down her back.

“You’ve raised a beautiful little girl.” His gaze burned into hers and she couldn’t look away. “What do you do for yourself, Amy?”

Nothing, she wanted to say, but bit her tongue. He’d never believe her. No one was that altruistic, and certainly not her. So many people did so much for her.

How could she ever be selfish and think only of herself?

But looking at Jace right now, feeling the heat of his body reach out and engulf her, she knew she wanted this, wanted to touch him. For so long she’d kept herself shut away and distant. For once she needed to do something just because she wanted to.


Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up Seeking Shelter. I hope you enjoy meeting Jace and Amy as much as I did.

Jace is the younger brother of Linc Holmes, the hero in my previous Harlequin Superromance, A Message for Julia. He was the only blood relative Linc had left to worry about, but Jace himself didn’t have much of a story. Then a short while after that book’s release, I saw a music video set in the southwest desert and I knew I was seeing and hearing Jace. He was no longer simply a younger brother. He was a man who needed a home. And a man whose story needed to be told.

But Jace wouldn’t fit in just any place. He needed someone as troubled as he was to understand and heal him. Amy Grey fits that bill, and needs her own safe place to land. What a time they’ve shown me as I discovered their story.

I love to hear from readers and fans; you can contact me via email at angel@angelsmits.com or postal mail at P.O. Box 63202, Colorado Springs, CO 80962. You can also find me on Twitter as Angelwrite and on Facebook as AngelSmitsAuthor.

Happy reading,

Angel Smits


Seeking Shelter

Angel Smits




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Angel Smits lives in Colorado with her husband and a constantly changing mixture of family and pets. She thought winning the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award was the highlight of her writing career, but seeing her first Harlequin book on the shelves topped that. Her background as a social worker helped fill her head with ideas that now inspire the characters in her books.

Books by Angel Smits

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1679—A MESSAGE FOR JULIA

Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

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U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3


This book is dedicated to all the amazing people who have helped me in so many ways. Pam, Karen, Donnell, Jodi, Sharon and Jude...my amazing critique group. And Judy and Bonnie, my improv partners. Thank you all for reading, listening and reading some more. You’re the best.

And as always...to Ron.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u915de017-1644-5fc9-89bf-200880b5f2b8)

CHAPTER TWO (#u045726e4-a90b-5f6d-8d9e-46ea64c2a979)

CHAPTER THREE (#u98c4624e-03e6-5d6d-aa9b-c0926bc0ff48)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ucf3f347e-1be5-50ac-8ee8-690787acabca)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u60698bc8-1540-54fa-92b5-b40361104462)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

AMY GREY SMACKED THE SIDE of the ancient adding machine. “Print, damn it.” The machine revolted and the decimal key stuck—again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be paying a bill that equaled the national debt. Decimal points were important.

It was quite pathetic, really, that one of the things she hoped someone would get her for her birthday was a new calculator. She shoved away the image of the computer she’d seen at the Best Buy in Phoenix on her last trip. Nope. Not even a possibility.

She rubbed her eyes and knew she should go to bed. There wasn’t much more she could do tonight, and her six-year-old daughter, Katie, would be up early tomorrow.

A cool evening breeze wafted across the nape of Amy’s neck. It felt good to rub her stiff shoulders. She’d locked up the store hours ago, but left the back door open.

She could hear the sounds of the small town shutting down. Traffic was sparse. The old streetlight buzzed and there were a few hollers of excitement from playing kids. Soon, the desert animals would wake and begin their scurrying.

Peace. This was what she craved.

Another sound caught her attention and made her listen more carefully. Even footfalls on the sidewalk, accompanied by the soft snick of a cane tip, told her Hank Benton was headed this way. With a tired smile, she went to meet him at the door.

He emerged from the shadows and into the yard light. His heavy work boots clapped on the broken cement. Worn jeans and the leather vest he wore over his cotton shirt looked the same as they did every day.

She’d seen pictures of him and her mother when they’d been young. His brown hair had hung well down the back of that leather vest. Now, what was left of it was cropped close to his scalp and tended to show more silver than brown.

Once the foreman on the ranch where she’d grown up, Hank had always been a part of Amy’s life. She’d heard stories of his wild past, but he’d always been good to her.

“May I come in?” At her nod, Hank stepped through the old screen door and she returned to her miniscule office. He leaned on the door frame in a familiar pose. “Problems?” He was several feet away, but Amy felt as if he were standing right behind her chair. She needed a bigger office, too. Sending up a silent prayer to the office fairy, she started putting everything away.

“Nope.” She answered his spoken question instead of the real issue she saw lurking in his eyes. She cleared the machine’s readout. “Just this silly decimal key. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Hank was the closest thing Amy had to a father. He’d stepped in when her mom had grown too sick to take care of herself and a fifteen-year-old girl. Amy knew she’d never have made it through the past nine years without him. Hank was one of the few people she dared to trust.

“But thanks for asking.” She switched off the desk light and stood. “Want a cup?” Without waiting for his reply, she shut the office door and led the way through the closed store. The single lamp up front cast little light, but they knew the layout well enough to pass through without problems. Hank’s footsteps were slower than hers, and loud, thanks to his boots, on the old wood floor.

Walking down the main aisle of her small general store, Amy let her hands trail over the merchandise. She loved this ancient building. It had been built back in the 1890s during the copper boom that had created the town. And it hadn’t changed much in the past hundred years.

Since buying the business two years ago, Amy had made only a couple of changes, and as she reached the front of the store, she smiled with pride. Where the soda fountain had once stood, she’d installed a new coffee bar. In the front window, she’d placed four small bistro tables and chairs. The old marble-top counter held the espresso machine, the steamer and two glass cake stands filled with her special cookies.

She wasn’t a whiz in the kitchen the way her mother had been, but with all the new coffee-brewing equipment, she could make a danged good drink. She didn’t look at Hank as she pulled out ingredients.

“Just a normal cup, thanks. None of that fancy-shmancy stuff.” He settled into one of the empty chairs, then reached up and pulled the old-fashioned shade down. They were right on Main Street, after all, and the shade gave them a bit of privacy. Amy smiled, enjoying the homey comfort of the room and Hank’s company.

She tried to hide her smile as she brewed Hank’s single cup of the French roast he liked in her “fancy-shmancy” machine, then made herself a small decaf latte.

She’d just taken her first sip when she noticed the envelope sticking out of Hank’s shirt pocket. She frowned, knowing intuitively that he’d come here to talk about whatever was in that envelope.

Hank wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the coffee he wasn’t drinking.

“Okay, what’s up?” She’d rather face it head-on, not keep waiting and worrying.

He looked at her then. Without saying anything, he reached for the envelope and pulled out the contents, flattening the papers on the tabletop. “This came today.”

The pages crinkled and she picked them up. Government papers. Taxes due. Not overdue, she noted. Just due. And due soon.

On the ranch.

She dropped the pages. They landed on the table and lay there, defenseless but accusing. “These come every year,” she said dismissively. “Do just like you always do and pay it from the estate. I’ll sign the check.” Why had he brought this to her?

“Yeah, this isn’t new. Only difference is, this year will be the last time we can pay it.”

“What?”

“Your mother’s estate doesn’t have much left. It will barely cover this. There’s nothing left for next year. Or for anything else, like a new coffee bar.” He paused, finally taking a sip of the cooling drink. “It’s time to consider selling, Amy.”

He was kidding, right? Sell the ranch? She couldn’t. Amy stared across the table at him. “No.”

“You can’t avoid talking about it this time. We could break up the pastures, the house, parcel it out. But you won’t get as much as if you sell it all together.”

She looked at the neat column of numbers, tracking down to the total. Her heart sank. She met Hank’s gaze and knew he could see her disappointment.

“That’s why I’m bringing it up now,” he continued. “At least if you sell, you’ll have something. If you don’t, and can’t pay the taxes next year, the government will take it. You’ll have nothing.”

“Mom wouldn’t want me to sell it.”

“And she’d like it if you lost it?”

“That’s not fair.” Why was he acting like this? Why hadn’t he said something before? Maybe he had. Maybe Amy hadn’t listened. She hadn’t been willing to talk about this. It wasn’t as if she was now, either, but she didn’t think she had much choice.

Hank looked about as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him. He rubbed the back of his neck as if that would push the troubles away. The lines on his face were even deeper than on the day of Mom’s funeral. Amy wanted to make him happy, wanted to do what she knew needed to be done. But she couldn’t.

“Madeline’s not here anymore,” he whispered. “And I’m too old to work a ranch. It’s just a waste, sitting vacant.”

“Doesn’t Martin still lease the south pastures?”

“Yeah, but it’s low-end, and only a small part of the property. It’s not enough. No one else is interested in a lease.”

Amy leaned back and met Hank’s determined stare.

“Look.” He rested his forearms on the table. “I know you’re busy with the store and raising Katie. You don’t need to worry about this. I’ll take care of all the arrangements to put it on the market. All you’ll have to do is approve the final deal and sign the papers.”

A little of her frustration dissipated. Hank was just trying to help. She looked up at him, loving him and knowing he cared about her and wanted what was best for her and Katie. But while she couldn’t live at the ranch, she didn’t like the idea of giving up her ancestral home, either.

Three generations of her family had owned the ranch, five if she counted herself and Katie. It was all she had left of them, even if she couldn’t go there.

Hank didn’t know what had happened, not all of it, anyway. She’d never told anyone. That pain remained locked inside her. It threatened from time to time to escape, like now, but she kept a tight rein on that part of her past.

Maybe Hank was right. Maybe it was time to let go and escape the reminders. If only it were that easy to erase the hurtful memories.

“At least think about it.” Hank stood and slowly backed away, taking his warmth and familiarity with him. “You’ve got time before we have to make this payment. But the market’s slow so the decision to sell can’t wait forever.” He turned and left, leaving the papers on the table. He stopped halfway to the back door. “You know where I’ll be.”

She heard the screen door open, and a moment later, the cool evening breeze slipped in and ruffled the pages, lifting the top one and tossing it at her feet.

She kicked at it, and it simply blanketed her shoe. She stomped her foot but it still clung. She heard the page rip and didn’t care. She really didn’t care.

She turned back around and stared after Hank. Her gaze wandered to the hallway to the left, the one that led down to the tiny apartment she and Katie shared.

Her throat ached. Katie. She wanted to go downstairs and snuggle up next to her daughter, hold her tight, silently promising that everything would be all right. But she’d be lying to her, just as she kept lying to herself.

She wasn’t any better at fixing things than her own mother had been.

* * *

THE MINUTE JACE HOLMES stepped through the glass doors of Bailey, Whitburg and Haase, he knew he was out of his element. He couldn’t sit in the fancy waiting room as the prim and proper receptionist spoke on the phone to announce his arrival. Instead, Jace paced to the glass doors and stared at the fish tank embedded in the wall.

Three golden fish moved back and forth between the pretend castle and trees, trapped behind a thick glass barrier. The cramped conditions made him think of his brother, Linc, who’d recently been trapped in a coal mine cave-in. Jace shuddered, wondering for the millionth time how Linc had survived. But he had, for which Jace was grateful.

Still, Jace shivered and moved to where he could get air and see the sky through the doors. A deep breath released some of the tension in his chest.

“Mr. Haase will see you now,” the young woman finally said, and led him to another glass door, this one nearly double Jace’s height. It barely made a noise as she pushed it open.

The silver-haired man behind the cherrywood desk didn’t cringe when Jace walked in, but Jace knew he wanted to. Jace was used to life on the streets. The man probably knew nothing of that world. His hands were too soft, his gut too thick and his suit too polished.

“Mr. Holmes. I’m Stephen Haase.” The attorney stood and extended a well-manicured hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“The letter you sent seemed pretty specific. You have some things Mac wanted me to have?” Jace dropped into the leather chair, its stiffness a sharp contrast to the worn leather of his jacket and pants.

“My client, Mackenzie Grey, had several requests, not all of which I approved of. But it was his desire that you receive this.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a fat envelope that he pushed across the desk.

Jace’s hand shook as he realized this was all he had left of Mac. He turned his mind to his friend, closing his eyes and picturing the old man’s face. Mac had been forty years older than Jace. Forty chronological years...and at least a hundred years wiser in experience. Living on the streets of L.A. had taken its toll.

Now Mac was gone. He wouldn’t have to deal with the cold. With the summer’s heat. With missing his family.

He didn’t have to deal with anything anymore.

Jace took several deep breaths to try to ease the ache. It did little good. He reached for the official-looking envelope. The stationery was that of the legal firm whose office he now sat in, but the handwriting was pure Mac. “What is it?” he asked.

“Please, open it. We can discuss any questions you may have after you’ve read the letter.”

Jace paused. The envelope was thick but pristine, probably from sitting in some file since Mac’s death almost two months ago—or longer.

Before he could give in to the fears that told him to get the hell out of here, he ripped open the seal.

A stack of crisp, new hundred-dollar bills was wrapped in a brown paper sleeve. A handwritten letter that looked like Mac’s familiar chicken scratch was neatly folded behind the money.

Jace stared at the cash. He could buy a lot of oblivion with that amount of dough. He pushed the traitorous thoughts away. Those days were gone. Long gone. He slowly unfolded the letter.

“Hey, boy,” the letter began, and Jace heard Mac’s laughter. Their age difference had always been Mac’s greatest entertainment. He knew Jace hated being called boy. Jace hadn’t been a boy for too many years to count.



“Bet you’re wondering where all this came from. Don’t worry, I didn’t rob a bank or anything. It’s mine. Free and clear. Living on the streets, I didn’t need it much. So I started saving. You know, I really thought I’d be able to find my ex-wife and little girl.

I know I drove you crazy with stories of them. I appreciate your listening. I owe you for that, boy. Owe you more than you’ll ever know.

Since I couldn’t find them, I want you to have everything. It’s yours. No strings attached. You’ve got dreams, Jace. Follow them. Be the man I’ve always seen inside you. Be what I couldn’t be.

You’re as much a son to me as that little girl was my daughter...if not more. I never let you know how much you meant to me when I was alive, so I’m saying it now.

Love, Mac”



Jace could only stare. At the money. At the letter. At what was left of the man who’d saved his life more than once.

The streets of L.A. had been a hell of a place for a sixteen-year-old. But long before Jace had come along, Mac had lived on those streets alone. They’d become a team, and in time found a small apartment to share.

Still a creature of the road, Mac had left their apartment dozens of times. He’d wanted to just “be out there” and he had been until he was so worn-out that the state came and put him in a nursing home.

Three squares a day and a bed every night weren’t for Mac.

Two months later, he was dead and gone.

“Was he nuts?” Jace finally asked.

For the first time, Stephen Haase cracked a smile. “No. Not completely. I knew Mac for many years. He was actually quite brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, not really agreeing or disagreeing. Years on the streets had given him an understanding of people. He could find and scavenge just about anything. It’s what kept him—and sometimes Mac—alive. He knew how his friend thought better than anyone, but even to him, this didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t Mac used this money for himself in the end? Why had they gone without so many times?

“And there’s this.”

Jace looked up, having nearly forgotten he was in the lawyer’s office. Haase held out another, smaller envelope. Frowning, Jace took it and opened it.

The contents fell into the palm of his hand. A key. Not just any key, but the one Mac had always worn around his neck. It felt cold in Jace’s trembling hand.

He knew Mac had always kept a safe deposit box. Though he’d gone to the bank with him a few times, Mac had never told him what was in it.

Jace abruptly shot to his feet. “Thanks for your time.” He shoved the envelope of money into his jacket pocket. He needed to think, and the walls were already closing in.

“Uh—you’re welcome.” Haase stood as well, a frown of confusion on his brow. “Do you know what that’s for?”

“Yeah. A safe deposit box.”

“Do you know where?”

Mac had trusted no one, and it meant the world to Jace that he had shared this with him. Mac must have had a reason for not telling the lawyer. Jace respected that, and simply nodded.

He headed for the door. “Damn it, Mac,” he whispered as he stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t want this.”

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER Jace gave in and went to the bank. Armed with the legal papers Stephen Haase had given him, he accessed the box. He really didn’t want to see what was inside, but he’d come this far. With a deep breath, he shoved the key into the lock. No turning back now.

He was doing this for Mac, he reminded himself. For the man who’d been the closest thing he’d had to a family in years. Suddenly, he missed him desperately. The metal box wavered in his vision, and he blinked several times to clear his eyes.

“Whatever you hid here, buddy, it had better be worth it,” Jace whispered. Slowly, he lifted the lid.

He could only stare. The entire box was full of cash. Neatly bundled fifty- and hundred-dollar bills.

Jace cursed. He should just close the box and climb on his bike. Run, the way he always did.... No, he owed Mac.

What the hell had Mac been thinking? There had to be thousands of dollars in there. This was much more than what had been in the envelope the attorney had given him. This was more money than Jace had ever seen before—more money than he’d ever deserved, that’s for sure.

He remembered the nights he and Mac had sat talking, when it had grown cold and they’d huddled together in some doorway to keep warm. All those nights at the apartment, once Jace had convinced Mac that he was too old to sleep on the cement anymore, Mac had talked about his family.

A family he’d lost because he couldn’t keep his head out of the whiskey. Mac had cursed his own stupidity, while alternately berating the woman who’d taken their child and left him. Left him and never come back. Never hunted him up for child support. Never sent school pictures, though Jace had reminded him there hadn’t been anyplace to send them.

Jace slammed the lid down on the safe deposit box. He’d leave the money here until he figured out what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Mac might have given it to him, but Jace didn’t feel he had any right to it.

He returned the box to the teller and wound the key onto his ring, right next to his ignition key.

Just touching that key calmed him. That bike was his lifeline, his key to freedom. Literally.

Outside, the sun burned his eyes and he slipped on the heavy sunglasses he favored. It was like slipping on a mask, something he frequently did.

His bike, his baby, the Harley Fat Boy he’d spent months rebuilding, sat at the curb, calling him to find the freedom of the open road. There were still fifteen minutes left on the meter, but for the first time he didn’t care if he wasted them. Slowly, he climbed on and lifted the bike off the stand, but didn’t start it. He frowned. Something wasn’t clicking.

In the years he’d spent on the streets, he’d learned to trust his gut, to follow those instincts. Something felt very wrong with all this, and it wasn’t just the money.

He pulled the note Mac had left him from his jacket pocket. Slowly, he climbed off the bike again and turned to open the saddlebags. There, in a small packet, was the other letter. He read it through, rifling through all the pages.

The letter informed him, yet again, that he was an heir to Mac’s estate. Estate. Jace swallowed back a near hysterical laugh. He focused on the thin pages of the will. More legalese than actual information about Mac. Four pages were all it took to boil Mac’s life down to...to nothing.

And then the last page. He hadn’t paid attention to it before. It was simply a list of the people who had been sent a copy of the paperwork.

Jace could only stare. Two other names nearly burned a hole through the letterhead. Why hadn’t he noticed them earlier? He didn’t even remember looking at this page.

Madeline Grey. Amy Grey. With addresses in Arizona. Jace knew from all those stories Mac had told him that they were the wife and daughter he had spent the past twenty years searching for. The same two people Mac had spent every waking moment wanting and missing. How the hell had Stephen Haase found them when Mac couldn’t?

Jace hurt. His heart hurt. His soul ached. The one thing Mac had longed for, Jace had found so carelessly. It wasn’t fair. It felt so very wrong.

In that instant, Jace’s resolve solidified.

He brought the big bike roaring to life. The powerful engine shattered the quiet of the afternoon. He drove through the streets of L.A., weaving in and out of traffic, ticking off multitudes of drivers, but not caring.

When he reached the highway, he let his bike run as fast as the city traffic allowed, relishing the squeal of his tires.

Finally, he stopped. The engine ticked as it pretended to cool. He looked up. The chrome-and-glass building in front of him soared into the late afternoon sky, easily twenty stories high.

Had it really been only a couple of days since he’d been here? Seemed like years.

Haase had known where Mac’s family was and hadn’t told him, and for that, Jace wanted to kill him. He grabbed the papers from the saddlebag and stalked toward the building. Mac might be gone but his work wasn’t done. Jace yanked open the giant glass door with more force than necessary and stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby.

The same young receptionist stared at him when he got off the elevator. Her eyes widened and Jace realized she wasn’t just startled—he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Good.

He didn’t sit in her fancy waiting room this time, either. He didn’t even talk to her, or look at the trapped fish. Instead, he stalked down the hall to the office he’d been in earlier.

“Mr. Holmes. What brings you back? Is there a problem?” Stephen Haase asked as he stood.

“Yeah, there’s a problem.” Jace stepped forward and felt a little thrill when the man took a step back. Jace dropped the papers on the desktop. “You did this, right?”

The lawyer peered down at the papers. “Yes. I just gave them to you.” He looked at Jace as if he thought maybe he was high on something, or crazy.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” The young receptionist’s voice came from the doorway behind him. Jace didn’t turn around. “Security is on the way up.”

“Don’t worry, Jan.” Haase lifted a hand and tried to smile. “I’m sure Mr. Holmes won’t be long.”

“You’re damned right, I won’t be long.” Jace leaned forward, into the man’s space. “You bastard. How long have you known where Mac’s family was? Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Why would I do that? Madeline didn’t want him to know.”

Jace bit back a curse and clenched his hands into tight fists. He wanted to belt the man, shove him through that shiny glass window at his back. Nothing would be enough punishment for the pain Jace had watched Mac suffer.

Twenty years of searching for the baby girl his wife had taken away had killed Mac. Yeah, he’d sunk deep into a bottle, causing the damage to his liver—but that had been the only way he’d been able to cope. His only escape. Even in the last hours of his life, death closing in, Mac had cried out for his little girl.

Jace heard footsteps behind him. Security had apparently arrived, and with it, the lawyer’s backbone. Haase leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desktop. His glare would have wilted anyone else. Jace feared nothing at this stage of his life. Nothing he’d admit, anyway.

“Don’t judge me, boy. You don’t know anything at all about Mac and his life before he landed in the gutter.”

“I know plenty. This.” Jace stabbed the rumpled papers with his finger. “This was his family. His life. He’d have given anything to see them again.” Pain shot through Jace’s chest and for an instant he thought maybe the security guards had pulled out a Taser. No. This wasn’t that kind of pain. This came from deep inside. He ignored it.

“And what about my family?” Haase bellowed, lifting a palm toward the door—to stall security, apparently. “Mackenzie was my business partner once. Surprises you, doesn’t it? He had the world at his feet, trying cases and winning. But he chose to dive into that bottle and destroy everyone. Himself. His family. My business. My family suffered because of that—that...”

Jace was stunned. Mac a lawyer? The man who kept all his worldly goods in a worn shopping cart and slept more often under a cardboard box than a roof? But though he was stunned, Jace recovered quickly. He glared at the older man.

“You destroyed him. The bottle was only your accomplice.” Jace’s voice broke. His gut churned and he knew if he stayed much longer, he’d be sick. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He spun on his heel.

Two pimply-faced guns-for-hire cowered in the doorway. The receptionist seemed more likely to do something. But even she backed out of Jace’s way.

He yanked the fancy glass panel open, wishing it would slam and shatter, but the hydraulics simply made it whisper closed. Stalking away from the receptionist, her flunkies and her empty lobby, he didn’t glance back.

Once outside, he opened the saddlebag and shoved the papers into what little space was left. The envelope of cash stayed nestled close to his chest, feeling heavy, like some type of commitment. Cursing, he closed his eyes and pictured Mac’s familiar, smiling face. Jace couldn’t let his friend down now.

Finding people wasn’t the hard part. Convincing them they wanted to be found was.

Opening his eyes again, Jace let the calm of the day and the familiarity of the bike soothe him. He knew what he had to do. He focused his mind and pulled away from the curb.

Arizona, huh?

He’d never been there.

Looked like that was about to change.


CHAPTER TWO

THE SCREEN AT THE BACK door slammed with a loud thwack. Amy looked up from where she was wiping down the coffee bar to see Katie trudge down the main aisle with her half teddy bear, half husky, Butcher, trotting behind.

“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”

Katie didn’t respond, simply tossed her backpack to the floor by the coffee bar and headed for the tall stool on the opposite side of the counter. Butcher flopped down at her feet.

The store was quiet this time of day, so Amy could stop what she was doing and focus on her daughter. Amy knew that look, knew not to push. “So, everything okay?” She slowly wiped the counter, all the while watching Katie out of the corner of her eye.

She’d known today would be rough for Katie. Her beloved teacher, Miss Davis, was out on medical leave, and the new teacher started today.

“Yeah.”

That wasn’t much help. Maybe distraction would loosen her up. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Nope.”

Amy sighed again, put her cleaning supplies away and wiped her hands. “What’s up?”

Katie swung her legs and looked down at the scarred surface of the old counter. Her tennis shoes resembled a pendulum swinging back and forth.

She’d chosen to wear her favorite pink jeans and a shirt they’d bought on their last trip into Phoenix. Her blond hair hung in two not-so-neat ponytails that just hit her tiny shoulders.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“How come I don’t have a daddy?”

Amy’s stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. Here we go again. She did not want to get into this conversation, not now, not ever.

Ever since the mother of one of Katie’s schoolmates had gotten remarried, Katie had been obsessed with her own lack of a father. Every time Amy thought they’d moved past it, something brought it back.

She walked around the counter and sat on the matching bar stool beside Katie. She’d have pulled her into her lap and never let her go, but Katie had resisted “being treated like a baby” for some months now.

Katie wasn’t ready to hear the truth—of the man Amy had thought she’d loved, who’d forced himself on her and left her shattered and pregnant. Now he was nothing more than a sperm donor and a piddly monthly check.

“What brought that up?” Amy stared down at her little girl. Katie’s beginnings had been...difficult. Remembering those days always proved painful.

Matt had been so much stronger, and the body that had violated hers had been conditioned by hours of football practice and steroids. She’d never had a chance. Or a choice.

She’d thought about an abortion, but couldn’t do it. When she’d realized she was pregnant, she’d confronted him. What a mistake. He’d laughed and written her a check.

“Thanks for the good time, babe,” he’d said as he tossed it at her and walked away.

She’d decided then—at all of eighteen—that her revenge would be to keep the child. One day he’d change his mind and she’d deny him any connection.

She hadn’t planned on falling so completely and wonderfully in love with the baby. Her baby. But she had, and now Amy had to find a way of giving Katie answers.

“Honey, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Mama, but my new teacher had us draw pictures of our family today. I didn’t have a daddy to draw.”

Amy knew she wasn’t the only single parent in the community. “What about Emily?” She mentioned the name of another girl in the class whose mother was single.

Katie frowned. “She drew her dad in Chicago with the new lady. Even Rachel Bishop drew her daddy up on a cloud in heaven.” Katie pouted. “I don’t have anybody to draw. Just a big old empty spot.”

Amy’s heart hurt for her daughter. “Sweetie, we’re all different. It’s a good thing.” She shuddered. If this was so important now, what were Katie’s teen years going to be like? Amy bit back the groan.

“No, it’s not. I don’t want to be different.” If Katie had been standing, she’d have most likely stamped her foot.

“I’m sorry, Katie. I can’t change it. It’s the way things are.” Amy reached over and stroked one of her daughter’s silky ponytails. She silently debated if she should talk to the teacher. What should she say?

Katie didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, which Amy knew really wasn’t one, but she didn’t say anything more, either.

“How about a cookie?” She didn’t normally let Katie have sweets so close to supper, but figured if there was ever a time for sugar therapy, now was it.

“Okay. Long as it’s not one of those homemade ones.” Katie pointed at the glass display on the counter and wrinkled her nose. Butcher sat up eagerly, though.

“Butch likes these.” Amy grinned at Katie. “Don’t you want to share with him?”

“Nope.”

Katie smiled back and Amy felt her heart catch. If only all of life’s problems could be fixed with a simple cookie. She pulled one of the store-bought cookies Katie preferred out of the jar on the back counter.

Halfway through her snack, Katie called to her again. “Mama?”

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“I have an answer.” Amy repeated one of her mom’s old quips.

“Mama...” This time Katie drew out the word with a long-suffering sigh and Amy laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“Since I don’t have a daddy now, is it okay if we start looking for one?”

Amy froze and stared at her. “What?” She hadn’t really heard that, had she?

“Can I—we—look for a dad?”

“That’s what I thought you said.” Amy glanced away, staring out the window at the little town they called home. On a good day, Rattlesnake Bend boasted four hundred residents, including the surrounding ranches. If half were male, that’d be a stretch. Single and under the age of fifty? The numbers dwindled even further.

The tension in Amy’s stomach eased. “It’s not like getting a puppy, you know, but, uh, sure, honey.” She reluctantly agreed, as much to appease her daughter as to get out of this conversation.

What was with the world all of a sudden? First Hank pushing her to sell the ranch, now Katie back to wanting a dad.

What was wrong with the way things were? Amy looked around at the store, at her daughter munching away on her cookie. She’d managed to support them for the past two years with this store. They weren’t rich, but they made it.

No, she wasn’t ready for any changes. Things were going to stay just the way they were.

* * *

JACE HAD JUST PASSED the highway sign that told him Rattlesnake Bend was another twenty miles when the bike’s engine started to miss.

Damn. He should have taken the time for the tune-up. After driving to Pennsylvania when Linc had been trapped last spring, then back to Los Angeles, he’d known the bike needed some TLC. But there hadn’t been time. Or motivation.

Mac’s dying had been damned inconvenient.

The bike missed again, and he cringed. He hated driving the twenty miles, pushing the bike into probable damage, but stopping out here in the middle of nowhere wasn’t an option.

By the time he’d forced the bike to the city limits, he was worried about the engine. It finally gave up, sputtering and falling silent, a pathetic state for the Harley beast Jace loved. He’d have to push the big bike the last couple of blocks to the old-fashioned gas station up ahead.

As he walked, Jace looked up and down the street. Rattlesnake Bend, Arizona, boasted a population of 423 if the city limit sign was to be believed. The bullet holes in the sign and a few scattered cars parked at uneven angles to the curb crowned this as Podunk, America. The Café sign said simply what it was. It probably didn’t even have a full name.

Jace had seen town squares like this back in the Midwest with one major difference. Those communities had actual parks in the center of the square. Here, the desert provided only hard-baked dirt for a couple scraggly pines and an old, dead cottonwood that looked more like the local hanging tree than actual landscaping.

The town was quiet as it baked in the sun. Lord, it was hot, despite it being midwinter. How did people live here in the summer?

Sweat poured down his face as he finally stopped by the pumps. Gas wouldn’t help, but he wasn’t pushing any farther. The desert sucked.

A man about his age came out the front door. Jace glanced up and smiled. The good-ole-boy look was still in style. Grimy ball cap, bill forward, not sideways. T-shirt beneath an unbuttoned denim shirt with one of those ovals on his left side that labeled him as Rick.

“That’s sure one pretty bike.” The man’s gaze roamed over the Harley’s body almost as if it were a woman.

“Yeah. You should see her when she’s cleaned up.” The chrome and denim-blue paint were covered in road dust at the moment. “She was running rough out in the desert. I let her go as far as I could.”

“Been pushing a ways? Whatcha think’s the problem?” Rick crouched down next to the bike, peering at the engine with a practiced eye.

“She needed a tune-up a while back. Sounds like a plug, maybe a plug wire that’s toast.” Jace knelt beside him.

“I think it’s more than plugs, but don’t think I got this kind, anyway.” Rick leaned in closer, poking around in the compact engine. “We’d better look at the points and the generator. Nearest parts store is over in Gilcrest. That’s fifty miles. Could be a challenge to get it quick. You might be stuck for a couple days.”

Jace cursed. Getting the bike there, or the part here, wasn’t going to be easy. And that was if it was just the plug and wires. He sighed. He wasn’t really in a hurry. There wasn’t anything or anyone waiting for him in L.A. And he had business here, anyway.

“We got a problem?” Another man’s voice cut through the desert heat.

“Nothing we can’t handle.” Rick stood and glared at the other man. He didn’t seem much older, but Jace couldn’t tell for sure, as a worn cowboy hat shaded his eyes. The badge on the man’s shirt proclaimed him the local law. Jace looked up at him from where he crouched.

Jace had had enough run-ins with cops to know they either trusted you and left you alone or they didn’t—and the latter could be pure hell. He’d learned long ago to keep a low profile until he knew which kind he was dealing with. Not always the easiest thing to do, but the wisest.

Rick interrupted Jace’s thoughts. “Gavin, quit being an ass.”

Jace turned his attention back to the engine, but kept his ears open. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t here to get involved with the locals, at least not these two.

“Rick, I’m just tellin’ you. You need to be careful.”

Rick sighed. “If this town is going to survive, we can’t chase off everyone who comes to town who doesn’t fit your standards.”

Jace heard more than words in their conversation. He heard a history he wanted no part of.

Ah, small towns. He’d grown up in one. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. There were no secrets, no true privacy. He’d run away from just such a place when he’d turned sixteen. He was in no hurry to go back.

“It’s my job to keep everyone safe.” The lawman stepped closer, crowding Rick.

“Yeah, and you’re an elected official. Screw up and we’ll vote you out of office. We need people to come here. You like them tumbleweeds blowin’ across your doorway?”

As if on cue, one the size of a VW Bug chose that moment to meander across the wide street.

“Shut up, Rick.” Gavin had the sense to step back. He still loomed over Jace, though. “You just watch yourself,” he said in a low voice.

Jace resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and slowly unfolded his lanky frame. He realized that he was a good head taller than either man. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of my business as soon as I can, and be on my way.”

He didn’t explain that his business in Rattlesnake Bend was more than fixing his bike. He didn’t think good old Gavin could handle that piece of information.

Jace had traveled five hundred miles over the past two days to get here. He was tired and hot. No local yokel was going to get in his way, but he didn’t intend to get in theirs, either.

He took another glance around the deserted town and sighed. Just because he had the address didn’t mean Madeline Grey and her daughter were still here. He wished he’d pushed that attorney for more info, but then he’d probably still be in L.A. Behind bars, most likely.

All the way here, he’d thought about Mac’s family, wondering what the heck to say. He still hadn’t figured it out.

Until he did, he wouldn’t start asking questions, even if one of these men could give him answers. He could wait a little longer. Until he knew the lay of the land and the mood of the people, he’d keep his business to himself.

Jace stood watching as the lawman strolled away, little puffs of dust rising up behind his boot heels.

“You can leave her here, and I’ll call over to Gilcrest to check on the parts, if you’d like,” Rick offered.

“Thanks.” Together, they pushed the bike inside one of the bays.

“Be a shame for something to happen to such a pretty girl.” Rick grinned as he eyed the bike with that same sense of awe. Jace almost felt sorry for the man’s wife, if he had one. She hadn’t a chance measuring up to the machine. The mechanic pulled down the old garage door to block the bike from view.

“The diner open?” Jace didn’t remember how long ago he’d had breakfast.

“Not till five. Lunch rush is over. Caryn heads out to her place to take care of her horses this time of day. There’s stuff over at the grocery you can eat up quick, though. Just stay away from anything in the front counter.” Rick shuddered and then laughed as he walked back into the air-conditioned glass box that served as the office for the station.

Jace headed toward the tiny grocery store. He was surprised to see that it had a screen door, and the old Rainbow Bread sign on the handle had seen better days.

The wood frame slapped shut behind him, and Jace blinked several times as he stepped into the comparatively dim interior. The air was blessedly cool, and he thought he’d stay right here forever. Finally, his eyes adjusted, and he was pleasantly surprised at the neatness.

It wasn’t kitschy or frilly, as so many small-town shops were. Only the roadrunner wallpaper up near the high ceiling gave an indication anyone had tried to decorate in anything but stock and boxes.

Three aisles lined with well-filled shelves ran the length of the building. Canned and boxed goods sat like little soldiers in neat rows.

The counter stretched across the front, including a glass case filled with pastries and other baked goods. Next to that, a glass meat counter glistened under the fluorescent lights. A giant meat slicer and state-of-the-art steamer sat behind it.

A young woman stood behind the displays. He wondered if she was the owner or just a clerk. She didn’t seem old enough to own a business, but looks could be deceiving. A hunk of meat lay on a wooden chopping block, and she held a cleaver in her hand. She brought the blade down with a loud whack. At first she didn’t look up. Good thing, too. It could have been disastrous.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she turned around. Her voice was warm, but there was a wariness in her eyes. She took a step forward, keeping the counter between them.

She wasn’t tall, but her stance was straight and proud. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail with enough pieces left loose to fall down around her face in a golden cloud. She stared at him with wide green eyes.

She wiped her hands on a rag, and he saw that the once-white apron she wore over her jeans and T-shirt was stained with red, like the butcher he remembered Mom going to back home. A hundred years ago.

He couldn’t help but smile. It made him think of the millions of campy horror movies he’d seen. He loved those movies. It’d been a while since he’d seen one.

He shook his head to focus on the now. He’d spent way too much time in the sun.

Jace squinted at her, trying to read her expression. She wasn’t old enough to be Madeline’s contemporary but maybe she knew the daughter. “Yeah. Thought I’d get some supplies.” He indicated the aisles with a tilt of his head.

“Canned goods are on the far wall. You’ll find the snacks front middle, and beverages over there.” She waved the blade in the general direction. “If you need personal stuff, you’ll have to go see Sam down the street at the drugstore.”

“Thanks,” Jace mumbled, and headed down the center aisle. There must be a basement under part of the wood floor, as he heard a hollow tone beneath his steps toward the rear.

A wall-length, glass-fronted freezer stood at the very back, and he couldn’t resist opening the door. The cool air blasted him and he drank it in, letting it cool him as well as clear some of the dust from his lungs.

A box of Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars sat open on the bottom shelf. He grinned. They weren’t tagged, and he bet he’d just found her private stash. He grabbed one and tore open the wrapper. The rich chocolate ice cream tasted sweet and cool as he sauntered through the aisles. He grabbed a couple of sodas, some canned meat and a bag of chips along the way.

Traveling on the bike meant frequent stops, and he didn’t have much more than his clothes in the saddlebags.

He hadn’t planned this trip. Not that he planned much of anything, anyway, but definitely not this one. He’d just taken off, needing to complete this self-appointed mission. He suddenly realized that the past year—going all the way to Pennsylvania to see his brother and back—had done a number not only on the bike, but on him. As well as the emotional upheaval of losing Mac.

All of a sudden, Jace felt tired. He sighed loudly and headed toward the checkout. Dropping the pile on the counter with a loud clatter, he tossed the still damp stick on top so she’d know to charge him for the ice cream.

Their eyes met, and hers widened as she looked up at him. For the first time in a long time, something inside Jace stirred to life.

* * *

ALL HER LIFE, Amy had been warned against letting strange men in the front door. That was much easier in the context of her home. Owning a grocery store in a small town, well, she couldn’t afford to be too picky.

That was one of the reasons she’d agreed to let Katie adopt Butcher. She glanced down at the dog, who was flopped at her feet, watching the man. Fat lot of good the mutt was right now. He’d found his favorite spot in the store—on the vent beside the big old butcher block where she worked. He was currently a puddle of contented fur.

She’d been watching the man since he’d come into town, pushing the big motorcycle over to Rick’s station. The bike was a monster and must weigh a ton. He’d pushed it easily, any strain hidden by his black leathers.

He had to be baking in that jacket. The only breeze was what he created as he moved. It barely stirred his dark, shoulder-length hair.

Her gaze had been drawn to the form-fitting leather pants he wore like a second skin.

When he moved down the aisle, the dog perked up one ear. Nothing more. But it was enough to reassure her that she was safe. Or as safe as a woman alone in the middle of nowhere could be.

She returned to the butcher block and the package of steaks she was preparing for Hank. The old man would be here at four to pick them up, so she had plenty of time. As the stranger wandered down the aisle, she wondered what would be Butcher’s greater motivation—the need to protect her, or to protect his perceived dinner—if the man proved to be a threat.

She put the meat cleaver on the butcher block, but within easy reach. She’d hoped to keep track of him, but too late, he was in her space, standing on the other side of the narrow counter.

And Butcher was simply thumping his tail against the floor.

She swallowed hard before turning to face her customer. “Did you, uh, need anything else?” She cringed when her voice quavered, and inched her hand toward the cleaver.

“Not a knife, if that’s what you’re offering.”

She pulled her hand back, and the smile that was too good-looking for such a rough guy sent heat to her cheeks. People who rode motorcycles like the one she’d seen him with shouldn’t have pearly white teeth. But he did.

“It’s not.”

“Can you ring me up?” He tilted his head toward the stack on the counter.

“Oh. Sure.” A paying customer. What a novelty.

“Nice dog.” Butcher’s tail moved faster.

“He’s my watchdog.”

“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t sound convinced. His smile widened.

She chose to ignore it. But if Butcher decided to take a hunk out of his leg...well, she might let him, though it’d be a shame to ruin that nice backside with teeth marks. Her cheeks warmed and she looked away.

Amy wiped her hands on the apron and stepped behind the register. She punched in the amounts, and after each, the ratcheting of the paper feed filled the silence.

“The ice cream is a buck twenty-five.” She didn’t have a clue what they should cost. They weren’t really for sale. Too late now.

The purchases fit in one bag. He pulled a worn wallet out and peeled off a crisp new bill. She smiled. Much easier to deal with than a credit card, or God forbid, a check. The fact that it was a fifty-dollar bill surprised her.

She counted out his change, then extended her hand to give it to him.

He smiled back and reached out to take it. Her heart did a funny little flip as she looked at his wide palm.

Back in junior high, she and her best friend, Caryn, had bought a book on palm reading. They’d pored over all the meanings of the lines in a person’s hand. Looking at this man’s hand, with its calluses and lines, she wished she remembered some of that information. He intrigued her. She didn’t usually care about strangers, especially not men. But this man had been places outside this town. And he was heading someplace else once he left here. She wondered where.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts, and nearly dropped the coins.

To keep the money from falling, he curled his hand around hers.

Heat that had nothing to do with their location in the middle of the Arizona desert shot up her arm. Surprised, she looked up, then tried to hide her uncertainty. “Your change.” She pulled back her hand, and he let her go, though the feel of him lingered. She moved to the butcher block as he headed to the door.

He stopped, holding the screen door open, and faced her. “So, is there somewhere I can get a room for the night?”

Startled, she actually dropped the meat cleaver, but thankfully, managed to miss her foot. The unmistakable clatter echoed through the store. Why in the world would he want to do that?

“You want to stay here?” She turned and looked at him. There was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way, a way that made her itch all over. She hadn’t felt that way since...since... She shut that thought down nearly as fast as it appeared. It must be that conversation with Katie yesterday that had stirred up all this...awareness.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He frowned at her.

“No one stays here.”

“I’m going to. You friends with the sheriff?”

“What?” She’d seen Gavin talking with him and Rick. What had that idiot said now?

“Oh, nothing.” The man shook his head and smiled as he popped one of the sodas he’d bought and took a deep drink.

Amy could only stare at the muscles of his throat as they worked. “Damn,” she mumbled. Without another word, she walked past him, pushed the screen door open wider and tilted her head toward the old Victorian house across the square. “Hank runs the B and B. Over there. He can always use the business.”

The house had seen better days, but Hank was slowly fixing it up. The stranger moved close—close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body. He stared past her toward the house, then stepped outside. An eyebrow lifted, but that was his only reaction.

“Thanks. I’m Jace.”

His hands were full, but she thought he’d have offered his hand to her if they hadn’t been. He waited expectantly, apparently for her to offer her own name. She swallowed hard. “I’m...Amy.”

“Amy?”

He said her name softly, and despite the heat, she shivered. His eyes moved, as if his gaze were drinking in every detail of her face.

“Amy,” he repeated. “Uh, nice to meet you.” He took a deep breath, and it seemed as if he shook his head slightly. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear something had just startled him.

“Mama!” A high-pitched voice cut through the thick air between them, and Amy backed a step away. Then two.

Katie came barreling down the sidewalk toward them and Jace turned to look at her.

There are few things that set a mother off more than a threat to her child. Though the man now standing on the sidewalk was smiling down at Katie, Amy couldn’t let go of the fear that rippled through her. She was the one person Katie always turned to, the one who was there whenever she needed something. The one whose job it was to protect her.

Right now, that little girl was looking up at a tall stranger with great interest. Amy barely held herself back.

“Hi.” Katie walked right up to Jace, craning her neck to look at him.

“Well, hello,” he said, hunching down next to her.

“I’m Katie. I’m six.”

Amy barely resisted the urge to warn her daughter about sharing personal information. She needed to ingrain that into her before she got old enough for Facebook and Twitter, or whatever would follow.

“I’m Jace. I’m older than six.”

Katie grinned widely and Amy nearly leaped toward her daughter. But not to protect her this time. She knew that look and what was coming next.

She wasn’t quick enough.

“Do you have a wife?”

Amy wanted to sink into the sidewalk. When Jace turned to her, her heart dropped to her knees as he glanced from mother to daughter and back again.

“No, I’m not married. Why do you want to know? Are you proposing?”

“Katie,” Amy warned, knowing there was no chance her daughter was going to heed her. She stepped forward, placing her hands protectively on Katie’s shoulders, since, tempting as it was, putting her hand over her daughter’s mouth would probably be frowned upon.

Katie giggled. “No, silly. I’m too little. But Mama can. She’s not married, either.”


CHAPTER THREE

THE MAN LOOKED AS IF HE’D seen a ghost. He’d paled under his tan and his eyes widened as he looked at the two of them.

Amy swallowed hard. She was used to judgmental stares, but there was no way she would let anyone judge Katie. Being a single mother wasn’t that unusual these days. Besides, Katie had already told him Amy wasn’t married. It couldn’t be that big of a shock. “Why don’t you go put your things away, sweetie. Butcher’s waiting for you. I’ll be in shortly.” She nudged Katie toward the doorway.

“’Kay. Bye, Mr. Jace.” Katie quickly disappeared inside with a final smile and wave from the doorway. The sound of Butcher’s nails was loud and frenzied against the wooden floor. Katie’s sweet giggle followed close behind.

“Hank should be able to put you up for the night,” Amy said again, hoping Jace would move on.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she walked to the screen door.

“Amy?”

She didn’t want to turn around, really she didn’t. Good manners and curiosity made her look over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Thanks.” His gaze met hers and she saw something lurking in those blue eyes, something she couldn’t read. She didn’t even try, but went inside.

“Oh, my.” A soft feminine voice came in the door right behind her. Amy shook her head. She didn’t have to look to know who was speaking. Caryn Davis had been her best friend since second grade, but right now Amy wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.

Obviously, Caryn had arrived to reopen the diner next door, just in time to see Jace leaving. Amy agreed—he was definitely worth an “oh, my” or two, but she wasn’t sharing that with anyone. Especially not Caryn.

“Climb on up.” Amy helped Katie onto the stool and focused on getting her usual afternoon snack ready.

Caryn was bound to say something. Amy prepared herself, and her friend didn’t disappoint. She sat down beside Katie. “Hey, pumpkin.” She gave the little girl a brief hug, then turned her gaze on Amy. “Please, please tell me you saw him. Really saw him.”

Amy almost laughed. “Saw what?” She knew exactly what—or rather who—Caryn was talking about. There wasn’t a man in a fifty-mile radius who hadn’t caught Caryn’s eye at some time or other.

“Amy!”

This time she did laugh. “He’s just passing through.” Amy put a small plate of apple slices in front of Katie and handed her a fruit juice. “So don’t go getting any ideas.” She didn’t want to elaborate in front of her daughter. Besides, she and Caryn had already rehashed all this...multiple times over the years.

“Maybe Mr. Jace could be my new daddy,” Katie blurted out around a bite of her snack.

Caryn burst into laughter that filled the entire store. Amy couldn’t resist joining in, even though she knew it was a bad idea to encourage Katie’s hopes.

“Oh, are we back to that again?” Caryn finally asked.

“Yes.” Amy sighed. “Lynne and Beau are a great couple, but I sometimes wish they’d never gotten married,” she grumbled.

Oblivious to her mother’s reaction, and confident that everything was solved, Katie gulped down her juice, then jumped down from the chair. “Can I go over to Lisa’s to play?”

“May I,” Amy automatically corrected. “Put your things away in your room and then, yes, you may go. Be back by when I close at six.”

Lisa was well on her way to becoming the Caryn of Katie’s life. The two girls were inseparable, and with Lisa living just across the back street, it made life easier for both Amy and Lisa’s mom, Lynne.

Caryn barely waited for Katie to leave before she pounced. The pretty brunette leaned over the counter, forcing Amy to look at her. “I’m serious, Amy. Think about it. Maybe the best way to get your feet wet again, so to speak, is to hook up with someone just passing through.”

“I’m not interested in �hooking up’ with anyone.” Amy tried to scoot away, but Caryn knew her too well.

“You drive me crazy.” She gently grabbed Amy’s shoulders and forced her to look at her. “Ever since we were kids, you’ve dreamed about getting out of this town, going out in the world and living. Your first opportunity in ages comes along and you completely dismiss him.”

“A man isn’t the only way to get out, you know. Besides, I had my chance, remember? That year at Arizona State went so well.” Amy’s sarcasm masked the pain. She’d met Matt that year. “And you’re assuming this guy would be interested.” She pulled away from Caryn and gathered up the dishes left on a table. “I have responsibilities.”

“Oh, that’s great. Hide behind your daughter.”

Amy stopped moving, then slowly pivoted to stare disbelievingly at the woman she’d called her friend for nearly twenty years. “That’s low, even for you.”

“It’s the truth, and you know it.”

It wasn’t that simple, but she knew Caryn didn’t understand. Yeah, Amy remembered being that girl, dreaming of running off to Hollywood to become an actress, or New York to be a model. She’d dreamed, and she and Caryn had spent hours during sleepovers planning that future. Caryn had been the one who’d wanted to stay here, settle down and have the happy family.

All of Amy’s dreams had ended seven years ago.

“I don’t know it,” she said, focusing on answering Caryn’s comment. “I grew up.”

“No, you grew old.” Caryn followed her. “Remember back in high school when we swore we weren’t going to live life from the cheap seats? You’re in the cheap seats, my friend.”

Amy ignored her. She didn’t want to feel the anger that was bubbling inside her.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Amy.” Caryn’s voice softened and she walked over to help finish the dishes. “You know you’re my best friend. I don’t like seeing you so alone. It was just a thought.”

There was silence as they stared at each other. Amy couldn’t remember a time when the two of them hadn’t gotten along. When they hadn’t shared every secret and dream.

“I’ll see you later.” Caryn headed to the door. “At least think about it.”

“Yeah, later.”

Amy half expected her friend to stop, turn back and add one more comment. Thankfully, she didn’t, and simply headed out into the afternoon. The town was quiet, and Amy listened to Caryn’s high heels on the pavement until she disappeared into the diner. It wasn’t until the sound faded that Amy put down her cleaning rag and slumped into the chair where Katie had been sitting.

Caryn was right. Amy had grown old. All she’d ever seen was this Podunk town, and the briefest year of college. Shopping trips into Phoenix or Tucson did not count.

She’d dreamed of doing so much more. Her eyes burned and she closed them, taking a deep breath.

Life hadn’t turned out anything like she’d hoped or planned.

* * *

IT ALL CAME BACK TO JACE why he hated small towns. As he walked across the town square toward the big Victorian house, he felt the eyes staring at his back. He saw people turn their heads to look. A couple of curtains twitched. He was someone new, someone that tweaked their small-town curiosity.

He longed for the anonymity of the L.A. streets.

The wooden house, with its gingerbread trim and tall gables, contrasted with the surrounding adobe structures. A green lawn mocked the pale sand at the edge of the lot, and the tall cottonwoods actually had broad leaves on them. The old house was as out-of-place in the dry desert as Jace felt.

Any other time he’d have enjoyed the view. Right now, his thoughts were too jumbled. Amy? It wasn’t an uncommon name, but what were the odds? And if she was the right Amy, did that mean Mac had a grandkid? Jace’s heart sank at the probability. The old man wouldn’t ever know about her. Six. She’d said she was six. If Mac had been able to find Amy, would he have gotten to meet Katie?

Jace knew how old Amy was. Hell, he knew more about her than he probably should, thanks to Mac. He did some quick math. Her birthday was May 8, so she’d have been nineteen when Katie was born.

Too young. And who was the father? Mac would have been an interesting dad as his daughter dated. Hell, she was pretty enough, Jace would’ve probably dated her...in another life, another time. He shook his head to dispel the thoughts, reminding himself this was Mac’s daughter he was thinking about.

He couldn’t deny she was attractive, and the strength he saw in her eyes appealed to him. But they were worlds apart. And the old man’s ghost would probably kick his butt for thinking about her that way.

The man who greeted him when he walked into the bed-and-breakfast surprised Jace.

Hank Benton introduced himself as the owner and proprietor. Looking around at the wallpaper, doilies and wingback chairs, Jace would have expected a little white-haired old lady to run the place. Maybe he’d inherited it from his mother or some maiden aunt. Jace didn’t ask.

“How long you plan to stay?” Hank filled out an old-fashioned register page by hand; there wasn’t a computer in sight, Jace realized.

“A couple of days. Maybe longer. My ride’s over at the garage. I have to wait for parts.”

“Rick working on it?”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll do a good job. Good kid.”

Jace almost laughed. Rick was well into his twenties.

“What brings you to these parts? Just passing through?”

As the old man rummaged around in a drawer, Jace remained silent. He didn’t often share information about himself and didn’t see why he should now.

Hank must have read something in his silence, for the stare he turned on him was direct and piercing. Jace stared back from across the counter. There was a hardness in the faded blue eyes and the stiff set of the man’s bowed shoulders. Jace was good at reading people, and this guy was sending out very specific messages. I’ll take your money, but don’t stick around too long. Made Jace wonder where this man had been. He hadn’t always lived in this Podunk town.

“Well, welcome to Rattlesnake Bend. You need anything, just let me know. Your room is up the stairs, third door on the left.” He handed over an old-fashioned metal key. Jace took it and hefted his backpack farther up on his shoulder. The first few steps were wide, but led to a landing and a narrow flight of stairs.

Jace took a deep breath and held it, willing his shoulders to shrink and not bump any of the pictures or bric-a-brac hanging on the walls. The upstairs hallway was no better and he hurried to the third door, hoping and praying it opened to a huge room with a wide door that led to a balcony of some kind.

It didn’t. Just like every other room he’d seen in the old Victorian, the ceilings were high, but the rest of the space was closed in and cramped. The furniture was period, taking up most of the room. He could move around. Almost. The dormer window straight ahead was small, and fastened shut.

Jace’s chest grew tight, and he took only an instant to toss his backpack onto the bed and shrug out of the leather jacket that was slowly roasting him to death. He made a mental note: no leather in the desert.

Hastily, he backed out the door and hurried down the stairs. The wooden steps groaned under his weight. Finally, he cleared the front parlor and stepped out onto the long, wide veranda. Fresh air engulfed him, easing the constriction in his chest and nourishing his starved lungs. He cursed at his past, the memories of his father’s death in that damned coal mine, of Linc’s recent near miss, of Jace’s own inability to control his nightmares.

“You okay?” Hank stood in the doorway, the screen door open.

“Yeah,” he admitted, moving toward the railing. “Just...needed some fresh air.”

“Well, we got plenty of that around here,” the man said before he disappeared back inside.

Jace watched twilight slip over the countryside, silhouetting the town against the darkening sky. The small rise on which the bed-and-breakfast sat gave him a view of everything in the community.

Jace settled in the wooden rocker that took up at least four square feet of the porch. It wasn’t often a piece of furniture comfortably accommodated his large frame. This felt good. Leaning back, he tried to clear his mind. The quiet helped, almost.

He shoved his fingers through his hair and leaned forward, elbows on knees. What the hell was he going to do?

From here, he could see the lone light in the small store. The diner and the gas station were still open, but everything else was closing up. Why he’d thought it’d all be open now, he didn’t know. Hell, L.A. hummed with life ’round the clock, and he was used to that.

But this wasn’t L.A. Not by a long shot. Around here they probably rolled up the sidewalks at sundown. Jace needed to finish his business and get back to his life, such as it was. And let these people get back to theirs.

Silently, he fingered the safe deposit key in his pocket. What did you say to someone who hadn’t known her father? And how was he supposed to explain the money? The echo of a cheesy game show announcer spun through his head. “You’ve just won a brand-new car!”

Jace cursed and rubbed his throbbing forehead. He needed some sleep. Maybe in the morning his mind would be clearer, but he’d have to wait until everyone was asleep before he could settle in.

An hour later, Hank was still puttering around in the kitchen, getting everything ready for breakfast tomorrow morning. The old guy was rough, but he seemed committed to making this house a successful business.

“You gonna be out here much longer?” His voice came from the darkness, in the general direction of the front door.

“I was thinking about it.” Jace wasn’t going to tell him he didn’t plan to go back inside tonight.

“I need to lock up.”

Times like these, Jace really missed Mac. He’d have understood. There would have been no need to explain. Jace hadn’t slept indoors more than a handful of times in the past ten years.

The small apartment they’d shared hadn’t been much to brag about, but the balcony had been uncovered and Jace had bunked out there most nights. If it rained, he’d slept inside with the sliding door wide open.

This place didn’t have any sliding doors.

“Look.” Hank stepped into the light. “I gotta lock up. We’re a small town, and on the whole a safe place, but I got customers to keep happy.”

Jace stood and paced. The familiar edginess crept up on him. He could feel it, lurking in the shadows. “I ain’t much for sleeping inside,” he finally admitted. It was an understatement if he ever heard one.

Hank’s eyebrows lifted. “You plan on sleeping out here?”

“Yeah. I thought about it.”

The man crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Tell me why. Give me a straight answer, and I’ll consider making an exception and give you a key. If I don’t believe you, I’ll go inside and you can fend for yourself.”

Jace almost let him do just that. Almost. He paced some more, his mind racing. “My dad died in a mine cave-in when I was a kid. Too many nightmares.”

The long glare his host kept trained on him was working on something, but Jace couldn’t read the man that well. Finally, Hank stuck his hand out and Jace saw the porch light glint off a single key.

“I’ll lock up and you can come and go as you please until you check out.”

“Thanks.” Jace smiled and pocketed the key.

“There’s a hammock out in the backyard. You’re welcome to use it.”

Jace nodded his thanks. “Hey,” he said. “Do you have a phone book around here?”

“Yeah. I’ll get it for you in the morning. It’s in the kitchen.”

“That’d be great.”

“I know most everyone and everything around here. Maybe I can help.”

Jace wanted people to think he was staying only because of his bike. He didn’t want to ask too many questions yet. But he didn’t want to come across as suspicious later. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was acting just like Mac had, paranoid for no apparent reason. “Yeah, I’m looking for someone. Her name’s Madeline Grey. Do you know her?”

Hank’s face transformed from friendly innkeeper to the hard-traveling man Jace had seen in his eyes earlier. “Yeah, I knew Maddie.” He stepped closer. Menacingly close. “She’s been dead for over ten years.”

“I’m sorry.” And Jace was. That explained why Mac hadn’t been able to find her. “She had a daughter. Amy.” Jace glanced toward the now closed general store. “Is that her over in the grocery?”

Hank continued to eye him with a heavy frown, as if he’d be able to read his thoughts if he looked long enough. “I don’t know why you’re here, or why you’re asking about Maddie and Amy, but if you’re here to cause her or that little girl any trouble, you’ll have me to answer to.” Hank let the threat hang in the night air. It lingered long after he’d gone back inside and locked the door.

* * *

THE ARIZONA DESERT HAD always fascinated Amy, even though she’d lived here most of her life. She got up early each morning before the town was awake, before Katie got up, before she had to open the store. She loved this time of day. It was her time.

A cup of coffee on the back porch usually helped her gather her thoughts. She could make her plans for the day and just be Amy. Not Mom. Not the storekeeper. Not the girl down the street. Not the broken young woman who’d come home to lick her wounds. None of that. Just Amy.

Today, the relaxation was harder to find. Too much had happened lately and her mind swirled with it.

She hadn’t slept well last night, and when she had, she kept seeing the stranger, Jace. Which she blamed on Caryn.

“You’re an early riser.” The deep voice startled her and she nearly dropped her favorite coffee mug. As it was, she sloshed several drops on the front of her shirt. She’d have to change before she started work. Frowning, she looked over to see the man who’d haunted her dreams standing only a few feet away.

Today, he wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders. His long, dark hair hung loose and damp around his shoulders.

It took her brain a minute to engage. What was he doing here?

She stilled, her gaze drinking him in. Curiosity made her decide to see what he wanted. “I am. So, apparently, are you.”

She carefully sipped her coffee and watched him, knowing the back door was open and nearby. Her cell phone was also in her pocket, which wasn’t much help. But still reassuring.

“Yeah. Never did learn to sleep when it was light. And since I sleep outside so much, that’s sort of an issue.” He spoke slowly, easily, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Didn’t Hank get you set up last night?”

“Yeah. Nice place, too. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She wondered about his comment about sleeping outside, but decided that was none of her business.

The world around them was far from silent, with the late-night animals still stirring in the cool morning air, and insects singing in the bushes near the house. She heard the hum of a honeybee near the flowerbed.

“You’re Amy Grey, aren’t you?” Jace asked as he moved closer, stopping only when he reached the rail. He leaned against the heat-battered wood and looked at her with what seemed like too much curiosity.

Maybe she should go back inside.

“How do you know my last name?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I can’t read minds.” He did seem to read her confused expression, though. “I asked Hank,” he said with a laugh.

She liked the sound of his laughter and his smile. It seemed to inhabit his entire face and gave him a warm, welcoming persona. Most people’s smiles were simply muscle movements, not real indications of how they felt.

“Uh...are you planning on staying in town long?” She didn’t really want to know, she told herself.

“That all depends.”

“On?”

“How long it takes Rick to get the parts for my bike. And you.”

She could only stare. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” His smile changed, softened, deepened.

He didn’t move, but suddenly she felt as if he settled more firmly in her space. Her heart picked up a beat. She backed away, inching toward the door. She had it half-open, and had stepped into the shadows just inside before he spoke again.

“I knew your dad, Mac. Mackenzie Grey,” he whispered.

She froze. Her father? All the sounds around her vanished. Had he really said that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about him.

Mom had called him a mistake and little else. When Katie had come along, Amy had understood what her mother meant.

She turned back slowly and, lifting her chin, stared defiantly at Jace. “I don’t have a father. And unlike Katie, I’m not looking for one.”


CHAPTER FOUR

AMY REALIZED SHE was trembling. Her father? Jace had just said he’d known her dad? That wasn’t possible. That just was not possible.

The tiny back hallway of the store was only dimly lit even at the brightest time of day. Amy stood on the small landing inside, unmoving. To the left, she’d go into the store. Straight ahead, a flight of steps led down to the basement apartment she and Katie shared.

She looked down those steps, shaking her head, trying to dispel his words. What kind of sick joke was this? She didn’t have time for it. She had a business to run and a daughter to get ready for school.

At the bottom of the steps, the door was closed. As she faced it, her hand on the knob, she paused. How had she gotten down here?

Once she stepped across the threshold, she’d shift into mom mode. Here in the dimness, she could still be Amy, the scared little orphan who had no idea what to do.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her hand still on the doorknob, her fingers curled around its cool metal. She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t even think about letting go. It was the only solid thing she was conscious of, and surely the only thing keeping her standing.

Her father was a scumbag who’d walked out on her and her mother when Amy was three. She knew that because... Her mind trailed off. Because her mom had told her so. Dozens of times, usually with anger and disgust in her voice.

Mackenzie Grey was the one topic her mother had greeted with such negativity. Always. Rather than put either of them through the pain, Amy had stopped asking about him. But she’d never stopped wondering.

Mac, Jace had called him. She hadn’t even known he’d used that name. The man’s blood ran through Amy’s veins and she knew nothing about him.

Wait. That wasn’t totally true. She had those vague, disjointed memories of a three-year-old. She remembered a mall. She was with her parents, and she could still feel her mother’s death grip on her arm. Angry words flew above her head, back and forth between her parents. Looking back now, Amy wondered if she’d had marks on her arm from her mom’s ever tightening fingers. A mother herself, Amy understood her better.

She’d have had the same tight hold on Katie.

Amy didn’t remember how she’d gotten separated from her parents that day. But she remembered crying, tears streaming down her three-year-old cheeks. Faces—there were dozens of faces, far above her.... “Daddy!” she’d screamed. Then whimpered, “Mommy?” She’d fallen, dropping the purse her mom had given her. She remembered that little toy purse being run over by someone else’s mom pushing a stroller. Why was that mother there, and not hers?

Hours seemed to go by before she’d been swept up in her dad’s arms, hugged too tightly against his big burly chest....

Those baby sobs echoed over time, filling the space at the bottom of the stairs. She was no longer holding the doorknob, but was huddled on the bottom step.

She looked back up the narrow stairway. Jace was gone. Thank goodness he hadn’t followed her.

She was alone. Which was a good thing, she rationalized. She was an adult, a parent herself, not a three-year-old lost in the mall anymore. So why was she disappointed? Why, after all this time, did she ache to have her father back again?

Because he’d heard her in that store. He hadn’t stopped looking until he’d found her that day. She didn’t remember ever feeling that safe since.

So, how could he have left them? Why?

What had made her father finally give up?

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Jace was still in town.

Amy had seen him walking across the square a couple of times, probably checking on the repair part for his motorcycle. He hadn’t said a thing to her, but already three customers had come to the store to fill her in. He was new, and new always generated gossip.

Too bad they hadn’t come in to spend money.

Standing in the front door of her store, watching two tumbleweeds race each other down Main Street, she fought to clear her mind.

She closed her eyes, letting the heat of the day wash over her. She’d lived nearly all her life here in the desert. She was used to the heat. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like to live someplace else, someplace with more than one and a half seasons.

She heard the roar of a motorcycle engine and expected to see a vehicle appear on the street. Then the sound faded. A second later, she heard it again.

She looked down the block to Rick’s gas station. The north garage door was open, and she could see Jace hunkered down beside his monstrous motorcycle. Rick appeared beside him and handed him something. That must be the engine she kept hearing as he worked on it.

She figured they were talking, but she was too far away to hear anything. She watched, feeling only slightly like a voyeur.

What did she care? Once it was fixed, he’d be gone.

As would the knowledge he had of her father. She swallowed that realization with a gulp and went back inside. This was too much. Too confusing.

She’d just closed the door when the phone rang. She answered automatically, with words she’d said a million times. “General Store. Can I help you?”

“Is this—” The man cleared his throat. “Is this Amy Grey?”

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

He was quiet for so long she thought maybe they’d lost the connection. “My name is Stephen Haase.” His voice changed. It was stronger, deeper. “I’m with the firm of Bailey, Whitberg and Haase in Los Angeles. I was wondering if you’ve been contacted by a man named Jace Holmes.”

Amy pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a long second. “Why do you ask?”

She didn’t like strangers any better over the phone than in person. This felt weird.

“I’m calling because I’m not comfortable with Mr. Holmes’s intentions.”

Intentions? What century was this guy from? And people thought Rattlesnake Bend was the backward small town? “Who are you?” Something nagged at her memory. What kind of company had a name like that? It sounded almost like—she turned to the pile of mail on the desk and rifled through it—a lawyer. It had to be.

She tried to find the legal papers that had arrived several weeks ago. She knew they were here somewhere. She’d meant to give them to Hank, to go with the rest of the files he kept of her mother’s. Realizing the man was still on the line, she repeated the question he hadn’t yet answered. “Hello? Who are you again?”

“I’m here, Miss Grey. Sorry. I’m an attorney. You probably don’t remember me, but you used to come to my office with your mother.”

“You knew my mom?”

“Years ago, yes. She used to be one of my clients.”

Used to be, as in she’d fired him? Or her death had severed the arrangement? “I’m sorry. I...I don’t remember. And I don’t know much about my mother’s business.” She was telling the truth. Mom hadn’t had much business sense, but she’d had the ranch. Was that what this was about? Amy couldn’t think of what else it could be.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” She wished for a customer—anything—to give her an excuse to hang up. “You’ll need to talk to Hank Benton. He handles all my mother’s business.”

“No, Miss Grey. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. I worked mostly with your mother, but this is actually about your father’s estate.”

If her heart had faltered before, it seemed to completely stall now. “His...what?”

Jace had known her father. He’d said so. “Estate” meant her father was dead, didn’t it? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Maybe she should have opened the letter sooner.

She glanced unseeingly at the front window of the store, in the direction of the garage where Jace was working on his motorcycle. Then something else clicked in her mind.

This man knew Jace as well? What did that mean? What the hell was going on?

“Mr. Haase? Why are you calling me?” A part of her didn’t want to hear this, but she knew there was no avoiding it.

“I...I’m sorry, Miss Grey. Your father passed away a couple of months ago. I sent you and your mother a letter—”

“My mother’s been gone for nearly ten years.”

The silence was heavy with the man’s shock. “I’m...I’m so sorry. I liked Madeline.”

What kind of friend hadn’t known she had died? Amy didn’t know what to say to him, what to ask next.

“Have you been able to read through the documents I sent you?”

“Uh, not yet.” She really needed to find those papers and read them.

The man cleared his throat. “I can give you the basics. Your father named Mr. Holmes as his sole heir. I was checking to see if you plan to contest the will.”

“I... Do you think I should?” Jace hadn’t mentioned a thing about it. Was he hiding the information, or did he assume she’d read the papers and knew?

The attorney paused for another long moment, as if considering what to say. “I can’t advise you on that, as I represent your father’s estate. I was just trying to close up the files.”

She didn’t know anything about her father, not even what he’d done for a living. She cringed, knowing she sounded shallow, but she had to ask. “What exactly did he leave him?”

“There wasn’t much, I’m afraid. Your father was homeless for over ten years. The few things that were with him when he died barely fit into his old shopping cart.”

The image of her father finding her in the shopping mall collided with this image, shattering them both.

“Then why would I contest the will?” Wouldn’t that cost money, at least in attorney’s fees? Yeah, like she had extra cash just lying around.

“He was your father, and it is your right.”

It sounded more like the attorney was trying to drum up business for himself rather than help her. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

Curiosity, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, made her start walking. She didn’t remember hanging up the phone. She didn’t lock the front door of the store. She didn’t really care right now.

But she most certainly cared about Jace’s explanation.

This had better be good.

* * *

THE AFTERNOON SUN blistered the desert, but here in Rick’s garage, a huge fan helped move the ungodly heat. Jace rummaged around in the toolbox, trying to focus on the task at hand. Easier said than done.

He kept forcing himself not to look down the street at the store, wondering what Amy was thinking about this morning’s conversation.

The loud snap of the screen door still rang in his ears. What had he expected, telling her about Mac like that? The idea that Amy wouldn’t want to know about her father had never crossed his mind, though it probably should have. He thought of his own dad. He still missed him. If someone came to tell him about his father, he’d take everything they had to offer.

He could tell her about the money. And what? Buy her interest in Mac? No, that wasn’t why he’d come here. If that were the case, he could have sent her the safety deposit box key with a note, or maybe simply a check, and been done with it.

No, he’d come here to finish Mac’s dream. Jace wanted her to know the Mac he’d known.

He’d been tempted to follow her through the open door, but he’d hesitated long enough for a bit of common sense and self-preservation to take hold. He’d go back later. Give her time to digest the knowledge that her father hadn’t forgotten her.

Jace looked down the street at the store again. When was later?

Rick appeared in the doorway just then, thankfully distracting him.

“Hey. You hear anything from Gilcrest?” Jace asked.

“Yeah. Clyde’s coming over here to see Gavin. He’s the sheriff over there, and Lonnie, who owns the parts store, stuck ’em in the squad car. Clyde’ll drop ’em off in the next half hour or so.”

Only in a small town. Some things never changed. “Great. Thanks.” He headed to the bike and knelt down beside it. Time to remove the busted parts to make room for the new.

“You need any help?” Rick stepped closer.

“Not yet, but I can probably use another pair of hands later.”

“Sure, just holler.”

Rick moved away, but Jace could tell he wanted to ask questions. Since it was his garage, Jace couldn’t exactly ask him to leave, so he kept working and waited. He crouched beside the bike, trying to get to the spark plugs, which wasn’t an easy task. Finally, Rick went back into the office.

“Whatcha doin’?”

The little girl’s voice behind him startled Jace. He smacked a knuckle and bit back a curse before glancing over his shoulder. Katie stood in the doorway.

“Fixing the motor.” He didn’t think she was really looking for details. He didn’t know too many six-year-old girls who were interested in fixing an engine, but you never knew.

“Did you break it?”

“Uh, not intentionally.” He fought back a smile. Life with this kid must be a real treat. “I should have fixed it sooner, though.”

“Is Mr. Rick helping you?”

“Yeah. Hey, hand me that wrench over there.”

“This one?”

“No, the next one over.”

The girl scooted over the grease-coated floor on her knees to the pile of wrenches. Jace cringed, hoping her mother wouldn’t kill him for the state of her pink jeans. Maybe he’d better not ask her to get anything else.

He took the wrench and wedged it into the narrow space.

“You like riding a motorcycle?”

“Yeah. It’s fun.”

“I don’t think Mama would let me ride it.”

Jace grinned at the engine. “My mom didn’t like me riding them, either.”

“Really? How come she lets you now?”

Jace sucked in a breath. What was that saying about “out of the mouths of babes”? “I’m grown-up now. I don’t have to do what my mom says.” That sounded rather defiant, he realized. Probably not the best influence.

“I’ll be glad when I’m grown-up.” There was a glum note to Katie’s voice and Jace finally looked away from the engine. She sat only a few feet from him, her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees. She rested her chin in her palms, letting her golden curls dangle forward along her face.

Not good. Not good at all. He was not getting involved in this. But after a while, he realized she wasn’t leaving.

Setting aside the wrench, he grabbed the rag on the floor by the front wheel and started wiping the grease off his hands. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

He saw her glance up without lifting her head. “Nope.”

“Okay.” He looked at her for a long time before pushing himself to his feet, then went over to the tool chest and rummaged through it. Rick was a pretty neat mechanic, so finding things wasn’t hard. Jace would make sure to put them back the best he could.

“Does your dad like you riding a motorcycle?”

He hadn’t heard her move, but there she stood, right beside him. Startled again, he slammed his thumb in the drawer. “You’re hazardous, kid. What?”

“Does your daddy like your motorcycle?” Katie looked up at him, at once expectant and exasperated that he hadn’t heard her.

“My dad died a long time ago.” His father had been gone so long the answer was practically rote. He wondered why he hadn’t told her that his mother was gone, too.

“Oh, no.” Katie looked sad and stepped closer to him. “I guess that makes you like me.”

“How so?”

“You don’t have a daddy, either.”

Jace wasn’t sure where this conversation was leading, and he really wasn’t sure he should be following it. He hunkered down beside the little girl, meeting her eye to eye. “Look, kiddo. Your mom really cares about you.” He wondered where the next land mine was.

“I know that.” Katie frowned at him.

“So, I think maybe having a dad isn’t as important as having a great mom.” He swallowed hard. He wished someone had told him that once upon a time.

Katie gazed at him, tilting her head just a little to the side. “How do you know?”

“Well, because I wasn’t so smart when I was a kid. I ran away from home thinking I’d be better off on my own. I was wrong.”

Katie seemed to think about what he said. “But how will I know, if I don’t have a daddy to compare with?”

Jace sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to talk to her about. He’d never been around many kids and he certainly wasn’t good with them. Maybe if he distracted her...

“Okay, how about you help me fix my bike and we’ll discuss this later.”

Katie frowned at him, then spun away. “You sound just like Mom.”

“Really? I didn’t know my voice was that high.”

Katie giggled, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad he wasn’t going to be around when she got older. Amy was definitely going to have her hands full.

* * *

AMY FROZE. IN the far bay of Rick’s garage, Jace knelt beside his broken monster motorcycle. He leaned down, making his shoulders look impossibly broad. The muscles in his back bunched as he struggled with some part or bolt, trying to get it loose. His torso narrowed to where his jeans stretched taut—

A flash of pink broke the spell and Amy’s stomach dropped. Katie was there with him, a broad smile on her face as she jabbered a mile a minute, as usual.

Amy’s anger flared. Not only had Katie not come directly home from the bus, as she’d been repeatedly told to do, but Amy wanted to kick herself for noticing the man before she’d noticed her daughter.

Her step quickened and she reached them just as Katie was handing Jace a wrench. “Mama! Jace is letting me help.”

Her excitement was too sweet to banish, but Amy needed to be the good mom now and take control. “That’s nice, sweetie, but you know you’re supposed to come straight home from the bus.”

“But I always stop and see Rick on the way home.”

It was on the way, Amy had to admit, though she didn’t say it out loud.

Slowly, Jace rose to his feet, and Amy’s heart quickened. He was so tall she had to tip her head back to look at him. The shoulders she’d been admiring earlier blocked the entire world from her view.

She moved closer to Katie. “Let’s head home.” She tried to guide her by the shoulders.

“But, Mama, can’t I stay? You can take my backpack home. You know where I am.”

“You need to change into your play clothes.”

“Can I come back?”

“I don’t think—”

“You go on with your mom. I’ve got to go get some, uh, more stuff,” Jace interrupted, blatantly lying to Katie.

What was he trying to do? Amy was doing just fine taking care of her daughter. She didn’t need his help.

“Okay.” Katie’s voice dipped with disappointment and she seemed to wilt. Amy could swear she actually saw the gears work in her daughter’s head. She watched Katie’s head snap up and her smile return. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Katie.”

“Sure.”

Amy and Jace both spoke at once. Katie looked back and forth between the two of them expectantly.

Amy scrambled for any reason to give her daughter that made sense. All she got was a whole lot of blank. Only the fact that he was a stranger. A very disturbing stranger. A stranger she had questions for.

“Please, Mama? I really like the motorcycle.”

Oh, Katie was in high gear today. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Amy said before thinking. In one statement she’d made her daughter frown and obviously insulted the man.

“Mama. Can’t I? Please?”

Jace stood there, silent, regarding them with a guarded expression.

“Katie, little girls don’t usually work on motorcycles.” Amy tried again.

“She’s no problem, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she snapped. Katie and Jace both stared at her.

He leaned back, wiping his hands on the already greasy rag. “Ah,” he finally said, with a chagrined look on his face. “It’s not Katie, it’s me.” He turned slowly and tossed the rag into the bucket beside the workbench. He didn’t look at her, instead lowering his gaze to Katie. “Go on with your mom, kiddo,” he urged softly.

“But, Mr. Jace...”

“Katie, it’s okay.” His voice sounded sad and soothing all at the same time.

Amy found her voice. “Go on, Katie. I’m right behind you.”

“Okay.” Katie dragged out the word with a sigh. “Thanks, Mr. Jace.” She headed to the door as if her tennis shoes were suddenly weighted down.

Amy waited until Katie had cleared the doorway. Then she turned on him. How dare he interfere in her life so easily?

“Don’t even say what you’re thinking.” Jace bit out the words and stalked over to the bike. He turned his back on her and knelt beside it, dismissing her.

“She’s too young for this. I don’t want her to know anything about my father.”

Jace spun around all too violently. He didn’t stand, but he somehow managed to intimidate her. “Do you really think I’d do something like that?” He finally uncoiled, rising to his full height again, towering over her. “She’s a great kid. I’d never, ever hurt her, and if you choose not to believe that, you can go to hell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“I don’t even know you. But you come here, butting into my life, without being asked, telling me about a father I never knew.” Amy took a deep breath, waiting for him to say something. He remained silent. “You have no right.”

“He was a good man,” Jace whispered.

“Men who abandon their families and end up dying homeless on the streets are not good men, Mr. Holmes.”

Jace didn’t return to the big motorcycle, but stalked out into the desert sunlight. She watched him go, hearing his boot heels echoing on the cement long after he’d left.

She spun around, intent on going home, but found Rick standing in the doorway.

Her heart sank. Great. Now everyone in town would know.


CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WOULDN’T BE ANY sleep tonight. Amy tried and failed to calm the thoughts rioting in her mind. Her father. Her mother. Attorneys and estates. Tall handsome men and motorcycles.

Katie, on the other hand, was sound asleep after another busy day. Amy stood in the doorway of her daughter’s darkened bedroom, watching her. Katie was her world, and leaving her alone for even a moment was hard.

She was the reason for everything Amy did. Slowly, she closed the door and headed for the stairs.

She clipped the baby monitor to her hip, then quietly closed the back door and locked it. She was only going next door, and Katie knew how to call her if she woke up. It was less than a few yards, but every time Amy did this, she battled guilt.

With each step she took, each weed she tromped, the voice in her head screamed, No! Go back. Be a good mom. Stay with your baby.

And with every other step, Amy reminded herself that she needed to do this. That by doing so, she was being a good mom. She needed to make money to support herself and Katie. While the store did well, and the meager child support checks each month kept them afloat, Hank’s visit with the tax papers only increased the urgency.

She opened the back door of the café. Caryn had given her a key and her blessing to use the big, industrial kitchen after hours. The diner itself closed at nine. Though Caryn opened the bar in back from nine to two every night, she didn’t use the kitchen.

It was Amy’s to do with as she pleased, and she set to work with a sigh of resignation.

The single light over the sink lit nearly half the kitchen with a blue-tinged fluorescent glow. One small cabinet in the back was where Amy kept her things. Her mom’s old cookbooks and worn recipe cards were safe here.

As always, she pulled out one of the books and ran a loving hand over the spine. Of all the things from the ranch, these were all she wanted to keep. These half-dozen well-worn, ratty cookbooks were her mother’s true legacy. Cooking and catering was how Madeline had supported them when Amy was small. Amy had been trying ever since to do the same for her own daughter.

She kept praying these old books would reveal her mother’s secret to being such a good cook. So, two or three nights a week, after Katie went to bed, Amy came over here and practiced, trying different recipes, experimenting.

And failing.

Nothing tasted the way it had when her mom made it. Some of what Amy produced was downright horrible. So far, she’d managed to perfect two types of cookies she could sell in the store.

Winding through Caryn’s spotless kitchen with the book in her arms, she thought of her own minuscule kitchen, and some of the joy went out of her. She glanced at the back door, wishing she could do this at home. She wouldn’t worry so much about Katie that way, but she didn’t have a real space to work in. The apartment’s kitchen was definitely an afterthought, a couple of appliances and a table thrown in the corner of the living room.

It was so unlike the big hacienda kitchen out at the ranch that had been Amy’s favorite place as a kid. She missed the smell of fresh baked bread, fried food and the warm chili that always sat on the back of the stove.

Amy sighed. She wasn’t the cook her mother had been, not even close. Maybe if she used the ranch kitchen... No. That wasn’t an option. Just thinking about it made her shiver.

Madeline had been diagnosed with cancer when Amy was thirteen, old enough to learn to cook. By then, Madeline didn’t have the energy to teach her, and she’d never regained it.

Panic over the bills made Amy keep trying, and she set to work now. She didn’t have time for emotions. Morning would come all too soon.

* * *

JACE DESCENDED THE narrow stairs quickly. The shower had cleaned off the dust and grime of the day, but did little to ease the intense heat. The house’s air-conditioning almost tempted him to consider sleeping inside tonight. Almost.




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