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Just Friends?
Allison Leigh


He was the most infuriating man.But on television it was a different story. There, Evan Taggart came off as handsome. Confident. Single. A state the reality show played up a little more than producer Leandra Clay planned. All too soon women with the same thought in mind–marriage!–started invading their small town in droves. So now it was payback time. Evan's ultimatum to Leandra–masquerade as his fiancee or he was walking (and her career in television was toast).The choice seemed easy at the time. But this Evan didn't act like the childhood friend Leandra remembered. Who knew he could kiss like that? Or that his slightest touch could set her skin on fire? Just friends? Stay tuned….









Just Friends?

Allison Leigh







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


For my family.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Coming Next Month




Prologue


It didn’t turn out at all the way Evan had intended.

When it started out, it was just supposed to be a quick trip home during a break between classes. He’d known she’d be home, too, because he’d made a point of finding out. Subtly, of course. It had never paid to show one’s cards too easily where Leandra Clay was concerned. She was too quick. Too smart.

Too…everything.

Fool that he was, though, in his determination to appear anything but obvious, he’d invited his dorm-mate.

Jake sure in hell hadn’t worried about being subtle.

One look at Leandra and he’d been a goner.

Evan’s fault. If he’d told Jake he’d already staked out that territory, his buddy wouldn’t have trespassed.

Problem was, Leandra hadn’t been Evan’s territory. Never had been.

So what had Evan done?

Nothing.

And now what was Evan doing?

Nothing.

Nothing except stand there in his suit and a tie that felt like it was strangling him, and lift his champagne glass the way all the other wedding guests were lifting theirs.

“To the bride and groom,” he managed to say. “We wish them a lifetime of happiness.”

Jake wore a tux, too, and Leandra looked like some princess out of a storybook in filmy white stuff from head to toe. Their arms were slung around each other, giddy grins on their faces.

They’d hardly let go of each other in the year since Evan had introduced them.

The couple drank to the toast, and to the others that followed, kissed softly, sweetly, and Evan turned away, downing the rest of his champagne. But no amount of alcohol was going to deaden the pain inside him.

He hadn’t spoken his piece when he should have.

“Hey, you.” Leandra had untangled herself from Jake and touched Evan’s arm. “Don’t go running off now. You’ve got to promise me a dance after Jake and I do our thing.”

He had to steel himself against flinching. “I was just going to find more of your dad’s fine bubbly.”

Her gaze, as rich as the fudge pudding Evan’s mom had made since his childhood, was sparkling and that sparkle was all for her brand-spanking-new husband. “I’m not sure I ever said thank you. You know. For introducing Jake and me. If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have never met.”

“What are friends for?”

She missed the dark note in his voice. Nothing in her world right now was dark.

She was Leandra Clay and she’d just married the man of her dreams.

She suddenly reached out and hugged him. A quick dip into sweet perfume and soft, rustling white gown. “Thanks.” Then she was moving away again, heading back to Jake, never knowing that she was taking Evan’s heart along with her.

No, things definitely hadn’t turned out at all the way he’d planned.




Chapter One


He woke to the sight of a strange man standing in his bedroom.

“Son of a—” Evan Taggart sat bolt upright, grabbing the bedding around his waist even as realization hit that the young guy with the lumberjack’s build wasn’t entirely a stranger. Nor was the red eye of the television camera the guy held entirely a surprise, either.

He stifled the ripe curse on his lips just in time to keep it from being captured for all eternity—or at least the viewing life of a certain cable television reality show. “I’ve never been videotaped in bed, with a woman or without, Ted,” he said grimly, “and I’ll be damned if we’re going to start here and now.”

Ted Richard’s grin was visible thanks to the annoying light he’d erected on a metal stand next to the bed, but he still didn’t lower the camera. “The producer would be a lot happier if you did have a woman under those sheets. Marian would figure it’d be good for ratings.”

Evan wasn’t amused. “How did you get in here?”

“Leandra always says Weaver is so safe that nobody ever locks anything. Guess she was right.”

Leandra.

Evan should have known. He squelched another oath, this time directed at Leandra Clay and her part in the farce his life seemed to have become over the past week. “Shut that thing off,” he warned. If he hadn’t been out nearly all night tending a sick bull, he would never have slept through an intrusion like Ted’s.

Not that this particular situation had ever arisen before.

Ted still didn’t lower the heavy camera from his shoulder. The distinctive red light on top of the thing stayed vividly bright. “Don’t shoot the messenger, dude,” he said easily. “I’m just doing my job.”

Ted’s job was to follow Evan Taggart around for six weeks for Walk in the Shoes, or WITS, the cable television show of which Leandra was an associate producer. “Nobody told me your job was to invade all of my privacy.”

Ted still didn’t seem fazed. Nor did the young guy seem inclined to turn off the camera. But he did turn his shaggy blond head when they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside Evan’s bedroom.

A moment later, the woman responsible for Evan’s headaches of late practically skidded into the room. He got a glimpse of chocolate-brown eyes before Leandra turned her attention to her cameraman.

“Ted, turn off the camera. You shouldn’t even be here.” She hefted the enormous satchel that hung from her shoulder a little higher and raced a slender hand over her short, messy hair.

Evan grimaced when the cameraman obediently lowered the camera.

“I’ll just go back to the motel and catch a few more z’s,” Ted said cheerfully. “Any changes to today’s schedule?”

Evan caught Leandra’s gaze skittering over him before she shook her head and stepped out of Ted’s way. “Not yet. I’ll see you later.”

Ted nodded and took the heavy camera, his steps pounding far more loudly on the stairs than had Leandra’s. A moment later, they heard the sound of a door slamming.

Evan raked his hands through his hair, wishing he’d gotten more than the two measly hours of sleep he’d snagged. He needed all of his wits about him when it came to dealing with Leandra.

Leandra, who was still standing there in his bedroom, twisted her hands together at her waist. “Sorry about that,” she murmured.

For what? Bringing chaos to what was ordinarily a pretty peaceful life? Peaceful, just the way he liked it.

“I didn’t send him.” Apology turned down the corners of her soft lips. “And I came as soon as I knew he was here,” she added. As if that made up for everything.

Peaceful, he thought. Whatever had happened to it?

He’d grown up around Leandra. And her siblings. And her cousins, and there were plenty of ’em. But what on God’s green earth had he done wrong that every time he laid eyes on this particular Clay he felt a jolt?

Bad enough she’d once been married to one of his best friends.

Bad enough she’d chosen Jake over Evan in the first place.

“Well?” Her chin had come up. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

She wore loose flannel pants covered in cartoon chickens and a pink long-sleeved T-shirt with WITS printed over her breasts. The shirt did nothing to hide the fact that the woman was graced with all the appropriate curves. A woman who looked as if she’d bolted from her bed almost as precipitously as Evan. If she hadn’t, she’d have grabbed a jacket, at the very least.

He didn’t need the evidence staring him in the face to know it was pretty damn chilly outside.

It was September. It was Wyoming. It was four bloody o’clock in the morning, and he had Leandra Clay’s sexy body smiling at him through her shirt.

“I’ve never seen chickens wearing bunny slippers,” he finally drawled. “That the style out in California these days?”

Her lips pressed together. “That’s not what I meant.”

He was sure it hadn’t been.

And he was pleased with the tinge of red he could see in her cheeks as she turned off the blazing lamp that Ted had left behind.

Made him feel a little better at least.

Now he just needed to get her out of his bedroom.

Because it was 4:00 a.m. and she was Leandra Clay.

He grabbed the sheet and started to slide off the bed.

At the first sight of his bare legs, Leandra frowned and abruptly headed for the doorway. “I’ll, um, I’ll put on some coffee.”

He grunted. At least that would be something useful.

She glanced back at him and he dragged the sheet around himself, managing not to bare his butt to her eyes.

She fled, her footsteps racing down the staircase.

If he’d needed any hint that Leandra wasn’t the least bit interested in seeing his butt, he supposed he had it now.

He dropped the sheet back on the messy bed and went into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

How in the hell had his life come to this?

The question required no searching thought when the simple answer was right downstairs putting on the brew.

He rummaged in the small pile of laundry he’d kicked into the bathroom the other day to keep the mess from being caught on tape. His clothes smelled of God-knew-what, but he pulled them on anyway, then went downstairs to face Leandra and her coffee.

But when he got there, the coffeepot still sat piteously empty.

“Thought you were putting on the java.”

“I was. Am.” She closed the refrigerator door with a soft rattle of bottles. “I can’t find the coffee.”

He opened the cupboard above the maker and pulled out the can. “Suppose you’re used to some fancy brand you grind yourself.”

She made a face but didn’t answer. Which probably was her answer.

Evan knew good and well that Jake—his good buddy Jake—liked his coffee expensive and ground only moments before it was brewed.

Why would Jake’s wife be any different?

Ex-wife, an internal voice reminded him. For all the good it did.

Evan was a fool. That’s what he was. Pure and simple.

And God didn’t protect fools by the name of Evan Taggart.

Punishment was the course, there. Punishment in the form of a golden-haired wisp whom he still didn’t have the good sense to say no to.

Now that sprite in question was eyeing him through the brown eyes that had always seemed too large for her heart-shaped face.

He dumped his simple, grocery-bought coffee into a fresh filter and shoved it into the coffeemaker. “You going to drink some of this?”

“If you’re offering.”

He pulled out the filter, added another scoop of ground coffee, and pushed it back in place. Before he could reach for the empty coffee carafe, she’d plucked it out of the sink and was rinsing and refilling it with water.

Their fingers brushed when she handed it to him.

He sloshed the water into the machine and hit the power button, not looking at her. A reassuring gurgle answered him. “I’m grabbing a shower before that peeping Tom comes back.”

“Ted’s not a pervert,” she called after him as he practically bolted from the room. “He’s doing what Marian told him to do.”

“Then maybe Marian’s the one who’s twisted,” Evan called back, heading up the stairs.

What had he been thinking when he’d agreed to be part of that stupid show?



What had she been thinking to approach Evan Taggart about WITS?

Leandra pushed her fingers through her hair, pressing the tips against her skull as if the pressure could relieve the throbbing ache inside. She’d figured that following the life of a good-looking veterinarian would be just the ticket for the show that had been her home for the past eighteen months. She’d figured that veterinarian would be her ex-husband, Jake Stallings, who, despite their divorced status, was usually willing to do most anything that Leandra asked of him.

Jake was everything that her boss, Marian Hughes, loved. Charismatic. Handsome. A veterinarian to a whole host of pampered celebrity pets.

But for reasons known only to Jake, he’d refused her request and reminded her instead about his friend from college.

Evan Taggart.

Evan, who wasn’t only Jake’s old friend, considering Leandra had known him since they were tots. He’d been as much a thorn in Leandra’s youth as he had been a friend, and he was the one who’d introduced Leandra to Jake when he’d brought his college mate home one weekend.

Huffing out a breath, remembering that she hadn’t even brushed her teeth when she’d made her mad dash over to Evan’s, she went to her purse and rummaged inside for her cosmetic case.

She could hear water rumbling in the old horse’s pipes and tried not to think too much about Evan upstairs in his shower.

It was bad enough to have seen him upstairs covered to the waist in a rumpled sheet.

She’d found herself wondering just what he’d had under that sheet. That, in itself was pretty darned disturbing.

She shook her head, trying to eradicate the image and yanked open the little case. She found her travel toothbrush and squirted toothpaste on it, then brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink, washed her face and streaked some water through her hair.

She had a pair of jeans and a shirt inside her bag, too, but she wasn’t going to change into them until she’d had her own shower.

Which she would have back at her cousin Sarah’s place, where she was staying for the duration of the WITS shoot.

She certainly wasn’t going to ask Evan if she could cop a soak in his bathroom. The man had made it more than plain that he considered every moment they spent together an intrusion in his life.

She still wasn’t certain what had made him agree to participate in the first place. Sure, they were friends from way back, and he and Jake were still buddies, but Evan’s consent had been a surprise to her. A pleasant surprise, even. That is, until she’d arrived with her crew the week before and came face-to-face with how disagreeable Evan could be—disagreeable and disturbing.

But she was pretty desperate to have this shoot go well. If it did—no, once it did—she’d finally get out from under Marian’s thumb and produce her own projects. And they wouldn’t involve any shirtless hometown veterinarians, either.

The pipes overhead gave an ominous groan. Leandra looked up at the ceiling, half expecting the pipes to burst right then and there. But the ceiling—plain white with not a speck of dirt or a cobweb in sight—remained intact until the demand ceased and the pipes went silent. Rather than be caught gawking at Evan’s spotlessly clean white walls, she hurriedly rummaged around in his refrigerator and cupboards and had the makings of breakfast well underway when he came back downstairs a while later.

“Smells good.” He walked across to the waiting coffee.

She wasn’t sure if he meant his coffee or the bacon and eggs. “Mmm.” She flipped the omelet with a toss of the pan and picked up her own mug of coffee, watching him over the rim.

At least he’d put on a shirt, even if it was just a white T-shirt that hugged every muscle from which good genes and an active lifestyle had graced him.

His jeans looked the same as the other pair he’d just had on. Except this pair was clean.

When it came down to it, all of Evan Taggart’s jeans looked pretty much the same.

Well-worn and sexy as hell on him.

Drat it all.

She buried her nose a little deeper in her coffee mug and reached for the spatula again.

Now was not the time for her libido to kick back to life after years of lying unconscious.

As far as Leandra was concerned, she preferred the unconscious state. Life was a lot less complicated that way.

She tipped the omelet onto a plate, drizzled hollandaise over it, then added toast and several slices of bacon and held it out to him.

He stared at the plate as if he’d never before focused those brilliant blue eyes of his on such a thing. “Jake always said you weren’t much one for cooking.”

“Is that going to keep you from eating it?” She gently waggled the plate. “It’s only bacon and eggs.”

“Fancy eggs.” He lifted the plate out of her hand and set it on the square oak table that he’d shoved against one wall of the kitchen. Presumably to make room for the modern playpen that took up a good portion of the center of the kitchen. The playpen was currently empty, but Leandra knew it was for babies that weren’t of the human variety. A few days earlier, it had contained a lamb. “You made enough for yourself, I hope,” he added when she just stood there like a bump.

Spurred, she began dishing up her own plate. “Girl’s gotta eat.” She settled herself across the table from him. “Hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home.”

The corner of his lips twitched. He angled a look at her from beneath long eyelashes that were practically pornographic. “I’m eating, aren’t I?”

He certainly was.

She watched him bite off a corner of toast and looked down at her own plate. Who needed a jacket in September when she was steaming from the inside out? She gulped down a mouthful of coffee and coughed at the intense heat.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she lied a little hoarsely. “And I am sorry about Ted busting in on you this morning. If that had been on Marian’s schedule, I’d have talked her out of it.”

“Marian’s your boss. How would you plan to do that?”

“The same way I’ve talked her out of a few other ideas. How long was Ted here filming you?”

“Long enough to be satisfied when he left.”

Leandra couldn’t deny the truth of that. The guy had been perfectly agreeable about leaving. Which could mean that he’d gotten whatever shots Marian had been after. “At least you were alone.”

He gave her a measuring look. “Oh?”

She was appalled at the way her stomach dropped. She hadn’t stopped to consider the fact that Ted had clearly been filming for more than a few seconds. Had Evan had company who’d absented herself before Leandra came riding to her supposed rescue? “Weren’t you?”

His expression didn’t change and her nerves tightened even more. “Yes,” he finally said. “The only ones upstairs who didn’t belong there were you and your cameraman. And a helluva sight he was to wake up to. So how did you know he was here?”

Relief loosened her tongue. “Marian told me when we were speaking this morning.”

“You talk to your boss before four every morning?” He made it sound like an accusation.

“I do when she’s calling from the East Coast, where she’s filming another project, and is a few hours ahead of me.”

“That why you’re still in your pajamas? You jump out of bed to come rescue me, Leandra?”

Her cheeks went hot again. The truth of it was, once she’d heard that Marian had set Ted, unscheduled, upon Evan, she had pictured just that. Which was ridiculous. “You’re the least rescue-needing man I know,” she said truthfully. “And this outfit doesn’t have to be pajamas. It’s pants and a shirt.”

“Right.”

She decided not to argue the point. After all, she was sitting there in her pj’s.

“So, where did you learn to cook? I know it wasn’t at your mother’s knee. I remember Emily moaning about the fact that you were always too antsy to stand still long enough to listen to anything that concerned the kitchen.”

“There’s the problem working with someone you knew while growing up.” She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the notion that Evan knew so much about her.

“Well, if I hadn’t known you growing up, do you think I’d have agreed to this damn situation?” He raked his hair back with long fingers. The short strands were still damp from his shower, and they stood out in gleaming blue-black spikes. “Tell me again why this show is so important to you?”

“All of the stories we’ve done for WITS are important to me.”

His sharp focus didn’t budge from her face.

“Well, okay, the series focusing on you is a little more important. Do you have to debate every single thing I say?”

“Not every thing. The breakfast was good.”

“Small mercies,” she murmured.

“Which you didn’t explain, by the way.”

“Nuking bacon and tossing together an omelet doesn’t require an advanced degree.”

He dragged his toast through the hollandaise sauce. “This sauce stuff didn’t come out of a mix.”

She shrugged. “Just more butter and eggs and a little lemon juice. No big deal. What’s with all the lemons you have in your fridge, anyway?”

“My folks shipped them back while on vacation in Florida. And no changing the subject.”

“I learned a few tricks when I was in France.”

He went still for a moment.

France. Where she and Jake had gone on their honeymoon. And where Leandra had returned four years ago after their divorce. After they’d lost Emi.

Fortunately, Evan broke the tight silence when Leandra found herself unable to do so.

“Guess if you’re going to finally learn to cook, France is one place to do it.”

“I didn’t take a class. I just picked up a few things from Eduard.”

Evan’s eyebrows rose. “Ed-wa-ahrd?”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look? You’re a grown woman, Leandra. Free to take up with some French guy if you so please.”

She rose, gathering their plates to take to the sink. She wished she’d never brought up the topic of France.

“Does Jake know you met some guy over there?”

The plates clattered against the sink as she set them down. She flipped on the water and it splashed hard against the dishes, spattering the front of her T-shirt. “There’s nothing for Jake to know. We’re divorced, remember? We have been for several years now.”

“Yet you still went to him about doing this show before you came to me.”

Her nerves felt like a match had been lit against them. It’d never been a secret that Evan hadn’t been her first choice where WITS was concerned. “What’s the matter, Evan? Feeling second-best?”

It didn’t matter that Evan’s one-time crush on her felt about a million years ago; not when it had been inspired just because he’d been fighting with his girlfriend—who’d happened to be her cousin, Lucy. Leandra still felt catty the moment the words left her lips.

He didn’t look fazed, though, when he leaned his hip against the wood cabinet about a foot closer to her than was comfortable. “I guess if either one of us were worried about that, we wouldn’t be here, now would we.” His deep voice was smooth. Friendly. Easy.

Yet…not.

She frowned, feeling off-kilter. And she didn’t know why. Evan had never been serious about her despite that one time when he’d claimed otherwise. He’d been too busy being in love with her cousin. Only Lucy had gone on to New York after high school for a career in dance, and Evan had never been serious about anyone since.

Particularly in college when, according to Jake, Evan had become a complete love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of man.

“I’ll take your silence as agreement with me,” he said after a moment. He reached past her and shut off the water, his arm brushing her shoulder as he did so.

She barely managed to keep from jumping out of her skin. “I’m not worried about a single thing,” she assured him.

His lashes drooped for a moment, as if he were studying something. “Good. Thanks for breakfast.”

Then he handed her the dishtowel that was folded over a knob, and walked out of the kitchen.

Leandra squeezed the towel between her hands and tried to ignore the unfathomable shivers that were sliding down her spine.

What had she been thinking?




Chapter Two


The sun had still not quite risen when Leandra returned to Sarah’s place. The little house was located in the center of Weaver, across from a park and the high school. The bungalow had been home to Leandra’s various aunts, and now Leandra’s cousin called it hers.

Not until now, though, had Leandra ever appreciated the charm in the little place.

No, she’d been too busy wanting to get out of Weaver to understand some of the nicer aspects of her hometown.

She parked behind the house near the garage and let herself in the back door. Like Evan’s place, it opened right into the kitchen and again, like Evan’s, it was as unlocked as it had been when Leandra had bolted out of it earlier.

She tried to be quiet as she dumped her purse in the second bedroom and padded into the single bathroom, where she flipped on the shower and waited for the hot water to steam up the small room. She felt cold to the bone.

She hadn’t exactly dressed for a cold morning trek over to Evan’s, after all. That was why she still felt haphazard shivers attacking her.

No way were they caused by Evan Taggart himself.

She stepped under the streaming water, nearly groaning with relief as the hot needles stung her skin.

“I thought I heard you leave already.” Sarah’s voice rose above the rush of water, breaking through Leandra’s dazed heat-giddiness.

Leandra looked around the tastefully striped shower curtain to see her cousin peeking around the corner of the door. “I did. I’ll just be a sec. I know you need to get ready for school.”

Sarah pushed the door open farther and entered. “Sorry,” she said as she flipped on the faucet and reached for her toothbrush. “Have a parent meeting before school this morning. Time’s tighter than usual.”

Leandra ducked back under the shower, which ran even hotter now that Sarah was using some cold water, and rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I could have stayed at the motel with the rest of the crew and not put you out.”

“You are not putting me out.” Sarah’s voice was muffled by the toothbrush. “Idiot.”

Leandra made a face and hurried through the motions. When she turned off the shower, Sarah tossed her a thick towel over the shower curtain. Leandra quickly toweled off and wrapped it around herself, then stepped out so her cousin could take over occupancy. “All yours.”

“Where were you earlier, anyway?” Sarah reached beyond the curtain and turned the water back on.

“Evan’s.” She dragged her fingers through her hair.

“In the middle of the night?” Sarah looked amused. “Anything you need to confess to Auntie Sarah?”

Leandra just shook her head as she left the bathroom. “I’ll put coffee on if you’ve got the time to drink it.”

“I always have time for coffee.” Sarah’s voice followed her down the short hall.

Sarah was a Clay, too. For the most part, the Clays were all inveterate coffee drinkers.

Leandra quickly dressed and started the coffee. The grind-your-own-beans kind that she’d sent Sarah the Christmas before. There was a half pot brewed by the time Sarah entered the kitchen. Her long, strawberry-blond hair was twisted into a thick wet braid that roped down to the middle of her back. She wore a loose-fitting knitted beige sweater over an ankle-length red skirt and looked exactly like what she was—a somewhat prim elementary school teacher.

Only Leandra knew her cousin wasn’t all prim and proper. They’d been thick as thieves while growing up, after all. “Here.” She handed Sarah a tall travel mug filled with black coffee.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, winced a little, and set the mug on the small kitchen table. “So, what was the deal with Evan? He trying to back out of the show?”

“He might hate every minute, but I’m not worried about him doing that. It’s been a long time since I moved away from Weaver, but I doubt Evan has changed in that regard. Particularly when the first episode airs in a few days.”

“True. He’s generally a reliable guy. But in what other regard is he supposed to have changed?”

Leandra shrugged. “None.”

Sarah looked skeptical, but she didn’t pursue the point. “So, you’re still going to be free tonight for supper, right? Family is all meeting at Colbys to talk about Squire’s surprise party.”

Squire Clay was their grandfather. “Friday night at Colbys. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good. You’ve been so busy with the shoot since you arrived that hardly any of us have had a chance to sit down for long and visit with you.” She grinned as she tossed a jacket around her shoulders and grabbed up her satchel. “Everyone’s been bugging me to fill them in on all your latest, and I had to break their hearts by telling them there has been no latest, even for me.”

Leandra felt a quick knot in her stomach. Not even with Sarah had Leandra been able to share everything over the past several years.

Not since Emi had died.

How could she? Sarah—nobody—could ever understand just what Leandra had endured.

Endured because of her own failings.

“I’ll be there,” she promised. “After spending a day shooting with Evan and my crew, I’ll be more than ready to sit back and chill for a while.”

“Well, I promise we won’t make it too late of a night.”

Leandra smiled faintly. “There was a time when late nights didn’t stop us.”

Sarah’s light blue eyes twinkled. “True. But right now, you look like you need about twenty hours of sleep, my friend. And those days when we could play all night have passed me by. Too old, I’m afraid.”

“Old? Please. We’re only twenty-eight. I can still hold my own, even against Axel and Derek.”

“I seriously doubt it. Particularly where Axel is concerned. I know he’s your little brother and Derek is mine, but even he has said that Axel can wear him out. And they’re the same age.” She glanced at the round clock on the wall. “Gotta run. Hope things go well today.”

Leandra hadn’t even gotten her “thanks” out, before Sarah had hurried out the door.

She exhaled, her gaze slipping around the confines of the kitchen. Currently, it was painted in muted green tones. There were pretty pale yellow canisters lined neatly on the counter, matched in color by the placemats on the table and the woven towel draped over the oven door latch. The only mishmash of anything was the collection of photographs sticking to the front of the off-white refrigerator door.

She hadn’t looked closely at Sarah’s collection before. Hadn’t dared.

She still didn’t really want to look but, for some reason, her feet inexorably closed the distance until she was standing only inches away. Her heart was in her throat. Nausea twisted at her insides. She felt hot and cold all at once as she looked.

Her mind automatically dismissed the tiny snapshots that were distinctly school photographs. Sarah’s students, undoubtedly. And she really didn’t pay much attention to the assortment of milestones marked by someone’s trusty camera.

But the more she looked, the more she’d convinced herself that she did not want to see that beautiful, perfect face, the more she realized that the one face that was not captured here was the one face Leandra most wanted to see.

Her daughter’s. Emi.

Eyes burning deep inside her head, Leandra turned away. She felt shaky and her stomach pitched even more turbulently.

Sarah had removed Emi’s photographs.

There was no doubt in Leandra’s mind that her cousin’s refrigerator door had once been graced with many pictures of Emi.

Emi’s birth had marked the beginning of the family’s next generation. There had been dozens of pictures. Leandra had sent them herself. Taken them herself.

Her heart ached and she bolted for the bathroom, overwhelmed by nausea. But even after, huddling on the cool tile floor with a washcloth pressed to her face, there was no peace for her.

Coming home to Weaver, no matter how temporarily, was only making the pain inside her worse.

When she heard the distinctive ring of her cell phone from the kitchen, she dragged herself off the floor. There was only one caller programmed into her cell phone with that particular ring tone.

Beethoven’s Fifth.

It had been Ted’s idea of a joke when he’d been messing around with Leandra’s latest cell phone to link the dramatic tune to their boss’s phone number. Leandra hadn’t had a chance to figure out how to change it. Given her propensity for losing cell phones at the rate of two or three per year, was it any wonder that she didn’t sit down with the programming guide every time?

She made it to the kitchen and wearily pulled out one of the chairs as she flipped open her latest phone. “What’s up, Marian?”

“Have you talked to that vet of yours yet about our problem?”

A fresh pain crept between Leandra’s eyes. Only this pain, at least, was not one that tore her soul to shreds. “I don’t consider Evan’s love life our problem, Marian. That’s not the focus of WITS. Remember?” Her tone went a little dry. “We’re presenting his life as a veterinarian.”

“Hon, if that were all we were doing, we’d call WITS a documentary. Not reality TV.”

The only reason Marian wanted to call her show reality TV was because it sounded more contemporary. More appealing than a documentary series to her all-important demographic—women aged 24-35. The fact that Walk in the Shoes had been just that—a small, but relatively well-respected documentary series about people and the careers they chose—before Marian came on board over a year earlier was obviously unimportant to all but a few.

And arguing the point had been getting Leandra absolutely nowhere. “I’ll see what I can find out.” She crossed her fingers beneath the table. Childish, perhaps, but the best she could do for her conscience.

“Don’t just see, Leandra. Do. This guy you found may be eye candy, but sweets only go so far. I want spice!” Marian’s voice rose. “Either you find it for me, or I’ll find someone who will.” Marian let out a huge breath. “Now,” she said more reasonably and Leandra could picture her sitting there, smiling through her big white teeth. “Are we on the same page here?”

Leandra grimaced. “I understand your page perfectly, Marian. Unless there’s something else, I need to get on with it. We’ll be taping again in a few hours.”

“Fine. But don’t forget. Spice, Leandra, spice.”

Leandra hung up her phone and shoved it in her purse. “Spice,” she muttered. No doubt the reason why Marian had sent Ted unannounced into Evan’s house that morning. A quest for spice.



“Artificial insemination. Ought to look sexier than it is.”

Leandra frowned at Ted. It was late afternoon and they’d been taping since midmorning. It was a toss-up who was more tired. Leandra and her crew set up on the outside of a small arena, or Evan and his, working with a showy black horse on the inside.

“Breeding horses is not just a business. There’s an art to it.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to add any more disruption to the day’s already frustrating attempts. “And the insemination isn’t happening right now, anyway.”

“No, they have to get that black horse to shoot his—”

“Yes,” Leandra cut him off. She’d been listening to jokes about the semen collection process long enough.

“Well, I guess you’d know all about it, growing up here.”

Here was Clay Farm, the horse ranch that her father had founded when he and her mother had been newly married. “Mmm-hmm.” She kept finding herself more distracted by the action they were trying to film than by her duties behind the scene. More specifically, she was more distracted watching Evan.

It was ridiculous, really. The man stood the same height as her own father, Jefferson, who was working alongside Evan. He wore similar clothing—dusty blue jeans and a T-shirt. His short black hair was slightly disheveled and there was definitely a hint of a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw—and it was only around two in the afternoon.

What was it about the guy that was so intriguing?

“Earth to Leandra.”

She moistened her lips, dragging her gaze from Evan to focus on Ted. “What?”

“I asked if you’d ever done that to a horse?”

“Only a stallion,” Leandra reminded wryly, ignoring her cameraman’s suggestive tone, “and, yes, I’ve helped collect semen before. And before you start making comments, it’s business. Big business. Do you know how high stud fees can run for a really impeccable pedigree?”

It was a moot question, since they’d been talking about such matters most of the day. Northern Light had yet to prove himself at stud, but his sire had commanded stud fees in the six figures. “They’re having some problems with Northern Light there because he’s never been ground collected before. He’s inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced?” Ted grinned slightly. “I’ll bet it’s more like he wants a warm body to snuggle up to instead of that cold tube thing Evan’s holding.”

“It’s called an A.V.—an artificial vagina. Oh, heads-up,” Leandra warned. “Howard is bringing out the mare again to tease Northern Light.”

Ted trained the camera again on the group of men surrounding the stallion and started filming. Leandra stepped slightly away, watching Northern Light’s reaction to the mare. His ears perked. The horse’s gleaming black coat twitched. His tail swished.

Bingo, Leandra thought, smiling to herself as the horse tried to lunge forward against the teasing rail, wanting to get at the mare.

Her father, at Northern Light’s head, kept the stallion from getting light in the front, making the horse resist his natural urge to rear up and mount something. Preferably the mare that had clearly, finally, spurred the young stud’s libido.

Even Ted jumped a little at Northern Light’s sudden interest, and in Leandra’s memory, there were few occasions that managed to startle the cameraman. But, she was pleased to note, the camera didn’t waver.

A nervous hand tugged at Leandra’s elbow from behind. Janet Stewart, another crew member, was frowning mightily, looking worried about the sight of the half ton of horse flesh seeming to struggle against his handlers. The girl put her mouth close to Leandra’s ear. This was only her second shoot, but so far Leandra had been pleased with the quiet girl’s work. “The horse can’t hurt the men, can he?” she whispered.

Leandra shrugged. The truth was, a stallion could crush a man if he chose. But she’d grown up around horses. She knew her father’s capacity to handle the animals. He might be in his 60s now, but he was fitter than many men half his age. And she knew Evan’s capacity equaled her dad’s.

Evan, who happened to glance their way as Northern Light gave another thwarted lunge. The gleaming black tail spiked and they could all hear the horse’s breath streaming from his nostrils.

Janet drew in a hissing breath. “Ee-uu-ww. Is he going to, uh—?”

Leandra frowned, putting her finger to her lips, silently hushing her. The answer to her production assistant’s half-formed question was clear in the satisfied actions of the men as Northern Light’s interest subsided in the mare still standing safely some distance away.

Howard, her father’s oldest ranch hand, took away the collection tube carrying Northern Light’s soon-to-be-pricey contribution to the breeding process. Leandra knew this particular specimen would only be used for analyzing. Leandra’s father led Northern Light back into the shadowy interior of the barn, where he’d be closed in his stall with fresh feed and water until his next encounter with the A.V.

Evan’s presence wasn’t ordinarily required at such proceedings, but since he and Axel were co-owners of the stallion, he had a vested interest. As he headed toward them, his gait was loose-hipped and easy and in Leandra’s mind, she envisioned the slo-mo and music that could accompany the movement once they put the piece together.

Eye candy, exactly as Marian had said. Oh, yes. Definitely eye candy.

“You realize that Northern Light was distracted by all of you over here.” Evan directed his irritation straight at Leandra. “What took most of the day should have been accomplished in a third of the time. It’s a wonder that Jefferson allowed you to even tape here today.”

“I guess that’s one of the perks about being the boss’s only daughter.” Her voice was as cool as his. She didn’t appreciate the lecture, particularly when she was very much aware of the delay they’d caused.

Evan’s lips thinned. He glanced at the camera. “I suppose you’re still filming.”

“That was the agreement, remember?” Despite that very fact, Leandra stepped closer to Evan. “Our crew follows your daily activities for a month and a half. How else can our viewers expect to walk in your shoes?”

“With boots,” he drawled. “And I remember the agreement. Doesn’t mean I have to love it. Definitely doesn’t mean I appreciate extending that inconvenience to my clients. And daddy of yours or not, Jefferson Clay is one of my best clients. We’re planning to breed one of his mares to Northern Light, and I’d still like him to stay one of my best clients even after you’ve taken your sweet tush off onto your next escapade.”

“Cut,” Leandra told Ted, barely managing to get the word through her clenched teeth. “Janet, you and Ted go over to the lab where Howard’s working and catch what you can. There’s quite a bit of science involved in this. You never know what might come in useful.” She could feel her phone vibrating silently at her hip, where it was clipped to her pocket, but ignored it. She didn’t have to guess hard to figure it was Marian. “Then we’ll take a stroll through the horse barn and call it a day.”

The idea of ending shooting even an hour early clearly appealed to Janet. Leandra knew she and Paul Haas, the other crew member, were planning to drive down to Cheyenne for the weekend. Both in their midtwenties, they figured their free time would be a little more lively there than it would be if they remained in town. Ted, however, was staying put. He had a wife and a toddler back home in L.A. and, though he hadn’t said anything specific, Leandra had the impression that things weren’t entirely smooth between the couple. They’d all be back in Weaver on Sunday, though, in time to watch the show on television.

When Ted and the camera were no longer there as silent witnesses, Evan leaned his elbows on the metal rail between them. “You showing off that you’re the boss, Leandra?”

“When it comes to this, that’s exactly what I am.”

“As long as Marian lets you be.”

She stiffened, ignoring the jab. “Regardless, I don’t need you taking me to task in front of my people just because you occasionally find this situation a little less than comfortable.”

“Occasionally?” His eyebrows lifted. “Have you ever had a camera following you around all damn day? You don’t know what it’s like. You only know what it’s like from behind the lens.”

The fact that he was right didn’t help her beleaguered conscience any. Nor did the phone cease vibrating. She snatched it off her belt, flipping it open. “Yes?”

There was a brief pause, then a short, masculine laugh. “Judging by your voice, I can tell you’re happy to hear from me.”

It wasn’t Marian at all. “Jake.” Leandra greeted her ex-husband. Evan’s shadowy jaw cocked and he turned, stepping away from the rail. “I thought you were Marian calling. What’s wrong?”

“Who said anything had to be wrong?”

“You don’t usually call me when I’m on location.” Her ex-husband called about once a month, insisting on checking up on her. He’d been doing it for as long as they’d been apart. At first, it had been simply painful. Then, it had been…simply simple. That was Jake.

They might not have made it as a couple—particularly after Emi—but that didn’t mean that they didn’t care about each other.

“As it happens, I was calling to see how Ev was doing.”

Ev was twenty feet away from her now, joined by her father, who’d ambled out of the barn a few moments earlier. “Why? He’s a big boy.”

“Yeah, but he hates attention. You know that.”

“Then he shouldn’t have agreed to the shoot. I still don’t know why he did. I know he regrets it. It would have been a heck of a lot easier if you’d agreed to do this, Jake. I would never have had to come to Weaver. You didn’t even tell me your good excuse,” she reminded him. “Just that you had a reason.”

“I did. Do. So, put the man on the phone, would you? I need to talk to him.”

“Oh, so that’s why you called my phone,” she teased wryly as she crouched down and slipped through the horizontal space between the wide-set metal rails. “Not to talk to me after all, but to your good buddy.”

“At least from him I might get the straight scoop on how you’re really doing.” There was no joking in Jake’s voice.

Leandra stopped next to Evan and extended the tiny phone. “Here, spy man. Your accomplice wants to talk to you.” She jiggled the phone. “Jake.”

Evan took the phone. “Yo.”

Leandra grimaced and turned away.

Her father caught her gaze, his dark blue eyes unreadable. “You still talk to Jake?”

She shrugged and he fell into step with her as she walked away from Evan, heading toward the big, state-of-the-art barn. She didn’t really want to hear whatever report he might be giving Jake.

The fact that there might be any reporting at all annoyed her right down to her bones. She was having lustful thoughts about Evan and he was merely keeping tabs on her for Jake.

“Don’t worry, Dad. We’re not getting back together or anything.” There was too much water under that bridge. And Leandra wasn’t up to emotional entanglements, anyway.

“Jake was—is a good enough guy.” Jefferson’s low voice was wry. “Maybe not good enough for my girl, but—”

She tucked her hand under her father’s arm. At six-plus feet, he still towered over her. And though his blond hair had a good portion of silver now, it was still thick and often longer than his wife’s shoulder-length hair.

“Nobody would be good enough to suit you, Dad.”

“Me?” His lips quirked. “It’s your mother who’s the hard one to please.” He nodded his head toward the slender, dark-haired woman who was striding toward them. “Tell her, Em,” he said when she reached them.

“Tell her what?”

Leandra suffered a head-to-toe examination from her mother’s all-seeing brown eyes. She was ten years younger than Jefferson, and more than once had been mistaken for Leandra’s sister, rather than her mother. “He’s claiming that instead of him, it’s you who thinks no man is good enough for me.”

Emily smiled. “Well, we both know what a tale your father can spin. So, how much longer are you going to be following poor Evan around? You know we’re all going into town tonight to meet at Colbys, right?”

“Sarah told me.”

“I really wish you could stay out here with us.” Emily closed her arm around Leandra’s shoulder. “I know it’s not too practical during the week because of the drive, but what about the weekends?”

A part of Leandra wanted nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of her childhood home. To sink into the comfort and care of parents whose love was a constant in her life. A bigger part of her resisted those very same things for fear that she’d never make her own way. “I’ll still be working on the weekends,” she told them truthfully. “We just won’t be actively following Evan.”

“Working on the weekends.” Emily sniffed wryly. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because you grew up on Squire’s ranch,” Jefferson drawled. “And there ain’t no time off on a ranch.”

Emily tilted her head up, looking at her husband. “Oh, and you’re so different from your father, are you?”

Jefferson closed his hand around his wife’s hand. “Hell, yes. I’m nothing like Squire Clay.”

Leandra snorted softly. Her mother laughed and her father smiled before dropping a kiss onto his wife’s forehead.

There was no way that Leandra could ignore the contentment radiating from her parents. It blossomed around her as surely as the sun rose and set. “I’ve got to round up my crew and get them back to town,” she told them. “So I’ll see you later at Colbys.”

“Even if you’re not staying with us, I’m glad you’re here.” Emily kissed Leandra’s cheek. “It’s been so long since you were home.”

Not since Emi.

Leandra kept her smile in place, but it suddenly took an effort. And she knew that her parents were aware of that fact, which made the effort even harder. “I know. So…later.” She hurried away from them, retracing her steps back to the small arena.

Evan, though, was nowhere to be seen.

Paul and Janet were busy loading up the rental van with equipment. “Looking for this?” Janet handed over Leandra’s clipboard.

She hadn’t been, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need the jumble of schedules and notes and other assorted items that were clipped together on the large brown clipboard. “Where’s Evan?”

“He left a few minutes ago.”

For some reason, the news startled Leandra. “When?” She hadn’t noticed his pickup truck driving away from the ranch, but then she’d been on the opposite side of the barn, facing away from the road.

“A few minutes ago. We’re still finished, right?”

“Right.” Leandra realized she was looking in the direction of the road, as if she would be able to see Evan’s departure. They probably wouldn’t see each other until Sunday, when the show aired and the crew threw a promotional event in town to play up Evan’s debut. The thought nagged at her, and she deliberately looked down at her clipboard. She was there to work and that was all. Work was good. Work was safe.

And amid her work was a big pink note, taped on top of her collection of pages. Call Marian.

She automatically reached for her cell phone.

Which she’d given to Evan.

“Don’t suppose he gave you my cell phone before he left?”

Janet shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.”

Well, if for no other reason than to retrieve her cell phone, Leandra would be seeing Evan before Sunday, after all.

“Guess you’d better lend me yours, then,” she told her assistant.

The young woman handed it over and Leandra dialed Marian’s phone number.

Even the prospect of talking to her half-sane boss again wasn’t enough to dull Leandra’s sudden burst of cheerfulness.

She wouldn’t be waiting until Sunday, after all.




Chapter Three


“Does your daddy know you still play pool?”

Bent over her borrowed pool cue and the side of one of the pool tables situated inside Colbys Bar & Grill, Leandra’s stroke hesitated. When had Evan arrived at the bar? She angled her chin, looking beside her. “Does your daddy know you’ve taken up drinking beer?”

The corner of Evan’s lips twitched. “I’d have to say he did since he’s the one who bought it.” His fingers were looped around the slender neck of the bottle and he tilted the bottom of it, gesturing. “He’s at the bar over there.”

Leandra followed the gesturing beer bottle. Sure enough, Drew Taggart was standing at the bar.

From Leandra’s vantage point, it looked as if the only thing that had changed about Evan’s father were the strands of silver threading through his black hair. He was talking with one of her uncles. Tristan Clay was as golden blond as he’d ever been, and standing there, the two men—one dark haired and one light—made a striking image.

“I thought you were going to Braden this evening.” She distinctly remembered him saying as much that afternoon.

“Plans change.” He shifted beside her.

“You said your parents have been to Florida?” She focused again on lining up her shot, instead of on his well-worn jeans.

“Got back yesterday.”

The cue ball struck the racked balls with a satisfying thwack, scattering them nicely. “Were they gone long?”

“Two weeks.” Evan set his bottle on the wide ledge of the pool table and pulled a stick from the selection hanging on the wall rack. Colbys might serve the best steak in town, but it was still a bar, complete with jukebox, wood floors, a very long, gleaming wood bar and a half-dozen pool tables. “They came back early. Because of the show being on television.” His voice sounded disgruntled.

“I’ll have to catch up with them and say hello,” Leandra murmured, stepping around the table and lining up her next shot. She hoped Evan didn’t get any grumpier about the shoot. She truly didn’t like the idea of making someone miserable just so she could achieve her own goals. “Where’s your sister been staying while they were gone?”

“Tris and Hope’s. Though she’s eighteen now. She could have stayed by herself at the house. Jake doesn’t know anything about Ed-wa-ahrd.”

Her shot went wide, the ball banking uselessly off the side cushion. She straightened, propping the end of the stick on the toe of her tennis shoe. “What did you do? Ask him about it when he called?”

“Yes.”

An invisible band seemed to tighten around her skull. “I told you it didn’t concern Jake. It doesn’t concern you, for that matter.”

“Sounding a little defensive there, Leandra.” Evan leaned over and sank two balls in the corner pocket.

So much for her sympathy. She had an intense urge to smack him over the shoulders with her own pool cue. “And you are sounding pretty interfering there, Evan. What does it matter, anyway? Why do you care?”

He was studying the table, his head slowly tilting to one side, then the other. “Jake’s one of my best friends.”

“So out of loyalty to him you figure he needs to know about Eduard?”

He leaned over again, his movements with the pool cue infuriatingly confident. “Does he?”

Despite her intense concentration on them, the infernal balls didn’t have the sense to thwart his rapid shots. They went sailing exactly where he wanted. At the rate he was going, he’d have the table cleared in minutes. “I’ve already said there’s nothing for him to know. Why are you making a deal about this?”

“You’re the one being closemouthed.” Only the eight ball remained. He lined it up. A second later, it rolled neatly into the pocket. Looking smugly superior, he straightened.

“Bet you can’t do that a second time.”

His lips quirked, amused. “Bet I can. Don’t forget, sport, I’ve been hanging out here at Colbys since before you moved away.”

“Maybe I hit the billiard circuit in California.”

“You’re a rotten liar. Have been ever since you tried to convince Mr. Pope that you didn’t cheat on that junior high math test.”

“I didn’t cheat!”

“Have you convinced yourself of that in the years since?”

“I don’t have to convince myself of anything. I know what happened with that test whether Pope—or you—believed me or not.” She walked around the table to the other side, facing him. “If you must know, it was Tammy Browning who was cheating off my test. I’ve never cheated on anything. And you’re trying to sidestep the bet. What’s the matter, Evan?” She leaned over, propping her forearms on the side of the table. “You afraid of losing to a girl?”

“Wouldn’t matter if you weren’t a girl. How much?”

She rolled her eyes in thought. “Twenty.”

“Sissy bet.”

“Forty.”

He waited.

“Fine.” She pulled some of the cash from the front pocket of her blue jeans, counted through it. Slapped several bills down on the rail. “Fifty.”

Of course, now the man smiled. Slow and easy. As if he’d been the one baiting her all along.

It annoyed her to no end.

“Rack ’em up, sport.”

She made quite a production out of it. “What’s with the �sport’ thing?”

He leisurely chalked the tip of his cue, watching her. “You’re the one dressing like a Little Leaguer.”

She looked down at herself. Blue jeans and a zip-front sweatshirt. Well, okay, she was wearing a ball cap with the show’s WITS acronym sewn on it, but that was hardly a damning fashion statement. Most of the crew wore the caps. Even people around town were sporting them.

She captured all of the balls within the triangular rack and rolled it back and forth, finally positioning it at the footspot. “Knock yourself out, Doc.”

He hit a sound break, solids and stripes bursting outward in a rolling explosion. He waited until they all came to a rest, his blue gaze studying the positions.

“Getting cold feet?” Her voice was dulcet.

He snorted softly and leaned over to begin smoothly picking them off, one by one—and sometimes two—into the pockets. He didn’t miss a single shot.

“Who taught you to play, anyway?” She silently bid her money a farewell.

“My dad.”

“Figures. And I know he must have played plenty with my uncles during their misspent youth.” The Clay brothers, and Tag, had all been notoriously wild teenagers.

“And your dad. He’s one of the worst ones when it came to playing hard.”

“Worst as in best,” she muttered. Not once in her life had she been able to best her father at the pool table, whether it was the one housed in their basement or elsewhere.

“It’s all Squire’s fault.” Sarah had come up to stand beside Leandra. “He’s the one who taught his sons how to play in the first place.”

Leandra nodded. “True.” Their grandfather had raised his sons alone after the death of his first wife, Sarah, after whom Leandra’s cousin had been named. According to the stories, he’d been a hard-nosed man with little softness afforded to his boys after his wife’s death from giving birth to Tristan, their youngest. And then Leandra’s mother, orphaned before she was even ten, had gone to live with Squire and all of those boys. And all of their lives had been forever changed.

Evan sank two more balls. The table was nearly clear again, and Leandra’s hopes that Evan would make even one small misstep were dwindling.

“He’s going to keep running the table if you don’t do something,” Sarah murmured as she lifted her soda to her lips. She’d changed out of her schoolteacher clothes into jeans that were nearly identical to Leandra’s. But instead of a shapeless gray sweatshirt, Sarah wore a pretty pink crocheted top over a matching camisole, and instead of scuffed tennis shoes on her feet, she had pointy-toed black boots with killer heels that made her look even more leggy than she really was.

And Leandra was beginning to feel decidedly frumpy. She turned on her heel, looking at her cousin. “What am I supposed to do about it? I already feel stupid for putting the money down.”

Sarah shook her head slightly and her long hair rippled over her shoulders. “Distract him.”

Leandra wanted to snort. Her cousin was a distracting-type woman. Leandra was not. She was not especially tall, nor especially curvy and her last haircut had been at the courtesy of her own hands because she’d been too darned busy to keep a hair appointment. “Just what am I supposed to distract him with?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Have you forgotten everything we used to know? You’re wearing something under that sweatshirt, aren’t you?”

“An undershirt.”

“Is it completely disgraceful?”

It was thin, white and sleeveless. “It’s clean.”

Sarah laughed softly. “What would you advise someone on your show? And you’d better hurry up. At the most, he only has three shots left.”

Frowning at the lengths she’d go to in order to save her fifty dollars, Leandra unzipped the sweatshirt and tossed it onto the nearby high-top table. Picking up her cue stick again, she sauntered around the table until she was opposite Evan once again.

She leaned the stick against the side of the table and braced her hands on the rails. “Want to go for double or nothing?”

He didn’t even glance her way. “We could just save the time and have you hand over the money, instead.”

Leandra rolled her eyes. Caught Sarah’s gaze. Her cousin nodded encouragingly.

Swallowing an oath, she slowly moved around the table, taking advantage of the time Evan was spending as he studied the table and the not-so-easy position of the remaining balls. She stopped beside him as he began to line up his next shot and murmured close to his ear. “Maybe I think three times is not going to be the charm for you.”

He jerked as if he’d been bitten. She almost chuckled at the comedy of the moment. But she managed to contain herself when he straightened again, not taking the shot after all, and she found her nose about five inches away from the soft brown shirt covering his chest.

Or, rather, the chuckle nearly turned into choking because the man was just too male for her stunted senses.

“What are you doing?” His voice was mildly curious.

She would not blush. She was a career woman, for heaven’s sake. Blushing was not supposed to be part of her repertoire.

She still felt her cheeks warming and thanked the heavens that the bar was crowded and slightly warm as a result. She’d blame it on that. Much more palatable than thinking he could reduce her to a blush so easily.

Searching desperately for an answer, she spotted Sarah, who lifted her eyebrows slightly, meaningfully.

“Just cooling off,” she assured. “Don’t you think it’s getting warm in here?”

His lashes drooped, his gaze moving over her from her face to her toes.

And dammit, she actually shivered. Shivered!

Maybe she was coming down with the flu. Maybe she was simply off her rocker. That was far more likely.

“Yeah, it’s warm all right.” His voice dropped a notch. “A hundred bucks? You sink every striped ball and I’ll pay you a hundred bucks.”

“Interesting idea. But this wasn’t about my ability. It was about yours.”

He set the bottom of the cue stick on the floor. The tip of it stood higher than Leandra’s head. “I don’t think either one of us question my ability.” He took Leandra’s hand and wrapped it around the shaft of the stick, keeping it in place with his own hand around hers. “Do we?”

There was a knot in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. His hand felt hot against hers.

“Well?” He prompted when she failed to answer.

She shook herself, snatching the stick and her hand away from him. Ignoring the faint smile that touched his wicked, wicked mouth, she turned to the pool table only to find that at least a dozen people had joined Sarah in watching them.

She felt her face flush even hotter.

Her parents. Her cousins. Ted. They were all there. Even the players at the other pool tables had gone silent.

Great.

“One hundred dollars,” she said brusquely. “You sure you’re good for it, Taggart?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

Making a face, she pointed the cue at the table. “Rack them up, then. Striped balls, any pocket.”

While Evan gathered all of the balls in the rack, Sarah scooted next to Leandra. “You were supposed to be distracting him, remember?”

“Yeah, a fine idea you had,” she muttered. “I’m going to make an ass out of myself, right here in front of everyone. Even Ted and his little camcorder, there.”

Sarah glanced over at the cameraman. “I didn’t even realize that thing he’s been playing with all evening was a camera.”

After more than a year of working together, Leandra wasn’t the least interested in Ted and his penchant for electronics. Instead, she kept her focus on Evan’s work at the table. He removed the rack with a goading smile, and waved his hand over the table, as if inviting her to humiliate herself.

“Just take your time,” Sarah advised under her breath. “Remember everything we’ve ever been taught about pool.”

The first thing Leandra had been taught was not to place a bet that she wasn’t absolutely certain of winning.

She centered the cue ball over the headspot, settled her left hand on the felt, making a bridge for the stick and sliding it slowly back and forth, experimentally, as she focused on the leading ball of the rack.

“Gonna take all night there, sport?”

She drew back and let fly.

The racked balls exploded. Two balls, one solid, one striped, plowed into the corner pockets.

A couple of hoots followed from the peanut gallery.

Leandra closed them out.

It was not so easy to close out Evan, though, as she moved around the table, studying the position of the remaining striped balls. He leisurely moved out of her way when she pointedly stopped next to him.

“Sure you want to try that shot?” His voice was solicitous. “You’re gonna have to cut the eleven ball to get the right angle.”

Shut up, she thought. She leaned over, lining up the shot. He was right, though. She’d have to hit the cue ball into the striped ball exactly to one side of center in order to gain the forty-five-degree angle she needed for the ball to head toward the corner pocket. Narrowing her eyes, she drew in a breath, and made her stroke.

The balls clacked together and old eleven rolled right into the pocket. More slowly than she’d intended, but at least it dropped.

“That’s my girl,” she heard her father say.

“Five more to go,” Evan murmured as she slipped by him yet again.

As a distracter, he was much more effective than she’d been. “I should have let Ted tape you snoring all night long.”

“Who says I snore?”

She leaned over and sank two balls, slam bam. “Jake. You were college roommates.” She straightened for only a moment before leaning over again. “Hope you don’t need that hundred too badly, sport.”

He’d moved around the table, opposite her. “Did you know that I can see right down your shirt?”

She barely kept the tip of her stick from hitting the felt. Her skin prickled and she fought the urge to straighten. To press her hand against the scooped neckline of her T-shirt and hold it flat against her meager chest, just in case he was not merely spouting tripe.

Whether or not he could see down her shirt, she still felt her nipples tighten, and prayed that he wouldn’t notice.

Three striped balls to go, she reminded herself, and she would get out of the bar, go home and not have to see Evan again until Sunday evening.

She set her jaw, kept her grip on the stick loose and stroked.

Only when the green-striped ball toppled into the pocket did she let out her breath.

“Looking a little stressed there,” Evan murmured. “Sure you don’t need a break?”

She rounded the table, knocked into his shin with the butt of her stick and smiled sweetly. “So sorry.”

He merely lifted his beer bottle and sipped.

She envied him a bit. Her mouth felt parched. And when she leaned over for the next shot, she couldn’t help but glance down to see how, exactly, her T-shirt behaved.

It was as snug against her torso as ever and when she looked up, the glint of laughter in Evan’s expression was unmistakable.

He’d caught her looking.

She slammed the sixth ball into a corner pocket. Only one striped ball remained. But it had a nightmare position, nearly blocked by two solids and frozen against the side cushion.

She could hear the murmur from the peanut gallery and didn’t dare look their way. Knowing the family as she did, she was afraid they might well be placing side bets.

“Feeling the pressure?” Evan leaned down on his forearms beside her, acting for all the world as if they were bosom buddies. “Not even sure I could make that shot, truth be told.”

For as long as Leandra could remember, there had always been a haze of smoke clinging to the interior of Colbys. Now was no different.

Yet despite the smoke, she could still smell the fresh, clean scent that she was beginning to identify with Evan and only Evan.

“I can make the shot,” she assured, lying right through her teeth.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or you could just fess up about Ed-wa-ahrd, and we’ll call it even.”

She narrowed her eyes, ostensibly studying the table. “A person might think that your curiosity where Eduard is concerned has nothing to do with Jake, and everything to do with you.”

“Maybe it does.”

She bit down on her tongue, not at all expecting that admission. She’d just been tossing out the accusation to goad him.

“You going to give up, Leandra?” Ted’s voice drew her attention. He had moved closer to the pool table from the high-top where she’d last seen him, and was holding up his palm-size video recorder.

Evan was still watching her.

And she had an unbidden vision of him lowering his head toward hers, brushing his lips across hers.

Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she shook her head in answer to Ted, but just as much to shake the image of Evan kissing her from her head, and lined up the shot.

The stripe missed the pocket by a good six inches. Smiling wryly, she turned to face the gallery, shrugging. “Them’s the breaks,” she said lightly as she extended the cue stick toward Evan.

What was she doing, thinking about Evan kissing her? The only time he’d ever kissed her had been on the cheek at their high school graduation.

She pulled her cash out of her pocket again and counted out another fifty, picked up the cash that was still sitting on the rail, and folded it all together. “There you go, Doc. Add that to your lunch fund.”

Evan eyed the woman and the cash she was holding out. He didn’t want Leandra’s damn money. He wanted to know who the hell the French guy was and what he’d meant—or still meant—to Leandra. Loyalty to Jake was only an excuse.

A poor excuse, since Evan’s feelings where Leandra Clay were concerned weren’t exactly loyal.

But Evan knew what Leandra didn’t—that Jake was engaged to be married again and he didn’t have the huevos to tell his ex-wife about it for fear of hurting her even more than she’d been hurt. But if Leandra had been involved with some other guy, then maybe Jake could take off that particular hair shirt of thinking that Leandra was so damn fragile, and get on with his life.

And Evan could maybe get on with his.

When he didn’t take the cash, though, Leandra finally stepped toward him. The top of her tousled blond head didn’t even reach his shoulder, but he still swore he could smell the enticing scent of her shampoo.

Then she reached out and tucked the money into the front of his leather belt. “Enjoy the dough,” she said smoothly, and turned away.

It was all he could do not to grab her by the shoulders and haul her up against him.

The fact that half the patrons of Colbys—including Ted and that toy-size camera of his—were watching, kept his hands firmly at his sides.

Then Leandra lifted her hands and addressed the crowd. “Don’t anyone forget. Sunday evening at seven right here at Colbys to watch Evan’s television debut!”

Evan endured the hoots and hollers and reminded himself that six weeks wasn’t really all that long of a time.

He could survive it.

Maybe.




Chapter Four


“You know what I like about Saturdays?” Leandra was stretched out on the couch in Sarah’s living room. Her cousin was sitting on the floor, surrounded by school materials as she made lesson plans.

“Hmm?”

“The possibility of endless sleeping.”

“Having Snow White fantasies again? Like the idea of those seven short guys?”

“As long as they’re catering to my every whim?” Leandra smiled lazily. “Sounds okay to me.”

“Sort of boring, though, laying there in the glass case, waiting for your prince to come and lay some lip on you.”

What would Evan’s kiss be like?

Leandra threw her arm over her closed eyes, mentally brushing at the thought, but it kept circling like some pesky mosquito buzzing around her head. “Well, note that I said the possibility of sleeping. It’s nice to just ponder the whole idea of it. Not that I’ll be doing it or anything. Too much work to do.” Which reminded her that she’d forgotten all about her cell phone again.

Leandra would go to Evan’s later and retrieve the phone.

She pressed her lips together, trying to stop the tingling.

Maybe she’d have developed some self-control over her wayward notions by them.

She turned on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Sounds like we’ll have quite the crew around next month for Squire’s birthday party.” Before the ill-fated pool table episode, the family had gone over the developing plans while crowded around several pushed-together tables in the restaurant portion of Colbys.

“We still don’t know if J.D. and Angeline will make it back from Atlanta. J.D.’s schedule is probably easier than Angel’s, though, given the way she’s on call so much.”

Angel was an emergency medical technician in Atlanta. J.D. lived in that vicinity, too, working at some blue-blooded horse farm. “And nobody’s been able to get hold of Ryan?” Ryan was the oldest of the cousins, serving in the Navy, like his father, Sawyer, had once done.

Sarah continued flipping through a project idea book. “Between you and Ryan, it’s a toss-up who has been home to Weaver less.”

“Well, I’d guess he’d win, since I’m here now.”

“You’re here because of the show. But we’ll take what we can get. And it’s ideal that Squire’s birthday falls during your visit.” Sarah set aside her book and propped her elbows on the coffee table in front of her. “So…you really like working in show business?”

“Documentary filmmaking. And, yes, I do.”

Sarah watched her for a moment, as if she wanted to say something. But she just lowered her arms again and picked up her oversized book once more.

“What?”

Sarah shook her head. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Really. I was just going to say that it is amazing the places that life takes us.”

Leandra really didn’t want to get into that particular discussion. Only pain colored that philosophy.

“Do you think if you hadn’t gone to France you and Jake might have gotten back together?”

It wasn’t quite the comment she was expecting, but it was easier than discussing Emi. “No.”

“You two were crazy about each other.”

“Yeah, but we never really managed to know each other very well before we got married. And when…when…things got bad, instead of helping each other through it, we blamed each other.”

“I’m sure Jake didn’t blame you.”

Arguing the point now served no purpose. “I did.” I still do. Leandra swung her legs down from the couch and pushed to her feet. “So is there anything I can help with around here?” The house was as tidy as a pin. The yard outside was even more so, seeming to lay in wait with its lingering summer colors before autumn truly hit with all of its glory.

“Not unless you want to come up with arts and crafts ideas for two elementary school classes.”

Even that humorously meant offer made her hurt inside. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” She brushed her hands down the front of her jeans. “I’m going to head over to Ruby’s Café for something to eat. Do you want to go with me?”

“Not this time. I need to get this done. There’s a meeting with the parent association this afternoon.”

“They meet on Saturdays?”

“They do when half of them have to drive over from Braden.”

Even though Weaver had grown considerably since she was a little girl—mostly because of the computer gaming business her uncle Tristan had started here—it was still at heart a ranching community. “Some things never change.”

“If Justine has any cinnamon rolls, bring a few home, okay?”

“Will do.” Justine Leoni was the granddaughter of Ruby Leoni, the café’s founder. She was also the mother of Tristan’s wife, Hope. And fortunately for the town, Justine had inherited not only the café after Ruby died, but she’d inherited her grandmother’s ability to make the most delicious cinnamon rolls.

Leandra didn’t bother with her purse. She merely tucked some cash into her front pocket—which unfortunately reminded her again of the previous evening—pushed her feet into tennis shoes and headed down the road.

There was no need to drive.

Ruby’s was located barely two miles away and the weather was pleasant. Bright blue skies. Morning briskness giving way to the sun’s warmth, hanging strong despite the steady breeze in the air. Leandra knew it wouldn’t be long before that warmth was only a memory for the residents of Weaver. With the lengthening year would come shorter days, cooling temperatures, and in another month or so, there could easily be snow on the ground.

She looked across at the park as she walked along the street. Homes on one side, green grass on the other. During the wintertime, there would be an ice-skating rink covering part of what was now the baseball diamond, where a handful of kids were even now tossing around a ball.

A young man was mowing the lawn in front of one of the houses she passed. She didn’t recognize him.

Not surprising. There were a lot of people she didn’t recognize anymore in Weaver. That’s what happened when someone moved away and stayed away for years at a time.

The logic was sound. The feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t seem to care.

Sighing, she quickened her step, rounding the corner onto Main Street. She could see Ruby’s from here. The door stood open to the fresh air, and when she angled across the road, waiting for a slowly passing car first, and walked into the café, she couldn’t help but smile.

Here, everything was familiar. The only missing element was Ruby herself. But she’d died when Leandra was away at college.

The entire town had attended the diminutive woman’s funeral. But Leandra hadn’t returned for it, even though Ruby had been part of her extended family—great-grandmother to Leandra’s aunt, Hope. No, Leandra had been too busy to come home for that event. Too involved in her studies, too involved in her own life.

She stepped through the doorway.

The first thing she smelled were the famous cinnamon rolls.

The first person she noticed was Evan Taggart.

He sat at a booth, facing the doorway, and, as if he’d been waiting for her arrival, he was watching her with not one wisp of surprise in his expression. She gave him a brief nod as she moved through the somewhat-crowded café toward the counter, but the casualness of the motion was belied by the butterflies that were suddenly batting around inside her stomach.

“Hey there, Leandra.” The girl behind the counter smiled widely as she poured coffee for the patrons sitting at the counter in front of her. “You need to tell my brother that I should have some face time on your show.”

“Tabby, if we put your pretty face on WITS, nobody is going to be interested in watching your brother,” Leandra teased as she slipped onto the only vacant red stool at the counter.

Tabby dimpled. She really was as striking as her brother. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” She sighed dramatically, managing to deliver a plate of corned beef hash and eggs without spilling a drop of coffee as she continued topping off coffee cups. “You here for breakfast? Daily specials are up on the board.”

Leandra glanced at the chalkboard that was propped on a shelf. It, too, was a familiar sight. The looping handwriting, though, was undoubtedly Tabby’s. “Just give me the special,” she said. “And a half-dozen cinnamon rolls to go for Sarah, if there are any left.”

Tabby nodded. “I’d already saved in back a dozen for my brother. But you can have half. He won’t mind.”

Leandra wasn’t so sure. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder back at the booth where he’d been sitting.

“You want to join him, I’ll bring your food on out in a sec.”

No, Leandra didn’t want to join Evan. But even as she told herself she wasn’t going to, she was aware of more people entering the café. She was taking up a seat at the counter out of cowardly orneriness.

She took her coffee cup—flipped over and filled up by Tabby without a word—and headed over to Evan’s booth. She was halfway there, and everyone in the café knew it, when Leandra’s feet dragged to an abrupt stop.

The coffee sloshed over the cup’s rim, stinging hot on Leandra’s hand.

Evan wasn’t alone.

A pint-size little girl sat opposite him in the booth.

She had striking blue eyes, creamy white skin and shining black hair that was as dark as midnight.

She looked like a miniature, female version of Evan, and the sight of her was a blow to her midsection.

She’d heard of Evan’s niece, of course, but she hadn’t expected to come face-to-face with her.

And she’d never known that she was so like her uncle she could have been his daughter.

Evan breathed a soft curse as he saw the color drain from Leandra’s face. He was already moving out of the booth and heading for her when she seemed to sway a little, spilling coffee over her hand.

She looked up at him as he took the coffee cup from her. Her eyes seemed to dwarf the rest of her small face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect—”

“I watch Hannah for Katy sometimes.” Katy was his half-sister by blood and his cousin by marriage. Mostly, though, she was Hannah’s mom.

She blinked once. Twice. “Right. Of course.”

He could see the reluctance in Leandra’s expression as it began edging out the shock that had encompassed her. He could also see that she looked decidedly shaky.

Jake had warned him that Leandra still found it difficult being around small children. But seeing it with his own eyes twisted something painful inside him. She looked like a wounded, trapped animal.

He didn’t even think about it. He just slid his arm around her and nudged her down onto the bench, across from where Hannah sat, watching them both with her evasive way of viewing the world around her. “Hannah,” he said calmly as he sat down beside the little girl, “this is my friend, Leandra. Can you say hello?”

She kept her gaze half-averted from them. “Say hello,” she repeated obediently. Her thumb steadily stroked the wheel of the matchbox car she was holding, turning it again and again.

“Tabby.” He caught his little sister’s attention as she was bustling around behind the counter. “Can we have some more coffee over here?”

“Coffee here,” Hannah repeated softly. She shifted, pressing her shoulder against Evan’s side. He smoothed his hand through her shoulder-length hair. Despite the convoluted history entwining their families, she was a light in his life.

“I should be going,” Leandra said.

“Wait until Tabby has a chance to top off your coffee. And when’s the last time you ate? I heard you order the special. So unless you plan on walking out on the order, you might as well relax.”

Her lashes shielded those dark, dark brown eyes. Bambi eyes, he used to think. Round, velvety soft and surrounded by lashes that were long and delicate, all at the same time.

Tabby arrived with the coffee carafe, saving him from his teenage, angst-ridden memories. “Your food will be up next, Leandra. Ev, you or Hannah want anything else?”

Hannah had made a typical mess of her toast and scrambled eggs, eating half of each and decorating the table with the other half. “We’re good, Tabby. Thanks.”

“No prob.” She was moving off in a flash.

“For some reason, I’m always surprised at how good she is at this. Tabby’s worked here for more than a year now, but it is still a surprise.”

“Your thoughts have her perpetually stuck in pigtails, playing with dolls?”

“Playing Little League baseball, more like. But, yeah.”

Leandra’s lips curved ever so faintly. The tiny smile was heartbreakingly sad, though. “I know the feeling.”

He hadn’t gone to California for Emi’s funeral.

He should have.

He was Jake’s best friend, wasn’t he?

Something, though, had kept him away. And he’d never forgiven himself for that particular display of cowardice. But before he could form any words, Leandra was looking—somewhat stalwartly, he thought—at Hannah.

“How old are you, Hannah?”

She didn’t look up from spinning the wheels on her little car. “Leandra is talking to you, Hannah,” he prompted calmly.

“Talking to you,” she repeated.

“It takes her a while to warm up to new people,” he excused.

“I understand.”

Did she? He wasn’t all that certain. Leandra Clay may have grown up in Weaver, but he knew her life had been fairly charmed—at least until the devastating loss of her daughter. And now she worked on a show that followed veterinarians around, for God’s sake. She observed life now, instead of living it.

“Four,” Hannah suddenly said.

If Leandra was surprised by the belated response, she didn’t show it. “Four is a fun age to be. I like your car, there. Is it your favorite one?”

“Yes. It’s red.” Hannah didn’t look up as she replied.

“I like red, too.”

Hannah’s thumb spun the wheels. She didn’t reply.

Tabby delivered Leandra’s meal, as well as two neatly wrapped packages of cinnamon rolls, and disappeared just as quickly. Leandra picked up her fork, but didn’t move it near enough her food to suit him. “How is Katy doing these days? Is she still in the service?”

“She’s in Afghanistan.”

Her eyebrows drew together, and he caught her sliding a glance at Hannah. “Scary,” she murmured.

“Yeah. But she’s supposed to be home soon.”

“You all must be relieved.”

He nodded. “Hannah’s been staying with her grandparents in Braden while Katy’s been serving overseas. She had been living in North Carolina near her base, but when she got sent to Afghanistan about a year ago, she brought Hannah here to Wyoming.”

“What about—” she hesitated for a moment “—Keith?”

He was surprised she remembered the name, since he was pretty sure Leandra had never even met his half-sister’s husband. “Yeah. Keith. He split a few years ago. Permanently.”

“Will Katy stay in Wyoming when she gets back?”

He shook his head. “She plans to go back to North Carolina.”

She slipped a glance at Hannah. “Does she visit you often?”

Not as often as he would like. “She spends a day with me now and then. Gives Sharon a break.”

She was silent for a moment, studying him, as if she were trying to put together a puzzle she’d never before noticed. “You’ll miss Hannah when she goes,” she finally observed.

He didn’t bother denying it. Just nodded and wondered darkly why the hell Leandra would sound so surprised by the realization.

“And your…Katy’s parents. How are they?”

His lips twisted. “You mean Darian, I suppose.”

“I mean both of them,” she said.

Given the way her brown eyes had flickered, he doubted it. “Sharon is fine.” If you didn’t count her increasing propensity for pretending Hannah was just like any other kid around Braden and Weaver.

“And Darian?” Her chin had come up again in that way he remembered from days of old.

“My old man is the same as ever,” he drawled.

Her lips tightened. “Drew is your dad.”

Thank the good Lord. And he felt his usual tangle of guilt for feeling the way he did when Drew was his dad in every way that ought to matter. “Yeah, and we all know why that came about.” Drew had married his mom after his half brother Darian had gotten her pregnant and left her flat.

Her eyebrows pulled together, making a crease in her pretty face. “Nobody in this town has ever thought that way.”

He let that slide, since she was probably right.

His feelings about Darian were his own.

Didn’t make it any easier to get rid of them, though.

“Is your grandmother well?”

“Other than that she still hates my mom, dotes on Darian, pretty much ignores Hannah and sort of tolerates the rest of us, she’s fine.”

“She never was the brightest of women,” Leandra muttered. Her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Not everyone has grandparents like yours.”

“Well, Squire is a one-of-a-kind man.” Her lips curved faintly. “And Gloria’s pretty much a saint.”

“How’re the plans for the party shaping up?”

“Good.” She seemed almost as relieved as him at the change of subject. “The trick of course, is to keep Squire from finding out. Not an easy task when practically the entire town will be turning out for the fete.”

“He and Gloria are still out of town?”

She nodded. “I can’t believe he’s turning eighty-five.” She didn’t seem to realize that she’d forked up some scrambled eggs, and looked at the results with some surprise.




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