Kitabı oku: «Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour»

Lonergan’s Secrets

Expecting

Lonergan’s Baby

Strictly

Lonergan’s Business

Satisfying

Lonergan’s Honour

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Expecting

Lonergan’s Baby

Maureen Child

About the Author

MAUREEN CHILD is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur. Visit Maureen’s website at www.maureenchild.com.

Look for Cinderella & the CEO, also available this month from Maureen Child

For my family—for always being there.

I love you.

One

Sam Lonergan had expected to find a ghost at the lake. He hadn’t expected a naked woman.

Given a choice, he much preferred this view. He knew he should look away, but he didn’t. Instead he focused his gaze on the long, lean woman slicing through the dark, moonlit water.

Even in the pale wash of moonlight her skin glowed tan and smooth. The water she displaced slipped behind her with hardly a splash. Her arms made long strokes through the water, carrying her from one edge of the small lake and back again to the other. A part of him saw her as a trespasser on holy ground—but another part of him was grateful she was here.

While he watched her, he told himself he shouldn’t have come. This lake, this ranch, held too many memories. Too many images that crowded his mind and made remembering an exercise in pain.

Abruptly he squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and slowly released it before opening his eyes again. She’d stopped swimming and was now treading water, watching him watch her.

“Seen enough?” she asked.

“Depends,” he told her. “You have anything else to show me?”

Her mouth worked as if she were biting down on words she wouldn’t allow herself to say.

“Who are you?” she finally demanded, her voice more angry than worried.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out.

“This is private property.”

“Sure is,” he agreed, hitching one hip higher than the other and folding his arms over his chest. “So I have to wonder what you’re doing on it.”

“I live here,” she replied, swinging a long, wet fall of dark brown hair back from her face.

Water droplets arced around her head and dropped to the lake like raindrops. It took a minute or two, but her words hit home.

“You live here? This is the Lonergan ranch.”

A ranch that had been in his family for generations. Since the early days of the gold rush, when Sam’s great-great-whatever had decided that the real fortune to be found in California was the land—not rocky cold streams where the occasional nugget was discovered.

That Lonergan had settled here, raising horses and a family. A family that now consisted of one old man, one ghost and three Lonergan cousins: Sam, Cooper and Jake.

His grandfather, Jeremiah Lonergan, had lived alone for the last twenty years. Ever since his wife, Sam’s grandmother, had died. Now, if a naked woman was to be believed, he had a roommate.

“That’s right,” she said, warming to her subject. “And the owner of this ranch is very protective of me. And vicious.”

Sam wanted to laugh. His grandfather was maybe the most gentle-hearted man Sam had ever known. But to hear this woman tell it, Jeremiah was a mad dog.

“Well, he’s not here right now, is he?”

“No.”

“So since it’s just the two of us and we’re getting so friendly… mind telling me if you go skinny-dipping often?” he asked instead.

“You spy on naked women often?”

“Whenever I get the chance.”

She scowled at him and pushed one hand through her wet hair. She dipped a little lower in the water, and he figured her legs were getting tired of the constant kicking to keep afloat.

“You don’t sound ashamed of yourself.”

He gave her a lazy smile that didn’t go anywhere near his eyes. “Lady, if I didn’t watch a naked woman when given the opportunity, that’d be something to be ashamed of.”

“Your mother must be so proud.”

He chuckled. Probably not, but the old man would have been.

She glanced around her and he knew what she was looking at. Emptiness. Except for the oak trees standing like solitary guardians around the ring of the lake, they were alone. The ranch was a good mile east of here, and the highway ten miles south.

“Look,” she said and dipped again, the water lapping at the tops of her breasts. “You’ve had your peep show, but it’s cold and I’m tired. I’d like to get out now.”

“Who’s stopping you?”

Her eyes went wide and dark. “Hello? I’m not getting out of this water with you watching me.”

Something like guilt nibbled at the edges of a conscience that was already too noisy. But he ignored it. Yes, he should look away, but would a starving man turn down a steak just because it was stolen?

“You could turn your back,” she said a moment later.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Now, if I do that, how do I know you won’t hit me over the head with something?”

“Does it look like I’m carrying a concealed weapon?”

He shrugged. “A man can’t be too careful.”

She nodded, dipped low enough to have the surface of the water lap at her throat, then muttered, “Perfect. I’m naked and you’re the one threatened.”

A wind kicked up out of nowhere, rustling the leaves on the oaks until it sounded as if they were surrounded by a whispering crowd. She shivered and dipped even lower in the water, and another ping of guilt echoed inside Sam.

He tipped his head back to look at the star-studded sky before looking at her again. “It’s a nice night. Maybe I’ll camp out right here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No?” Beginning to enjoy himself, he pretended to consider it. “Maybe not. But the question remains. You getting out of the lake or do you know how to sleep while treading water?”

She huffed out a disgusted breath and slapped one hand against the water. “I’m getting out.”

“Can’t wait.”

“You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

“That’s been said before.”

“Color me surprised.”

“You’re still in the water.” He unfolded his arms and stuck both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Must be getting pretty cold about now.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Told you I’m not going anywhere.”

She gave another quick glance around at the dark country surrounding them, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the cavalry riding to her rescue.

“How do I know you won’t attack me the minute I get out of the lake?” she asked, eyes narrowed on him.

“I could give you my word,” Sam said, “but since you don’t know me, that wouldn’t be worth much.”

She studied him for a long minute and he had the weird sensation that she was looking far more deeply than he would like. But after another long minute she said, “If you give me your word, I’ll believe you.”

Frowning, he pulled one hand from his pocket and scrubbed the back of his neck. A beautiful, naked trespasser trusted him. Great. “Fine. You have it.”

She nodded, but another long minute or two ticked past before she started in toward shore. Something inside him quickened. Anticipation? Excitement? It had been long enough since he’d felt either, he couldn’t be sure. But the moment came and went so fast, he couldn’t explore it or even take a second to enjoy it.

Moonlight dazzled on her wet golden skin as she walked out of the water and up the short incline to where her clothes were stacked in a neat little pile. He watched her and felt a hot, pulsing need rush through him with enough force to stagger him.

She was tall and lean, with small, firm breasts, narrow hips and a tan line that told him she didn’t usually skinny-dip. He could only be grateful that she’d chosen to tonight. Somehow those tan lines made her nudity that much more exciting. Paler strips of skin against the honey-brown tempted a man to define the edges of those lines.

Desire stirred and heat pooled inside him.

She was magical in the moonlight, and it took everything he had to keep from grabbing her up and pulling her close. It was like watching a mermaid step out of the sea just long enough to tempt a man.

“You are amazing.”

She faltered slightly, then lifted her chin and stood tall and proud, no embarrassment, no hesitation. And Sam knew he should feel guilty for staring at her, taking advantage of the situation.

But damned if he could.

In seconds, she’d yanked on a T-shirt and stepped into a soft-looking cotton skirt that swirled around her knees as she bent to pull on first one sandal and then the other.

Hell, he should be thanking her. She’d taken his mind off the past, made facing this lake and the memories again much easier than he’d expected.

“Look,” he said as she straightened up, “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, but seeing you here surprised me and—”

She slugged him in the stomach.

Didn’t hurt much, but since he was unprepared, all his air left him in a rush.

“I surprised you?” Maggie Collins grabbed her long brown hair, held the mass off to one side and quickly wrung the excess water from it before flipping it all over her shoulder again.

Amazing. He’d called her amazing.

She could still feel the flush of something warm and delicious as he watched her. It was as if she’d felt his touch, not just his gaze, locked on her. And for just one brief moment she’d wanted him to touch her. To feel his hands sliding over her wet skin.

Which only made her madder. She looked him up and down dismissively, then lifted her chin. “You rotten, self-serving, miserable…” Oh, she hated when she ran out of invectives before she was finished.

Inhaling sharply, she threw her shoulders back and gathered up her tattered pride. She’d about had a heart attack when she’d first seen him, standing on shore, watching her in the darkness. But the initial jolt of fear had subsided quickly enough the longer she’d looked at him.

Maggie’d been on her own long enough to develop a sort of radar that told her when she was safe and when she was in danger. And none of her internal warning bells had gone off, despite the fact that he hadn’t been gentleman enough to either leave or turn around.

He wasn’t dangerous.

At least not physically.

Emotionally—now that might be a different story. He was tall and gorgeous—already worrisome—and then there was the gleam in his dark eyes. Not just the flash of desire she’d seen and noted—but an undercurrent of something sad and empty. Maggie’d always been attracted to wounded guys. The ones with sad eyes and lonely hearts.

But after getting her own heart bruised a few times, she’d decided that sometimes there was a reason men were alone. Now all she had to do was remember that.

She stood her ground, glaring at the man who’d intruded on her nightly swim. Just a few years ago she might have skittered away quickly, trying to disappear. But not now. In the last two years things had changed for her. She’d found a home. She belonged on the Lonergan ranch, and no one—let alone a surly, good-looking stranger—would scare her off.

“You’ve got a good right jab,” he conceded.

“You’ll live.” She started past him, headed for the line of trees and the path beyond that would lead her back to the ranch house.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Instantly her skin sizzled and her blood bubbled in her veins. She yanked free of his grasp and took a step back just for good measure.

“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice soothing as he lifted both hands in mock surrender. “It’s okay. Relax.”

The quick jolt of adrenaline she’d felt at his unexpected touch was already dissipating when she glared at him. “Just… don’t grab me.”

“No problem.” he said, “Won’t happen again.”

She blew out a breath and willed herself to calm down. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d surprised her by taking hold of her arm—it was the sudden flash of heat that had dazzled up her arm only to ricochet throughout her body. She’d never felt that punch of awareness before and wasn’t sure she liked it much. Better to just get away from the man. Fast.

“It’s going to take me about ten minutes to walk back to the house,” she said when she was certain her voice wouldn’t quiver. “I suggest you use that time to get gone.”

He shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

“You’d better. Because the minute I get to a phone, I’ll be calling the police to report a trespasser.”

“You could,” he said and fell into step beside her as she once again started for the tree line. “But it wouldn’t do any good.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because,” he said, coming to a stop, “I went to high school with half the police force in town. And I think Jeremiah Lonergan might just object to you having me arrested.”

A sinking sensation opened in the pit of her stomach, but Maggie asked the question anyway. “Why would he object?”

“Because I’m Sam Lonergan, and Jeremiah’s my grandfather.”

Two

Everything else faded away but a rush of anger that nearly strangled Maggie. She’d known, of course, that all three of Jeremiah’s grandsons were arriving this summer, but she hadn’t expected one of them to sneak in under the cover of darkness and then turn out to be a Peeping Tom.

“If I’d known who you were,” Maggie snapped, “I would have hit you harder.”

“Lucky for me I kept quiet then.”

“How could you do this to him?” she demanded, planting both hands on her hips.

“Do what?”

“Stay away,” she snapped. “You—all of you. Not one of the three of you has so much as visited your grandfather in two years.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve been here,” she said, slapping one hand to her chest. “Me. I’ve been taking care of that sweet old man for two years and I don’t remember tripping over any of you in the house.”

“Sweet old man?” His laughter shot from his throat. “Jeremiah Lonergan is the most softhearted, crustiest old goat in the country.”

“He is not,” she shouted, infuriated by his amusement at the expense of an old man who had been even lonelier than she had when she first met him. “He’s sweet. And kind. And caring. And alone. His own family doesn’t care enough to come and see him. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Especially you. You’re a doctor. You should have come home before this to make sure he was all right. But no. You wait until he’s.” God. She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word dying.

She couldn’t think about losing Jeremiah. Couldn’t bear the thought of losing him and the home she’d come to love so much. And here stood a man who took all of that for granted. Who didn’t appreciate the love that was waiting for him. Who didn’t care enough about that sweet old man to even visit.

New fury pumped through her and she narrowed her eyes on the man who only moments before had stirred her blood into a simmering boil.

His laughter faded away and a scowl that was both fierce and irritated twisted his features. “Just who the hell are you anyway?”

“My name’s Maggie Collins,” she said, straightening up to her full five feet four inches. “And I’m your grandfather’s housekeeper.”

And she had that position because the “crusty old goat” had taken a chance on her when she’d needed it most. So she wasn’t about to stand by and let anyone, even his grandson, berate the old man she loved.

“Well, Maggie Collins,” he said through gritted teeth, “just because you’ve been taking care of Jeremiah’s house doesn’t mean you know squat about me or my family.”

She leaned in at him, not intimidated in the slightest. In the last two years she’d watched Jeremiah flip through old photo albums, stare at home movies, lose himself in the past because the grandsons he loved didn’t care enough to give him a present.

And it infuriated her that three grown men who had the home she’d always longed for didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“I know that though the man has three grandsons, he’s alone. I know that he had to take in a stranger to keep him company. I know that he looks at pictures of the three of you and his heart aches.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I know that it took his being near death’s door—” her breath hitched and she hiccupped “—to get you all back here to see him this summer. I know that much.”

Sam shoved one hand through his long dark hair, looked away from her for a slow count of ten. Then, when he turned his gaze back to her, the anger had left him. His eyes were dark and shadowed.

“You’re right.”

She hadn’t expected that and it took her aback a little. Tipping her head to one side, she studied him. “Just like that? I’m right?”

“To a point,” he admitted and his voice dropped, wrapping the two of them in a kind of insular seclusion. “It’s… complicated,” he said finally.

So much for being surprised into feeling just a tiny bit of sympathy for his side of the story. Disgusted, she shook her head. “No, it’s not. He’s your grandfather. He loves you. And you ignore him.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She folded her arms across her chest, tapped her foot against the rocky ground and waited.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Maggie Collins, so don’t bother waiting for one.”

No, he didn’t, though she desperately wanted one. She couldn’t understand how anyone with a home, a family, could deliberately avoid them. “Fine. Maybe you don’t owe me anything, but you certainly owe your grandfather.”

That scowl deepened until it looked as though it had been carved into his face. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Finally. Have you seen him yet?”

“No,” he admitted, shoving both hands into his pockets as he shifted his gaze to the lake behind them. “I haven’t. I had to come here first. Had to face this place first.”

And just like that, Maggie’s heart twisted. She knew what he was seeing when he looked at the small lake. She knew what he was remembering because Jeremiah had told her everything there was to know about his grandsons. The good, the bad and the haunting.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, wishing she could pull at least some of her harsher words back. “I know how hard this must be for you, but—”

He cut her off with a look. “You don’t know,” he said tightly. “You can’t. So why don’t you go back to the house. Tell my grandfather I’ll be there soon.”

He walked away to stand at the water’s edge, staring out over the black, still surface of the lake. His pain reached out to her and she flinched from it. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Though even if he did have his reasons for avoiding the Lonergan ranch, she thought, that didn’t make it all right for him to avoid the old man who loved him.

Her sympathy evaporated and Maggie left him there, alone in the shadows.

Jeremiah just had time to shove the blood-curdling horror novel he’d been reading under his covers before Maggie opened his bedroom door after a brief knock. He watched the girl he’d come to think of as a granddaughter and smiled to himself. Her dark brown hair was wet, trailing dampness across her T-shirt. Her long, flowing skirt was wrinkled and dotted with dried bits of grass, and her sandals squeaked with the water seeping into the leather.

“Been down to the lake again, eh?” he asked as she came closer and straightened the quilt and sheet covering him.

She smiled but couldn’t quite hide the flash of something else in her dark eyes.

“What is it, Maggie?” He grabbed her hand, making sure to be as feeble as possible, as she reached for the glass pitcher on his bedside table. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling her hand free and giving him a pat before carrying the carafe to the adjoining bathroom to fill it with fresh water. She stepped back into the bedroom and walked quickly back to his side. “I met your grandson, that’s all.”

Jeremiah’s heart lifted, but he remembered just in time that he was supposed to be a dying man now. Keeping his voice quiet, he asked, “Which one?”

“Sam.”

“Ah.” He smiled to himself. “Well, where is he? Didn’t he come back with you?”

“No,” she said, frowning as she turned the bedside lamp with the three-way bulb down to its lowest setting. Instantly the room fell into shadows, the pale night light hardly reaching her, standing right at his bedside. “He said he wanted to stay at the lake for a while first.”

Jeremiah felt a twinge of pain in his heart and knew that it was only a shadow of the pain Sam must be feeling at the moment. But damn it, fifteen years had gone by. It was time the Lonergan cousins put the past to rest. Long past time, if truth be told. And if he’d had to lie to get them all to come here, well, then, it was a lie told with the best of reasons.

“How’d he look?”

Maggie fidgeted quickly with his pillows, then straightened up, put her hands on her narrow hips and said thoughtfully, “Alone. Like the most alone man I’ve ever seen.”

“Suppose he is.” Sighing, Jeremiah let his head fall back against the pillows that Maggie had plumped so neatly. He should feel guilty about tricking all of his grandsons into coming home. But he didn’t. Hell, if you couldn’t be sneaky when you got old, what the hell good were you?

“It’s not going to be easy,” he said. “Not on any of ‘em. But they’re strong men. They’ll make it through.”

Maggie gave the quilt covering him one last tug, then leaned down and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “They’re not the ones I’m worried about,” she said, then stood up and smiled down at him.

“You’re a good girl, Maggie. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine once my boys are home.”

Sam entered the house quietly, half expecting the old man’s bodyguard to leap at him from the shadows, teeth bared. When there was no sign of Maggie Collins, though, he surrendered to the inevitable and glanced around the room he’d once run wild through.

Two lamps had been left burning, their soft glow illuminating a room he would have been able to find his way through blindfolded. Nothing had changed. Oak floors, scarred from years of running children and booted feet, were dotted with faded colorful throw rugs. Four dark brown leather sofas sat arranged in a huge square, with a table wide enough to be a raft in the dead center of them. Magazines were stacked neatly in one corner of the table and a vase of yellow roses sat center stage.

Had to be the bodyguard’s doing, he told himself, since he knew damn well Jeremiah wouldn’t have thought to cut fresh flowers. Maggie Collins’s face rose up in his mind, then faded away as Sam looked around the house, familiarizing himself all over again with his past.

A river-stone hearth wide and high enough for a man to stand in dominated one wall, and a few embers still glowed richly red behind a fire screen of scrolled iron. The walls were adorned with framed family photos and landscapes painted by a talented, if young, hand. Sam winced at the paintings and quickly looked away. He wasn’t ready just yet to be smothered by ghosts. It was enough that he was here. He’d have to swallow the past in small gulps or he’d choke on them.

Dropping his duffle bag by the door, he headed for the stairs at the far end of the room. Each stair was a log, sawn in half and varnished to a high sheen. The banisters looked like petrified tree trunks, and his hand slid along the cool surface as he mounted the stairs to the bedrooms above.

His steps sounded like the slow beating of his own heart. Every move he made took him closer to memories he didn’t want to look at. Yet there was no going back. No avoiding it anymore.

At the head of the stairs he paused and glanced down the long hall. Closed doors were all that greeted him, but he knew the rooms behind those doors as well as he knew his own reflection in the mirror. He and his cousins had shared those rooms every summer for most of their lives. They’d crashed up the stairs, slid down the banisters and run wild across every acre of the family ranch.

Until that last summer.

The day when everything had changed forever.

The day they’d all grown up—and apart.

Scowling, he brushed away the memories as he would a cloud of gnats in front of his face and walked to the door at the head of the stairs. His grandfather’s room. A man he hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

Shame rippled through him and he told himself that Maggie Collins would be proud if she knew it. She was right about one thing. They shouldn’t have stayed away from the old man for so long. Should have found a way to see him despite the pain.

But they hadn’t.

Instead they’d punished themselves, and in the doing had punished an old man who hadn’t deserved it, as well.

He knocked and waited.

“Sam?”

The voice was weaker than he’d thought it would be but still so familiar. Apparently the housekeeper/bodyguard had spilled the news about his arrival. He opened the door, stepped inside and felt his heart turn over in his chest.

Jeremiah Lonergan. The strongest man Sam had ever known looked… old. Most of his hair was gone, his tanned scalp shining in the soft lamplight. A fringe of gray hair ringed his head, and the lines that had always defined his face were deeper, scored more fully into his features. He looked small in the wide bed, covered in one of the quilts his wife had made decades ago.

Sam felt the solid punch of sorrow slam him in the gut. Time had passed. Too much time. And for that one startling moment he deeply regretted all the years he’d missed with the man he’d always loved. For some reason, he hadn’t really expected that Jeremiah would be different. Despite the phone call from the old man’s doctor saying that he didn’t have much time left, Sam had thought somehow that his grandfather would be unchanged.

“Hi, Pop,” he said and forced a smile.

“Come in, come in,” his grandfather urged, weakly waving one hand. Then he patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down, boy. Let me look at you.”

Sam did and, once he was close enough, gave his grandfather a quick once-over. He was thinner, but his eyes were clear and sharp. His tan wasn’t as dark as it had been, but there was no sickly pallor to his cheeks. His hands were gnarled, but they weren’t trembling.

All good things.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked, reaching out to lay one hand on his grandfather’s forehead.

Jeremiah brushed that hand away. “Fine. I’m fine. And I’ve already got me a doctor to poke and prod. Don’t need my grandson doing it, too.”

“Sorry,” Sam said with a shrug. “Professional hazard.” As a doctor, he could respect another doctor’s territory and not want to intrude. As a grandson, he wanted to see for himself that his grandfather was all right. Apparently, though, that wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. “I spoke to Dr. Evans after I talked to you last month. He says that your heart’s in pretty bad shape.”

Jeremiah winced. “Doctors. Don’t pay them any mind.”

Sam laughed shortly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mean you, boy,” the old man corrected quickly. “I’m sure you’re a fine doctor. Always been real proud of you, Sam. In fact, I was telling Bert Evans that you might be just the man to buy him out.”

Sam stood up and shoved both hands in his pockets. He’d been afraid of this. Afraid that the old man would make more of this visit than there was. Afraid he’d ask Sam to stay. Expect him to stay. And Sam couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

But his grandfather either didn’t notice his discomfort or didn’t care. Because he kept talking. And with every word, guilt pinged around inside Sam just a little bit harder.

“Bert’s a good doc, mind. But he’s as old as me and getting ready to fold up shop.” He smiled up at Sam and winked conspiratorially. “The town needs a doctor, and seeing as you don’t have a place of your own—”

“Pop, I’m not staying.” Sam forced himself to say it flat out. He didn’t want to hurt his grandfather, but he didn’t want the old man holding onto false hopes either. Guilt tore at him to see the gleam go out of his grandfather’s eyes. “I’m here for the summer,” he said softly, willing the old man to understand just what it had cost him to come home again. “But when it’s over, I’m leaving again.”

“I thought.” Jeremiah’s voice trailed away as he sagged back into his pillows. “I thought that once I got you back here, you’d see it’s where you belong. Where all of you belong.”

Pain rippled through Sam in tiny waves, one after the other. There was a time once, when he was a kid, that he would have done anything to live here forever. To be a part of the little town that had once seemed so perfect to him. To know that this house would always be his.

But those dreams died one bright summer day fifteen years ago.

Now he didn’t belong anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Pop,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough but that it was all he had to offer.

The old man looked at him for a long time before finally closing his eyes on a tired sigh. “It’s a long summer, boy. Anything might happen.”

“Don’t make plans for me, Jeremiah,” Sam warned, though it cost him to hurt the man again. “I won’t stay. I can’t. And you know why.”

“I know why you think that,” he said, his voice a weary sigh. “And I know you’re wrong. All of you are. But a man’s got to find his own way.” He slipped down farther beneath the quilt. “I’m feeling tired now, so why don’t you come see me tomorrow and we’ll talk some more.”

“Jeremiah…”

“Go on now,” he whispered. “Go down and get yourself something to eat. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

When his grandfather closed his eyes, effectively ending any more tries at talking, Sam had no choice. He turned and headed for the door, let himself out and quietly closed the door behind him. He’d been in the house less than fifteen minutes and already he’d upset an old man with a bad heart.

Good job.

But he couldn’t let his grandfather count on him staying. Couldn’t give Jeremiah the promise of a future when the past was so thick around Sam he could hardly see the present.

He’d long since become accustomed to living with memories that haunted him. But he’d never be able to live here again—where he’d see a ghost around every corner.

Three

Maggie sat in her living room and stared across the yard at the main ranch house. No more than twenty feet of ground separated the two buildings, but at the moment it felt like twenty miles.

In the two years she’d lived at the Lonergan ranch she’d never felt more of an outsider. Never felt as alone as she had that first day when her car had finally gasped its last and died right outside the main gate.

Tears were close. Maggie was out of money and now out of transportation. Though she had nowhere in particular to go, up until five minutes ago she’d have been able to get there.

Staring up and down the long, empty road, edged on both sides by open fields, she fought a rising tide of despair that threatened to choke her. The afternoon sun was hot and reflected back off the narrow highway until she felt as though she were standing in an oven. No trees shaded the road, and the last sign she’d passed had promised that the town of Coleville was still twenty-five miles away.

Just thinking about the long walk ahead of her made her tired. But sitting down and having a good long cry wouldn’t get her any closer to town. And feeling sorry for herself would only get her a stuffed-up nose and red eyes. Nope. Maggie Collins didn’t waste time on self-pity. Instead she kept trying. Kept searching. Knowing that someday, somewhere, she’d find the place where she belonged. Where she could plant herself and grow some roots. The kind of roots she’d always wanted as a child.

But to earn those roots she had to get off her duff. Resigned, she opened up the car door and grabbed her navy-blue backpack off the floor of the passenger seat.

“Looks like that car’s about had it.”

She hit her head on the roof of the old car as she backed out and straightened up all in one motion. The old man who’d spoken stood just a few feet from her, leaning against one of the whitewashed posts holding up a sign that proclaimed Lonergan. She hadn’t even heard him approach, which told her that either he was more spry than he looked or she was even more tired than she felt.

Probably the latter.

He wasn’t very tall. He wore a battered hat that shaded his lined, leathery face and his watchful dark eyes. His blue jeans were faded and worn, and his boots looked as if they were older than him.

“It just die on you?” he asked with a wave of one tanned hand at the car.

“Yeah,” she said after seeing the quiet glint of kindness in his dark brown eyes. “Not surprising, really. It’s been on borrowed time for the last few hundred miles.”

He looked her up and down—not in a threatening way, she thought later, but as a man might look at a lost child while he thought about how to help her.

Finally he said, “Can’t do anything about that car of yours, but if you’d care to come up to the house, maybe we can rustle up some lunch.”

She glanced back down the road at the emptiness stretching out in either direction, then back at the man waiting quietly for her to make up her mind. Maggie’d learned at an early age to trust her instincts, and every one she had was telling her to take a chance. What did she have to lose? Besides, if he turned out to be a weirdo, she was pretty sure she could outrun him.

“I can’t pay you for the food,” she said, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze with the only thing she had left—her pride. “But I’d be happy to do some chores for you in exchange.”

One corner of his mouth lifted and his face fell into familiar laugh lines that crinkled at the edges of his eyes. “I think we can work something out.”

Maggie sighed at the memory and leaned her head back against the overstuffed cushion of the big chair. Curling her legs up beneath her, she looked around the small cottage that had been her sanctuary for the last two years. A guesthouse, Jeremiah had offered it to her that first day. By the end of the lunch she’d prepared for them, he’d given her a job and this little house to call her own. And for two years they’d done well together.

She turned her head and for the first time saw a light other than the one in Jeremiah’s bedroom burning in the darkness. And she wondered what Sam Lonergan’s arrival was going to do to her world.

The scent of coffee woke him up.

Sam rolled over in the big bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. For a minute or two he couldn’t place where he was. Nothing new for him, though. A man who traveled as much as he did got used to waking up in strange places.

Then familiarity sneaked in and twisted at his heart, his guts. The room hadn’t changed much from when he was a kid. Whitewashed oak-plank walls, dotted with posters of sports heroes and one impossibly endowed swimsuit beauty, surrounded him. A desk on the far wall still held a plastic model of the inner workings of the human body, and the twin bookcases were stuffed with paperback mysteries and thrillers sharing space alongside medical dictionaries and old textbooks.

He threw one arm across his eyes and winced at the sharp jab of pain as memories prodded and poked inside him. A part of him was listening, half expecting to hear long-silent voices. His cousins, shouting to him from their rooms along the hall. It had always been like that during the summers they spent together.

The four Lonergan boys—as close as brothers. Born during a three-year clump, they’d grown up seeing each other every summer on the Lonergan ranch. Their fathers were brothers, and though none of them felt the pull for the ranch where they’d grown up, their sons had.

This was a world apart from everyday life. Where the land rolled open for miles, inviting boys to hop on their bikes to explore. There were small-town fairs, and fireworks and baseball games. There was working in the fields, helping with the horses Jeremiah had once kept and swimming in the lake.

At that thought, everything in Sam seized up. His heart went cold and air struggled to enter his lungs. It was harder than he thought it would be, being here. Seeing everything the same and yet so different.

“Shouldn’t have come,” he muttered, his voice sounding scratchy and raw to his own ears. But then, how could he not? The old man was in bad shape and he needed his grandsons. There was simply no way to deny him that.

Fifteen years he’d been gone and this room looked as though he’d left it fifteen minutes ago. It’s a hard thing for a grown man to come into the room he’d left as a boy. Especially when he’d left that room under a black cloud of guilt and pain.

But none of this was making it any easier on him.

“Not supposed to be easy,” he muttered, tossing the quilt covering him aside so he could stand up and face the first day of what promised to be the longest summer of his life.

From downstairs came the homey sounds of pans rattling and soft footsteps against the hardwood floor. The aroma of coffee seemed thicker now, heavier, though it was probably only that he was awake enough now to really hunger for it.

Had to be the water nymph in the kitchen.

Jeremiah’s housekeeper.

The woman he’d seen naked.

The woman he’d dreamed about all night.

Hell. He ought to thank her for that alone. With her in his mind, his brain had for once been too busy to torture him with images of another face. Another time.

Grabbing up his jeans, he yanked them on, then pulled on a white T-shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Not bothering with shoes, he headed down the hall, pausing briefly at his grandfather’s closed bedroom door before continuing on toward the kitchen.

He needed coffee.

And maybe he needed something else, too. Another look at the mermaid?

His bare feet didn’t make a sound on the stairs, so he approached her quietly enough that she didn’t know he was watching her. Morning sunlight spilled through the shining windowpanes and lay like a golden blanket across the huge round pedestal table and the warm wood floor. Everything in the room practically glistened, and he had to admit that as a housekeeper, she seemed to be doing a hell of a job. The counters were tidy, the floor polished till it shone and even the ancient appliances looked almost new. The walls had been painted a bright, cheery yellow, and the stiffly starched white curtains at the windows nearly crackled in the breeze drifting under the partially opened sash.

But it was the woman who had Sam’s attention. Just as she had the night before. She moved around the old kitchen with a familiarity that at once pleased and irritated him.

Not exactly rational, but it was early. A part of Sam was glad his grandfather had had this woman here, looking out for him. And another completely illogical side of him resented that she was so much at home on the Lonergan ranch when he felt… on edge.

Her long dark hair was gathered into a neat braid that fell down the center of her back, ending at her shoulder blades. A bright red ribbon held the end of the braid together and made a colorful splash against the pale blue shirt she wore tucked into a pair of the most worn, faded jeans he’d ever seen. Threadbare in patches, the jeans hugged her behind and clung to her long legs like a desperate lover.

An old Stones tune poured quietly from the radio on the counter, and as Sam watched, the mermaid did a quick little dance and swiveled her hips in time to the music. His breath caught as his gaze locked on her behind and he found himself praying that one of those threadbare patches would give way, giving him another glimpse of her tanned skin.

Then she did a slow spin, caught a glimpse of him. And the smile on her face faded.

“Do you always sneak up on people or am I just special?”

Sam scrubbed one hand over his face, as if that would be enough to get his brain away from the tantalizing thoughts it had been entertaining.

“Didn’t want to interrupt the floor show,” he said tightly, hoping she wouldn’t hear the edge of hunger in his voice. He walked past her and headed straight for the coffeepot on the counter.

As the Stones song drifted into an R&B classic, he filled a heavy white mug with the coffee, took a sip, then turned around to face her. Leaning back against the counter, he crossed one bare foot over the other and asked, “You always dance in the kitchen?”

She huffed in a breath and tightened her grip on the spatula she held in her right hand. “When I’m alone.”

“Like the skinny-dipping, huh?”

Glaring at him, she said, “A gentleman wouldn’t remind me of that.”

“And a gentleman wouldn’t have looked,” he reminded her as the image of her wet, pale, honeyed skin rose up in his mind. “I did. Remember?”

“I’m not likely to forget.”

One eyebrow lifted as he swept his gaze up and down her quickly, thoroughly. “Me, neither.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and took a deep breath. He could almost see her counting to ten to get a grip on the temper flashing in her eyes. Eyes, he noticed, that in the morning light weren’t as dark as he’d thought the night before. They were brown but not. More the color of good single-malt scotch.

He took another gulp of coffee and told himself to get a grip.

“You’re deliberately trying to pick a fight,” she said. “Why?”

He frowned into his coffee. “Because I’m not a nice man.”

“That’s not what your grandfather says.”

He looked at her. “Jeremiah’s prejudiced. And a hell of a storyteller. Don’t believe half of what he tells you.”

“He told me you’re a doctor. Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Frowning still, he took another sip of really superior coffee. “I am.”

“Did you—” she paused and waited for him to look at her “—examine him last night?”

He laughed, and that short burst of sound surprised him as much as it did her. “Me? Not a chance. Jeremiah still thinks of me as the thirteen-year-old kid who slapped a homemade plaster cast on his golden retriever.”

“You didn’t.”

He smiled to himself, remembering. “I really did. Made it out of papier-mâché. Just practicing,” he said, remembering how Jeremiah’s golden, Storm, had sat patiently, letting Sam do his worst. “Pop took it off before it had a chance to dry.”

She was smiling at him and her eyes looked. shiny. Something in him shifted, gave way, and uncomfortable, Sam straightened up and gulped at his coffee again. “Anyway, the point is, Jeremiah won’t let me touch him. I’ll talk to his doctor, though. Get what information I can.”

“Good.” She nodded and turned to stir the eggs, a golden foamy layer in the skillet on the stove. “I mean, it’s good that you can check. I’m worried. He’s been so…”

“What?”

She turned around to look at him again. “It’s not something I can put my finger on and say, There. That’s different. That’s wrong. It’s just that he’s not the same lately. He seems a little more tired. A little more… fragile somehow.”

“He’s closing in on seventy,” Sam reminded her and scowled to himself as he realized just how much time had slipped past him.

“And up until two weeks ago,” she said, “you wouldn’t have known it. Up at sunrise, doing chores, driving into town to have lunch with Dr. Evans, square dancing on Friday night.”

“Square dancing?” Another surprise and another flicker of irritation that this woman knew so much more about his grandfather than he did.

She waved one hand at him while she stirred the eggs. “He and some of his friends go to the senior center in Fresno on Fridays.” She paused and sighed. “At least, he used to.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” he said, and wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to console.

“I hope so.”

He heard the hope in her voice and was touched that she cared so deeply. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“I really do.” She turned her back on the stove and faced him. “Look, Sam.” She said his name firmly, as if forcing herself to make a connection that she really wasn’t interested in. “You’re here to see your grandfather and I’m glad. For his sake.”

He shifted, pushing away from the counter to stand on his own two feet. “But…?”

“But…” she said, turning for the stove and the pan that was beginning to smoke, “I think that we should try to stay out of each other’s way while you’re here.”

“Is that right?” He stepped up alongside her and he felt tension ripple between them. Damn it. He didn’t need this. Didn’t want it. And he’d had every intention of steering clear of the little housekeeper. Until she’d suggested it.

Maggie stirred the scrambled eggs quickly, flipping them over and over again in the cast-iron skillet until they were a golden-brown and dry, just the way Jeremiah liked them. She tried to keep her mind on her cooking, but with Sam standing so close, it wasn’t easy.

She’d made up her mind last night that the one sure way to protect her place on this ranch was to stay out of the way this summer. She didn’t want to give any of the Lonergan cousins reason to think that their grandfather would be better off with someone other than her taking care of him.

She’d lain awake in her bed most of the night, thinking about this place and what it meant to her. About the old man who had become her family.

And if she were to be completely honest, sometime around dawn she’d thought about Sam. About the way she’d felt when he’d looked at her walking naked from the water.

About the swirl of heat that had swept through her, making the chill wind nothing more than a whisper. And she’d wondered what it would feel like to have him touch her, smooth his hands over her skin, dip his fingers into her—

“The eggs are burning.”

“What?” She blinked, stared at the pan and instinctively used her free hand to push it off the flame.

Instantly pain bristled on her palm and she dropped the spatula to cradle her left hand against her chest. Tears clouded her eyes and a whimper squeaked past her lips.

“Damn it!” Sam set his coffee cup on the stove, grabbed her left hand, looked at it, then dragged her with him across the kitchen to the sink. He turned on the cold water and held her hand beneath the icy stream. Instantly the pain subsided and she sighed.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” she said, wiggling her fingers in an effort to pull her hand free of his tight grasp. It didn’t work. “I just—”

“Doesn’t look bad,” he said, smoothing his fingers over the palm of her hand with a tenderness that touched something deep inside her. “Hold still and let me be sure.”

The doctor in him took over, she noticed, as the cranky man became suddenly all business.

Then something shifted. Something changed.

His touch became less professional and more… personal. He turned her hand beneath the flow of water, inspecting every inch of her skin. And Maggie closed her eyes against the twin sensations rushing through her. The cold of the water numbed her even as the heat of Sam’s touch engulfed her. Her breath staggered a little as she felt his fingertips glide across her wet skin with a gentleness that she’d never known before.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Their gazes locked and a thread of something warm and unspoken drew tight between them. Her breath staggered out of her lungs and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. After what felt like a small eternity, she couldn’t bear the tension-filled silence anymore. Mouth dry, voice croaking, she asked, “Is my hand okay?”

“You were lucky.” His voice was a low growl of sound that seemed to reverberate around the room. “There’s no blistering.”

“Good,” she managed to say while she locked her knees so they wouldn’t wobble and give out on her. God. Was the air really hot? Or was it just her own blood boiling? Oh, yeah, going to keep her distance this summer. Nice start to that plan.

His fingers continued to stroke and soothe her skin and she felt that touch all the way to the center of her. Strange. She’d never experienced anything like this before. A simple touch shouldn’t turn her insides to mush.

At last, he turned off the water and reached for a dish towel. Holding her hand in his, he used the soft linen to blot her skin dry. Then he lifted his gaze to hers again, and Maggie felt a jolt of something amazing pass between them just before he dropped her hand as if it was a rattler and took a step back.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, pushing one hand through his hair. “Just be more careful, okay?”

“I usually am.”

“Right.” He paused, took a breath and said, “Look, about last night—”

Her head snapped up and her gaze locked with his. “What?”

He studied her for a long minute before lowering his gaze. “Nothing. Never mind. Probably better all around if we just forgot last night ever happened.”

Sure. Pretend he hadn’t seen her naked. No problem. “Probably would.”

“Yeah.” He tossed the towel to the counter, then shoved both hands into the back pockets of his jeans, as if unwilling to risk touching her again. “I’m thinking you’re right about something, too. Better if we just stayed out of each other’s way this summer.”

“Okay.” Maggie was still struggling to even out her breath and convince her heart to slide down back into her chest where it belonged. Apparently, though, Sam Lonergan had much quicker recuperative powers. Because he could pretend all he wanted—she knew he’d felt something as powerful as she had.

“Fine. Then we’re agreed.” He glanced around the room as if he didn’t remember where he was. Then, shaking his head, he crossed the room and grabbed up his coffee cup. Stalking to the counter, he refilled it, then passed her on his way out of the room. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. “I’m going to grab a quick shower. Then I’m headed into Coleville. Want to talk to Jeremiah’s doctor.”

She nodded, but he was already leaving the room with steps so quick his feet might have been on fire. Apparently she wasn’t the only one a little flustered by what had just happened.

She’d thought that Sam Lonergan could be a threat to the home she loved so much.

But she hadn’t expected him to be an entirely different kind of threat to her sanity.