Книга - Wife By Contract

Wife By Contract
Raye Morgan


BRIDE? WHAT BRIDE?Joe Camden came home to Alaska to find a bride and two adorable kids on his doorstep. Chynna Sinclair claimed she and her brood were his mail-order family, but when Joe tried to explain that it was his brother who'd sent for a new wife, the feisty beauty wouldn't hear it. And now she was determined to marry him!Chynna hadn't traveled all this way with her babies only to have her dreams dashed by the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on. It no longer mattered to her which bachelor she was supposed to wed - the only man Chynna wanted to share the marriage bed with was Joe!







All Chynna Needed To Do Was Figure Out How A Woman Was Supposed To Act Around The Stranger She Planned To Marry. (#u774b689b-3900-5869-9e1d-6309088e1a03)Letter to Reader (#u21868e66-ad5f-53f9-9a44-278f0597677e)Title Page (#u3d2b3c8d-f19c-5821-b74b-45d08d47755d)About the Author (#u57c1f37e-9c76-5564-b85b-c0f58fbf9843)Chapter One (#ubfc9acaf-fcf1-56cf-bebc-6251ede5c030)Chapter Two (#u823f4f73-95c1-56e2-b0d8-0be9468ef6a0)Chapter Three (#u16aa5af1-ab32-5ea9-ae5d-0c32f0ea4873)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


All Chynna Needed To Do Was Figure Out How A Woman Was Supposed To Act Around The Stranger She Planned To Marry.

She had to make the man fall in love with her. That was the crux of the matter. But she didn’t think she could manage a coy look if her life depended on it.

But her life did depend on it. Her life and the lives of her two babies.

She was going to have to make herself irresistible. She would clean like crazy, cook something unforgettable, show off her great kids and he wouldn’t be able to resist.

And she would have him in wedding clothes by the end of the week....


Dear Reader,

LET’S CELEBRATE FIFTEEN YEARS

OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE...

with some of your favorite authors and new stars of tomorrow. For the next three months, we present a spectacular lineup of unforgettably romantic love stones—led by three MAN OF THE MONTH titles.

In October, Diana Palmer returns to Desire with The Patient Nurse, which features an unforgettable hero. Next month, Ann Major continues her bestselling CHILDREN OF DESTINY series with Nobody’s Child. And in December, Dixie Browning brings us her special brand of romantic charm in Look What the Stork Brought.

But Desire is not only MAN OF THE MONTH! It’s new love stories from talented authors Christine Rimmer, Helen R. Myers, Raye Morgan, Metsy Hingle and new star Katherine Garbera in October.

In November, don’t miss sensuous surprises from BJ James, Lass Small, Susan Crosby, Eileen Wilks and Shawna Delacorte.

And December will be filled with Christmas cheer from Manreen Child, Kathryn Jensen, Christine Pacheco, Anne Eames and Barbara McMahon.

Remember, here at Desire we’ve been committed to bringing you the very best in unforgettable romance and sizzling sensuality. And to add to the excitement of fifteen wonderful years, we offer the chance for you to win some wonderful prizes. Look in the pages at the end of the book for details.

And may we have many more years of happy reading together!






Senior Editor

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Wife By Contract

Raye Morgan










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


RAYE MORGAN favors settings in the West, which is where she has spent most of her life. She admits to a penchant for Western heroes, believing that whether he’s a rugged outdoorsman or a smooth city sophisticate, he tends to have a streak of wildness that the romantic heroine can’t resist taming. She’s been married to one of those Western men for twenty years and is busy raising four more in her Southern California home.


One

Joe Camden hadn’t expected to get a lump in his throat. Sentimental emotions weren’t usually his style. But something happened when he got out of his car and looked down at the old ramshackle house.

Home. That was what it was, even though he’d been gone for fifteen years, even though he’d run as fast and as far away as he could when he’d had the chance.

“Ah, you’ll miss it,” Annie Andrews had said, shaking her gray head and laughing at him the day he took off. He’d stopped by to get supplies for his hitchhiking odyssey in her tiny combination post office and general store. “Alaska will call you back.”

“Not me,” he’d said, sure enough of that to grin at her. “It’s bright lights and big cities for me from now on.”

“And girls,” she added for him, laughing again. “It’s true, we don’t have enough girls here for you young men. It’s no wonder you all run off.”

His wide mouth twisted in a half smile as he remembered that day and thought of all the things that he’d been through since. Now he was back, and Annie was half-right. The Alaska grandeur, the white peaks, the forest green meadows, the water tumbling through the gorges still had the power to stir him. But it really wasn’t home any longer. He belonged in L.A.

Still, everything was the same as ever. It hardly looked as though anything had changed since he’d left. The old house where his brother, Greg, still lived looked as beat-up as ever. Evidence suggested Greg was as allergic to responsibility as their father had been—but then, Joe hadn’t expected anything else. In fact, that was why he’d come back.

A rustling caught his ear, and he glanced toward the nearby trees. He caught a glimpse of what looked like brown fur in the underbrush, and the past came tumbling back to him even more strongly.

“Champ,” he murmured, remembering his childhood pet, the energetic brown dog who would hide in the bushes and then jump out at him, licking his face and wriggling in his arms. Without thinking, without wanting to remember that Champ had died when he was eighteen, he went toward the brush and stuck his hand into the leaves where he’d seen the movement, as though he could find that puppy just as he had so often so many years ago, as though he thought he might be able to reach back into yesterday and pull the dog up by the scruff of the neck.

“Champ?”

Champ didn’t answer, but something with teeth bit down on his hand, and he yanked it back, swearing. “Ouch. What the hell...?”

A small boy emerged from the underbrush, running as fast as his chubby little legs could take him, his brown hair bouncing on his head as he ran straight for the house.

“Hey,” Joe called after him, but the little boy didn’t turn. He ran on, stumbling but not giving up, as though the devil himself were after him, aiming to snatch him up and carry him off. Joe realized, with a twinge of regret, that to this kid, he probably was the devil.

“Hey, I won’t hurt you,” he called after him halfheartedly, frowning as he looked down at the unmistakable imprint of teeth on his hand. He’d seen them often enough before, when he and his brother, Greg, were young and he would pin Greg down and Greg would fight back any way he could.

He shook his head as though to clear it. Too many things were echoing the past, and he was beginning to feel a little weird about it. There was no Champ, and this kid wasn’t Greg. But what was he doing at Greg’s house?

He started down the hill after him. Before he’d gone more than a few feet, a woman appeared, coming out through the front door to stand on the porch. The sight of her surprised Joe, pulling him up short.

She raised her hand to shade her eyes against the slice of noonday sun that hit her face. “Rusty?” she called out to the boy as he raced toward her. Then she looked up and saw Joe, and she seemed to freeze, just as he had done.

He stared. He’d never seen anything like her in Alaska before. Out here, conditions were rough and the women dressed appropriately. This woman wore a white wool suit with heels and stockings. Her silvery blond hair shimmered around her face in a chic, professional style, catching the sunbeams, setting off a glow, so that she seemed to be standing in a shaft of golden light.

He shook his head slowly, drawn even more out of sync with this situation. It just didn’t fit his experience of Alaska, didn’t fit with his past, didn’t fit with what he knew of his brother’s present. He felt unbalanced. Who in the world was this woman, and what was she doing in his brother’s house?

Chynna Sinclair saw the man coming down from the rise, saw the car in the background, and her mouth went dry.

“Oh, dam it,” she whispered softly to herself. He’d already seen Rusty. There was going to be no way to hide the boy now, even for the first few minutes while they got acquainted.

Rusty reached her and threw himself against her, wrapping his little arms around her knees and burying his face against her skirt. She looked down at him and tousled his hair lovingly.

Oh, well. Maybe it was best that they get the worst over with right from the beginning. She looked out at the man again. Why was he just standing there, staring at her?

“Come on into the house,” she told her son, gently untangling his arms from her legs. “Come stay with Kim while I talk to the man.”

Maybe if she got the kids quieted down and playing with something, she would have time to talk to him and prepare him....

But whom was she kidding? There was no more time to hide, to make up stories. She’d been putting if off all during the plane ride from Chicago, all during the flight from Anchorage in the little six-seater plane; even in the ride from the landing strip, when the pilot had kindly borrowed a car to get them here, she’d told herself it was time to make a decision on what she was going to say when she saw him. But now it was too late. He’d already seen Rusty. He already knew that the mail-order bride he’d ordered, the pretty young woman he expected, had brought along some baggage she hadn’t warned him about.

Hurrying her son inside, she settled him and his little sister with coloring books in the living room and went back out on the porch. He was still standing there, staring at the house. She hesitated, thinking she should walk out to greet this large male she hoped would be her husband soon, but knowing her heels would sink in the mud if she tried it. She knew she wasn’t dressed for the area, but she’d done it on purpose. This was a selling job she was going to have to do here, and image, as her boss used to tell her in Chicago, was everything. She waited instead, fingers curling around the post at the top of the stairs, her heart beating like a wild thing in her chest.

What if he didn’t want her? What if he didn’t want her kids? She had to convince him. There was no choice in the matter.

She still didn’t know what she was going to say. This was so hard to explain on the spur of the moment. It was the sort of thing it would be better for him to learn about gradually, as he got to know her, as he got to know the kids. As he got to know them, he would understand. But how could he possibly understand when it was dropped in his lap in one large lump like this?

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. “Hi, there,” she called to him. “I guess you missed us at the landing strip. The pilot drove us over.”

As though she’d flicked a switch and brought him back to life, he started walking slowly toward her.

She wet her lips and smiled a welcome. “I hope you don’t mind. Your house wasn’t locked and I...I went on in.”

He was closer now and she could see his face, and something inside her relaxed. She hadn’t allowed herself to believe in the picture he’d sent her. It showed a man so handsome, she’d told herself to assume it was taken ten years ago, or was a phony in some other way.

But no. The picture hadn’t lied. This was the same man, all right. In fact, with his broad shoulders and dark hair and glittering blue eyes, he looked even better than he had in the photograph. He wore crisp jeans and a leather bomber jacket, and neither was old or dirty. They looked, in fact, startlingly fashionable for this neighborhood.

She’d had a picture in her mind of what she would find here, and this wasn’t really it. She’d imagined a farmer-hunter type, rough-hewn and bashful. This man was none of those things. This man looked a little too good to be real.

He’d reached the porch and was coming up the stairs, his face drawn into a frown as he looked her over, as though she puzzled him, or annoyed him, or something. She stepped forward quickly.

“Hi,” she said, holding out her hand and bringing back her quick smile. “I’m Chynna Sinclair, and I’m very glad to be here.”

He took her hand and seemed to marvel at it. Then he looked into her face and shook his head. “What’s going on here?” he asked her, searching her eyes for answers. “Where’s Greg?”

But his last question was drowned out by a shriek from inside the house and then by the sound of something breaking. Chynna whirled, glanced at him quickly and muttered, “Uh...I’d better see what happened” before running in to tend to her children.

Joe followed her, then stopped just inside the entryway, turning slowly to take it all in. The house was just the same as it had been before he’d left. Greg hadn’t changed a thing.

He could hear Chynna settling some sort of argument that was going on in the next room, but he didn’t pay any attention. He was looking at the picture of his grandfather that still hung on the wall, his flinty pioneer eyes still staring at his grandson with the same old sense of disapproval; at the snow shovel propped in the corner, the one that always gave him splinters that lasted longer in his skin than the snow lasted on the ground; at the tall, elegant breakfront where his mother had kept her precious dishes and porcelain figurines. Only a few were left, the ones she didn’t care about. He supposed she’d taken all the rest when she moved to Anchorage, five years before. Nothing had changed.

Nothing—except Joe himself.

The woman who called herself Chynna Sinclair came back into the entryway, and he looked up, blinking, wondering how she managed to seem to carry the sunlight with her. She was certainly a pretty thing, but she looked so out of place here in the Alaskan wilderness. He supposed she must be Greg’s girlfriend, though he could hardly imagine where Greg could have met her. Greg wouldn’t go near the city, and this was city bred, all the way. But then, what did he really know about his brother these days? If only Greg were here, these things could be cleared up right away.

“I... I have to introduce you to my children,” she said, stuttering slightly, and he looked into her eyes with surprise. Why was she so nervous? “This is Rusty. He’s five. And Kim is three.”

He looked down at the two sets of eyes, both open very wide, looking as though awe had struck them silly, and he smiled and nodded. “Hi, kids,” he said casually, his mind still on the woman.

“Children,” she told them, “this is Mr. Greg Camden. I...I think you should call him Mr. Camden for now.”

Joe’s gaze shot up to meet hers. She thought he was Greg? This was crazy. “No, wait a minute....”

She grabbed hold of his arm, stopping him from speaking, and said to her children, “You go on back and color for a few minutes. I have to talk to Mr. Camden.”

She was trembling. He could feel it but he had no idea why she would be so emotional about this. Still, her fingers dug into his arm as the children filed out, and he waited, since that was what she seemed to want.

He gazed down into her soft hair, catching a hint of the scent of roses. She seemed small, slender, and for a moment he was reminded of the time he’d found a young silver fox caught in a rusty trap in the pine forest. It had trembled, too, as he’d used one hand to quiet it while working it free with the other. That had been a fool thing to do. He’d known the whole time that the fox could turn at any moment and lash out at him, hurt him badly. But it had been something he’d had to do. The fox had struggled at first, but then it had lain still, and once free, it had streaked off into the woods. Joe had never seen it again.

Her children had finally straggled out of the room, and her head turned. Her dark eyes met his, but there was nothing wary in them, nothing fearful. They were huge and soft and warm, but there was a challenging look to them that caught him by surprise and made him wonder if he’d only imagined that she was nervous. Maybe she’d been shivering from the cool air.

“Okay,” she said crisply. “We can talk.”

“Listen,” he began, anxious to get this identity thing cleared up.

But she shook her head, still clinging to his arm, looking up into his face and talking very fast. “No, you listen. I know this isn’t fair. I know I should have told you. But...but this is the way it is and the way it has to be. If you don’t want us, I’ll understand. But you have to give us a chance. You can’t just turn us away without giving us a chance.”

He stared at her, completely at sea. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“I didn’t tell you about Rusty and Kim,” she went on earnestly, “and that was wrong. But I wanted you to see them before you made up your mind. I wanted you to get to know them. They’re good kids—they really are. They’ll grow on you—you’ll see.”

A shriek from the other room made her wince, but she forced a smile, despite the fact that Joe was shaking his head.

“Listen, kids are not my thing—” he began.

“I know,” she broke in, throwing out one arm as though that were the most natural reaction in the world. “Of course not. Living out here in Alaska, you probably hardly see kids. So you don’t really know, do you?”

He made a face and shrugged. This conversation was crazy, but she looked so cute trying to convince him, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end. “I was a kid once,” he reminded her.

Her eyes brightened. “Kids have improved since then,” she told him artfully. “You’ll see.”

He grinned, appreciating her spirit though he knew better than to believe her. “You know what?” he said. “There’s no use trying to convince me. Because I’m not Greg.”

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him for a long, long moment. Then a look of skepticism crept over her face.

“Oh, I see,” she said, her eyes turning as chilly as her tone. “You’re going to try to get out of this that way, are you?”

“No,” he said, half laughing. He ran a hand through his dark hair and gazed down at her, perplexed. “Look, it’s true. I’m not Greg. And I’m not even sure why you’re here.”

“I’m here to marry you. Remember?”

“Marry...?” Words failed him, and he lost his breath. All he could do was stand there, staring down at her. The word had hit him like a flash of lightning, shutting off all thought processes as the shock skittered through his body.

“Yes, marry.” She tried to smile, but his reaction had thrown her off her game. “That was the plan.”

He shook his head, struggling to put his feelings into words. “Oh, no, I can’t believe that. Marriage...” He thought of his brother and his isolated ways and shook his head again. “No, that can’t be.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her pretty mouth set. Turning, she whipped an envelope out of her purse and handed it to him. “Then what is this?” she demanded.

The envelope was slit open at the top. A letter was tucked inside, along with a photograph. The letter was from his brother. The photograph was of Joe.

“A deal is a deal, mister,” she told him firmly as he unfolded the letter and glanced at it. “You contracted for a bride. You looked through an extensive catalog and you chose me. And here I am.”

Words still stuck in his throat. He looked at her. He looked at the picture. He looked back at her. And nothing came out of his mouth. If he took her at her word, if he took what she was saying literally—well, then she had to be a mail-order bride. He swore softly, shaking his head. What had he done, stepped back in time? People didn’t do things like this anymore. Did they?

Grasping at straws, he waved the envelope at her. “This is a joke, right?”

She stared at him for a moment, then tossed her head and turned into the kitchen, taking off her suit jacket as she went. “Is there an apron in here somewhere?” she asked, then grabbed a large tea towel and tied it around her waist without waiting for an answer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, following her, still clutching the envelope, still feeling very much at sea.

She looked up at him with cool defiance. “I’m going to make you something to eat. I’m going to cook.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to cook for me.”

“Why not? Aren’t you hungry?”

He hesitated. It had been a long time since he’d eaten breakfast. “Well, yes, but...”

“Then I will cook for you,” she said, opening the refrigerator and staring inside. “Consider it a form of audition for the job.”

He couldn’t hold back a grin. “This is crazy,” he said, shaking his head.

She nodded, pulling eggs and bacon out and placing them on the counter. “I think so, too,” she said coolly. “But you seem to need to be convinced.”

He slumped back against the counter, watching her, pushing back the erotic fantasies that threatened to break into his thoughts. He had an urge to pinch himself. Could he be dreaming? Talk about dreams come true—here was this woman, offering herself up to...

No, he wouldn’t think about it. That would only end up getting him into big trouble—trouble he didn’t need.

“I don’t mean to ridicule you, you know,” he told her softly. “But I just can’t believe that a woman like you has to resort to something like...like mail order... to get a man.” He grimaced. “It just doesn’t compute.”

She spun and confronted him. “Look. You picked me out of the catalog. You must have liked something about me. You wrote me that nice letter and sent me your picture. You signed a contract with the agency.” She searched his blue eyes, looking for answers. “You sent money for my plane fare. What did you think? That this was all a game? That I would never actually show up?”

He started shaking his head before she was finished and kept shaking it. “That was my brother Greg who did all that,” he tried to explain once again. “My name is Joe. It wasn’t me.”

She grabbed his hand and looked up into his face, her eyes huge with determined entreaty. “Give me a chance,” she said softly. “Please. I’ll be a good wife. And my kids...” She shook her head, and for a moment he was afraid her eyes would fill with tears. “They’re good kids. You just wait. They won’t be any trouble at all. You’re going to love them.”

Loving kids had never been one of his goals, but he had to admit he was beginning to feel a definite temptation in other directions. He liked her big brown eyes and the way her breasts filled out the pale pink silk shell she wore and the way her lower lip seemed to pout when she was annoyed with him. His mind began to wander for just a moment, mulling over what it would be like to order up a woman like this from a catalog and have her appear on the doorstep, ready to be a wife. It was a caveman dream, but he kind of liked it.

But before he had time to indulge in it for more than a few seconds, a cry came from the living room, and suddenly a huge crash shook the house.

“Yeah, those adorable kids,” he muttered to himself as she jerked away, spun and started for the living room. “I just can’t get enough of how cute they are.”

But he started after her. Until Greg showed up, he guessed it was his job to act as a sort of surrogate husband here. Though before he made any commitments, maybe he ought to think over just exactly what that was going to entail.

His gaze fell on the letter she’d left lying on the table, and he stopped, hesitating. It wasn’t nice to read other people’s mail. But what the hell. He had a situation here. Reaching out, he took hold of the letter by the corner, as though he wasn’t sure it wasn’t contagious, and carried it over to where the light from the window was the brightest. Gingerly, he unfolded it and began to read.

It was the letter Greg had written to Chynna, but it didn’t sound like his brother at all. The handwriting was Greg’s. So was the signature at the bottom of the page. But the thoughts he’d written down sounded like someone else’s entirely. There were references to loneliness and love of the land, and those he could readily identify with his brother. But there was also talk of soul mates and walking hand in hand through life together, which made Joe want to laugh out loud.

What did he do, copy these romantic phrases from a book? he wondered to himself as he looked them over. The closest thing to a soul mate he could think of for Gregg might be a rabid wolverine.

He frowned, shaking his head. He and Greg had never been close. In some ways, they were the typical Cain and Abel siblings. Whenever Joe said black, Greg claimed white. When Joe wanted peace, Greg turned his radio on high screech. When Greg came home late, like as not, Joe would have locked the door. When Greg spoke, Joe tended to answer him sarcastically, and when Joe laughed, Greg found a way to turn the mood surly.

Now that Joe had been away all these years, he sometimes regretted the way they couldn’t get along. He’d even decided, a few years back, that the rift between them was childish and should be over now that they were men, so he’d come home. But nothing had changed. If anything, Greg had grown moodier and more aloof. The planned-for reconciliation hadn’t panned out.

And now this recluse, this mountain man was figuring to take himself a wife, was he? The situation made no sense at all. And yet it was obvious Chynna was right when she claimed to be here because Greg had...good Lord! Ordered her from a catalog?

His brother, Greg, was preparing to take himself this lovely woman as a wife.

“Over my dead body,” Joe muttered aloud, thinking of Chynna and her wide, hopeful gaze. “It can’t happen. I’d better get her out of here as soon as possible.”

Unfortunately, that was going to be more difficult than it might seem. Unless there had been a radical and unexpected change, the only way out by air would be on the mail plane, and who knew what the schedule was these days. There was probably no other way out except by truck or car, and he couldn’t leave. He had to find Greg.

He might as well resign himself to the fact that she was going to be staying overnight at least.

But then she would have to go. It would be much too dangerous to let her stay.


Two

This wasn’t working out the way she’d planned it.

Chynna picked up the small table and vase, which luckily was made of some sort of sturdy ceramic that didn’t break easily. After a nervous glance at the goldfish bowl on the hutch at the window, which luckily hadn’t been touched, she scolded her children for their behavior, her nervousness making her words a little sharper than they might usually have been. Kim looked up at her warily and popped a thumb in her mouth. Rusty’s lower lip began to quiver. Chynna noted that fact, hesitated, then sighed regretfully and drew him to her.

Her kids were usually so good. She’d been so sure they would charm this man she’d come to marry, make him happy to have them as a family. Instead, things were slipping out of control.

“What is it, Rusty?” she asked, her instincts telling her that something other than the overturned table was bothering him. As she looked down into his earnest face, it seemed to crumple beneath her gaze, and he threw himself against her.

“I bit the man,” Rusty told her, sobbing quietly into her shoulder. “I bit him.”

She frowned, holding him close and trying to understand what it was he was saying. “What man? Greg Camden?” He nodded, his face pressed into the hollow. “You bit him? You mean with teeth?”

Rusty drew back so that she could see him, made a face, then clamped his teeth together with a snap. “Like that,” he said, nodding tearfully. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I d-d-didn’t mean to.”

Chynna recalled the sight of her son racing down the hill and Greg coming behind him and she winced. “Did he do anything to you?” she asked anxiously, studying his dirt-streaked face.

“I was hiding,” he said, gulping back a sob. Huge drops of water stood in his eyes. “I thought he was going to grab me. So I did this.” He snapped his jaws together again, his eyes brightening. Obviously, he was beginning to enjoy the reenactments. “I did it hard,” he said with just a hint of satisfaction. “He yelled.”

“Oh, Rusty,” she cried in horror, pulling him to her chest and rocking him. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I was protecting myself from a stranger,” he reminded her, echoing lessons she’d taught him, his childlike voice carefully enunciating the grown-up words.

Her son had bitten the man she was planning to marry. She closed her eyes. Had she thought things were slipping out of control? Galloping was more like it. She caught her breath and straightened her shoulders. There had to be a way to salvage the situation, but it had better be done quickly.

“Come on,” she told Rusty, swinging him down to his feet. “Let’s go into the other room. You have to apologize.”

He hung back, dread filling his shining eyes. “Do I have ta?”

“Yes, you have ta. Come on. And make it sincere.”

He slunk along beside her, trying to hide behind her skirt as they made their way into the living room, where the man he’d bitten was waiting.

Joe was still pondering the letter, his blue eyes frowning, but his expression changed as he looked up to see Chynna and Rusty coming toward him. His gaze narrowed appreciatively as he watched her neat form walking briskly through the room. No, it still didn’t make sense. If you really could get something like this from a catalog, the mail would be swamped with orders. How did his brother get so lucky?

She stopped before him, tugging on her son’s arm to pull him out from behind her. “Rusty tells me he bit you,” she said, going right to the point. “He wants to apologize.”

“Oh, yeah.” He’d forgotten about that. He held out his hand and looked at it. The bite marks were still quite distinct, though the skin hadn’t broken. Shrugging, he smiled at the freckle-faced boy. “This is nothing. Baby bites. You want to see where my brother bit me when he was about ten?” He pushed back his sleeve and revealed a long, jagged scar on his bicep. “Now, that’s what I call a bite,” he said rather proudly. “It tore flesh open. The traveling nurse had to be flown in to give me stitches.”

Rusty stared at him with wide eyes, but if Joe had been harboring any thoughts of bringing the boy closer with his old war stories, he realized he wasn’t going to win over the kid this way. Instead of laughing or looking impressed, Rusty looked terrified.

Joe looked into those pained eyes and shrugged. What the hell, he was no good with kids. Never had been. And there was hardly any point in getting close to a boy he was never going to see again after...

Now, that was just the point, he thought as he rolled his sleeve back down. After what? How long was he staying and how close a relationship were they going to be forced into? He glanced into Chynna’s lovely face. It didn’t tell him a thing.

“We need to talk,” he said evenly.

She nodded. “Of course,” she said crisply. “But I need to feed my children. They haven’t had anything since midmorning. I’ll fix something for all of us and put them down for a nap, and then we can go over the ground rules.”

His mouth relaxed into a lopsided grin. Her phrasing struck him as amusing. “The ground rules?” he repeated. “I only want a discussion, not a sparring session.”

She tossed her head back and gave him a cocky smile that didn’t quite warm her eyes. “You may just get both,” she told him as she turned away. “Be prepared.”

He gave her a Boy Scout salute, but she didn’t see it. She was already halfway out of the room, Rusty clinging to her and glancing back as though afraid Joe might be following them.

Watching him, seeing the apprehension in his eyes, Joe winced, thinking of how the boy would deal with Greg. His brother wasn’t known for compassion or tact. In fact, he’d always considered him a sort of goofy recluse, sort of a mountain man with no need for real human companionship. To think of him ordering up a woman came as something of a shock. And knowing his brother, to have the woman show up with two kids in tow would not go over awfully well. She would be lucky to get out of here before Greg got back.

But where was Greg, anyway? Why wasn’t he here to greet his bride-to-be?

Joe turned and gave the room another quick examination. The place was surprisingly clean, though there was clutter here and there. He’d noticed dishes in the sink, but the food hadn’t been on them long. Two long strides brought him to the storage-room closet, and opening it, he discovered that his brother had taken camping gear and cooking equipment. If he’d left that morning, it looked as if he wouldn’t be back for a few days.

Joe swore softly and shook his head. “In the meantime, what am I supposed to do with your girlfriend, you idiot?” he murmured.

But there was no reply that made any sense at all.

He heard Chynna’s steps and turned to meet her as she came through the doorway into the hall.

“We’re almost ready,” she told him, looking cool and efficient. “I’d like to put them down for naps right after they eat. Which bedroom may I use?”

“Bedroom?” She was obviously planning to stay, and he was going to have to decide what he was prepared to do to get her back on a plane to wherever it was she’d said she came from. “Uh...let me take a look.”

There were three bedrooms in the house. The large one his parents had used still held a four-poster double bed. Next to it was what his mother had always called the green room, a place set up specifically for guests, with the best bed and nicest furniture. He assumed the bedroom at the end of the hall, which he’d shared with Greg, was still set up with twin beds.

He looked into the master bedroom and gestured toward the old-fashioned bed. “They could sleep here,” he said.

She looked around him and nodded. “That would be fine,” she said quietly. “Now, where do I sleep?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Looking down, he met her gaze, and something in the spark he saw in her eyes set him back on his heels. After all, she thought he was Greg. She thought they were more or less engaged. Funny. He’d never been this close to matrimony before. It felt spooky, and he wasn’t real clear on just what she expected of him.

There was only one way to find out. He would have to be blunt. “You’re not thinking about doing any sleeping together or anything like that, are you?” he asked, trying for a light, humorous tone, but ending up glancing at her suspiciously.

She grinned at him, and in that moment, he knew he’d fallen in a trap and he’d been sucker punched. “Of course not,” she said primly. “Not until we’re married.” She turned and led the way down the hall. “How about this room?” she asked, nudging open the door to the middle bedroom. “Who sleeps in here?”

“I guess you will,” he told her grudgingly. “At least for tonight. You might as well bring your things in.”

“Great.” She smiled at him. “I’ll unpack as soon as we finish our meal.”

He wanted to point out that unpacking would be premature, but she made her way back toward the kitchen before he got the chance, and he shook his head instead, angry with himself for not making it clear right away.

“You’re not staying here,” he said aloud, but there was no one there to hear him.

Kids were weird. That was the conclusion Joe came to after sitting down to a meal with two of them. The little girl, Kimmie, as they seemed to call her, had a hard time eating, seeing as how she refused to take her thumb out of her mouth. And Rusty ate quickly, glancing up at Joe as though he were afraid the large man would grab his food right off his plate if he didn’t watch him carefully. Chynna tried hard to get a pleasant conversation going, but it was no use. For that, they needed a certain level of comfort and trust that just wasn’t there.

“The countryside around here certainly is beautiful,” Chynna remarked. “Flying in, you could almost see the curve of the earth. The forests look like they could go on forever.”

Joe grunted, but his attention was diverted by the sight of Rusty’s chipmunk cheeks bulging with food. Was he expecting a long, hard winter? Or just making up for lost time? Hard to tell.

“I imagine you’re snowed in here most of the winter,” she went on. “It doesn’t look like snowplows would get out this way.”

“Uh...no,” he muttered, distracted as Kimmie, thumb firmly in place in her mouth, picked up a pea with her spare hand and calmly smashed it against her nose. He grimaced and looked up at Chynna, wondering where she stood on the playing-with-your-food issue and why she wasn’t doing something to stop the child.

“Should she...?” he began.

He gestured toward the little girl, but Chynna was already cleaning the smashed vegetable off her daughter’s nose with a napkin, making the move as though it were something she did every day, and going right on.

“This is going to be a very different experience for us,” she said serenely. “The children have always lived in the city. And come to think of it,” she added with a quick smile, “so have I.”

“What city was that?” he asked, just making conversation.

“Chicago.”

“Oh. Nice lake.” Not a particularly compelling comment, but he had an excuse. His attention was being distracted by the eating habits of children, things he’d never dreamed he would see at the table.

At this moment, Rusty was returning a mouthful of egg to the plate, looking as though he’d been poisoned. Joe stifled a groan, his appetite completely gone. Chynna deftly whipped away the disgusting plate and handed her son a glass of milk, not mentioning what had happened and cleaning up the evidence as quickly as possible.

“I notice you don’t have a television,” she said, wiping a newly smashed pea from Kimmie’s nose and stopping the hand that reached to get another one.

Joe was just glad one hand was occupied with the thumb in the mouth. If the kid had both hands free, who knew what she might rub into her face. He glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together in a look of bewildered horror. So this was what it was like to be around children? How wise he’d been to avoid it in the past.

But the woman had been asking him something—whether they had television, wasn’t that it? “Uh...no, no television. No signal makes it out this far very effectively.”

“That’s just as well,” she said. “Television is a major purveyor of exactly what I wanted to get them away from.”

“No kidding.” He threw down his napkin and glanced at the door, wondering if it would be rude to take a walk. A long, extended walk. Maybe go right past these kids’ bedtime.

“We’ve brought along some music tapes the kids like to listen to. You do have a stereo, so they’ll be able to use that.”

“Children’s songs,” he muttered, hoping someone would warn him. He wanted to be out of the house before the chanting songs about beluga whales started up. He’d had a friend with a two-year-old once, and the sappy whale song he heard at their house still haunted his nightmares.

Chynna read the aversion in his face and she bit her lower lip, her dark eyes clouded in thought. This was turning out to be more difficult than she’d expected, but she wasn’t going to let that get her down. She was used to coming up against brick walls and learning to dismantle them. Life had been like that for her so far. Not too many primrose paths in her background. Plenty of thistles and thorns and rivers to cross. When you came from times like that, you got tough or you crumbled. Chynna had no intention at all of crumbling. She was going to end up married to this man. That was a promise.

But for some reason, the kids were not cooperating. She glanced at them with a sigh, and then her gaze lingered and her heart filled with sweet love for them. Poor babies. What did she expect? They’d been wrenched away from the only home they’d ever known, flown across the country for hours, shuttled off in the small plane and plunked down in a gloomy old house in the middle of nowhere. And here was their harried mother, demanding they be on their best behavior. No wonder they seemed ragged and stressed out.

Sleep. That was what they needed.

“There’s no telephone,” Joe said, and she looked up, startled.

No telephone. That was going to bother her, and she knew it. But then, she reminded herself, that was what she’d come out here for. Maybe it was too many modern conveniences that had turned life upside down in the city. She’d wanted the opposite of that, and if giving up the telephone would help her get it, who was she to quibble?

“We’ll get used to it,” she said firmly. There would be no ordering out for pizza. But there would also be no crank calls, no banks calling to sell their credit cards, nobody selling tickets for the policemen’s ball. Life would go on.

“Nap time,” she murmured, untying Kimmie’s bib though she hadn’t really swallowed a thing.

Kimmie stared up, her dark eyes huge as she gazed around her fist at her mother, clinging to that thumb with all her might.

“I’m not sleepy,” Rusty said fretfully, but he rubbed his eyes and yawned, and Chynna knew it was only a matter of time before his eyelids began to droop.

Softly, as she cleaned them up from their meal and began to shepherd them into the bedroom they would be using, she began to sing a lullaby.

“‘Good night, say the teddy bears, it’s time to close our eyes.’” She’d sung it to the two of them at bedtime since they were babies, and by now it worked like magic. They heard the gentle melody and they both relaxed, knowing it was time for a nap, knowing there was nothing that could keep sleep away. That was just the way it was.

Joe watched her with a frown. It was all very well that she was a wizard with her kids, but what did that mean in the long run? Greg and kids—no, the two concepts clashed like...like pickles and ice cream. It wouldn’t work. He had to talk her into going back to Chicago, back to where she’d come from.

Rising, he began carrying dishes to the sink and tried to think of what he would use as his salient point. He was a lawyer, after all. All those years of training in logic and argument were finally going to come to something. No problem. Once he got going, she would be putty in his hands.

He rinsed off the dishes and stacked them, turning when he heard her coming back into the kitchen.

“They’re down for their naps,” she said simply, giving him a quick smile. “We can talk.”

“Nice work,” he said, complimenting her, his head tilted to the side as he looked her over. Nice work, he repeated silently to himself, but this time his comment was related to the state the woman was in herself. She still looked crisp and efficient in her blouse and skirt, but her hair had come undone just enough to leave wisps flying about her face in a very fetching way. She was one attractive woman.

“Shall we sit?” he offered, gesturing toward the chairs at the table.

She nodded and preceded him, glancing up in surprise when he helped her with her chair.

He took his place opposite her and narrowed his gaze, ready to lay down the law as he saw it.

“Let me see if I have this straight,” he began. “You put yourself in a catalog for men who want mail-order brides. Greg answered, selected you and sent you money to come to Alaska. You brought along two kids you hadn’t told him about, hoping he would take them as part of the bargain. But Greg wasn’t here when you arrived. Is that about it?”

She stared at him for a moment, wondering how long he was going to try to keep up this pretense that he wasn’t Greg. She was sure he was going to try to use it as an excuse to get out of their contract. He’d taken one look at the kids and panicked. That had to be it. Now he wanted to get rid of her so he could order himself up another woman, someone who would come unencumbered with little ones.

Well, she understood his angle. She’d been afraid something like this might happen. But she wasn’t going to give up quite that easily. What she needed was time...time for him to get to know the children, time for him to get to know her and what kind of person she was. Once that happened, surely she would be able to talk him into taking them as a set. All she needed was time.

“That’s about it,” she said evenly. Leaning forward on her elbows, she decided to let him have his game without protest at this point. “The only part you left out was how committed I am to making this work out for all of us.”

He gazed into her dark eyes and found only sincerity, but he couldn’t hide his smile of skepticism.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know. This doesn’t make any sense, and you know it.”

She raised one delicately molded eyebrow. “Do I?”

His short laugh said it all. “Sure. Look, Chynna, you’re a beautiful woman. I can’t believe you’ve ever had any problem getting a man.” He turned his hand palm up on the table. “What would a woman like you need to resort to these measures for?”

For the first time, her gaze wavered. “I never claimed I had problems getting men,” she retorted stiffly.

He shrugged as though that proved his case. “Then why did you do it? Why did you make this contract with my brother?”

She hesitated, her eyes cloudy. “I have my reasons,” she said at last. “I’ll explain it all to you at some point. But I’m not quite ready to open up on every private hope and dream I have. Not yet.”

His mouth twisted as he studied her. “Why didn’t you tell Greg about the kids?” he asked.

She wet her upper lip with a quick slip of her tongue. “I knew what your first reaction would be,” she said simply. “I wanted you to get to know them before you turned them down.”

“I’m not Greg,” he said automatically, but he wasn’t really thinking about that. He stared at her. Nothing she said added up. There had to be something else going on here. But what?

“Sorry. ‘Joe,’ isn’t it?” she amended, rolling her eyes only slightly but letting the tone of her voice emphasize the way she felt about this masquerade she thought he was playing.

“‘Joe’ it is,” he stated flatly. “Always has been and always will be. And Greg...” He hesitated, then leaned forward, determined to get this cleared up and out in the open once and for all. “Listen, Greg is my brother. I know him well. And believe me, he’s not husband material in any sense of the word.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily. She had to admit, she liked what she saw. His face was tan, with grooves where dimples had probably once been, and tiny laugh lines around his eyes. From what she’d seen so far, she would say he was a very nice guy, and one who seemed to see the humor in most things. A man like that should be ready to love children. Why wasn’t it happening?

“Not husband material?” she repeated. “I see. What’s wrong with him?”

He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable to be spilling family secrets. But in this case, he didn’t see any alternative. “It’s not that there is anything wrong with him, per se. It’s just that he’s...” He narrowed his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “He’s a real Alaska guy, you know what I mean? If this were ninety years ago, he’d be digging for gold in the mountains. If this were a hundred and fifty years ago, he’d be living off the land, tromping around in snowshoes and only coming down to civilization once a year for supplies. This is not a man who is set up, either psychologically or emotionally, to take care of a family.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes, too, staring right back at him. “Then why did he pick me? Why did he send me the money to come join him?” She picked up the envelope that was lying on the table between them and pulled out the photograph, dangling it from her fingers. “Why did he send me this picture of himself? And why did he say the things he did?” She shrugged delicately. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” she suggested.

He frowned, watching her wave the picture around and feeling like punching his brother in the nose once he found him again. This would have been a lot simpler if Greg had sent a picture of himself instead of using Joe as bait. “I can’t really explain why he did those things,” he said shortly. “Maybe he was playing around with a dream and then got cold feet when it looked as though it might actually come true.”

She snapped the photo back into the envelope. “Yes, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” she said sweetly. “This has come true. Here we are. So let’s make the best of it.” She rose, starting toward the kitchen sink, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Listen, you don’t seem to get it. I think you should pack up your kids and get while the getting’s good. Leave. Take a plane and head out. Go back to where you came from.”

Staring down at him, she slowly shook her head. “The pilot of the little plane that brought us from Anchorage said he wouldn’t be back this way for four days,” she noted. “We can’t leave, even if we wanted to.”

He swallowed hard. This was a reminder of what it was like to live out in the boonies. That just showed how quickly one could get used to modern life in a big city, where every convenience was at beck and call at any moment of the day or night.

“Oh,” he said, letting his hand drop. “Well, I suppose I could drive you to Anchorage.”

The lack of enthusiasm for that idea was evident in his voice, and she smiled suddenly, shaking her head again. “Don’t bother,” she said crisply, turning back toward the sink. “We’ll stay. You need us.”

“Like a hole in the head,” he muttered to himself as he made his way toward the front door. There was only one thing left to do. He had to find his brother, or at least find out where he was and when he was planning to drop in on this hardy little band of squatters who had taken over his house.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, leaning out of the kitchen door.

He looked back at her. “I’m going to see if I can find out where Greg went.”

He expected to see a flash of annoyance in her eyes, but instead he saw a flare of fear. “You are coming back, aren’t you?” she called.

“Of course I’m coming back.”

He turned toward the car, not wanting to see her face, see the questions in her eyes. She still thought he was pretending not to be Greg. Well, it hardly mattered. She probably thought he was a little nuts, but then, if she were confronted with the real Greg, she would do more than think it.

And yet, that was hardly fair. He hadn’t seen his brother for a number of years. It was possible he’d turned into a model citizen after all. Yes, it was possible. Just barely.

He swung behind the wheel of the long, low sports car he’d rented in Anchorage and started the engine, thinking how out of place a car like this was out here in the wilderness.

“And that’s exactly why I love it,” he murmured, avoiding a pothole and turning onto the two-lane dirt road that would take him to the combination post office and general store that served as the center of Dunmovin, the so-called town he’d been born in thirty-some years before.


Three

The place looked the same, only a decade and a half older and more run-down. Right next to it was a shiny new building. The sign in the window said Nails By Nancy, and Joe stopped for a moment and stared at the little yellow storefront, wondering who in the world there was for Nancy to do the nails of—whoever Nancy was. Shaking his head, he took the steps into the general store two at a time and burst in through the front door.

The theme inside was pure familiarity. Goods were still stocked to the ceiling, stacked precariously on long plank shelves. A lazy fan took a fainthearted pass at stirring the air. Two ancient residents sat on chairs tilted back until they leaned against the wall, and Annie Andrews stood behind the counter, working on her account books.

She looked up over her glasses when she heard him come in and gave a snort of surprise as he walked into the dusty little building.

“As I live and breathe. Joey Camden.” The gray-haired woman folded her arms across her chest and gazed at him instead of giving him a hug, but her snapping black eyes and crooked grin were filled with the warmth of her welcome, and he appreciated it, grinning right back. “What brings you to these parts, stranger?”

“The call of the wild, I guess,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and rocking back on his heels. “You always told me Alaska would call me back.”

She nodded, looking pleased. “That I did. And I’m always right, aren’t I?”

“Always,” he agreed. He glanced at the two old-timers, but though they were eagerly hanging on to every word of this conversation, he could see that he didn’t know either one of them. He gave them a nod and turned back to Annie.

“You going to be living with your brother in that old house?” she asked him, her eyes sparkling at the thought of it.

He hesitated. “No, not exactly. In fact, I’m just here for a short visit. I’m on my way to see Mom.”

Annie nodded, taking a swipe at the counter with a rag. “How is your mother?” she asked. “She writes me every year at Christmas, but it isn’t the same as having her a mile or so down the road. She was one of the few females I ever got on well with around here.”

“She’s okay. Not as young as she used to be, and she’s worrying me a bit.” He moved awkwardly, not used to unburdening his soul, but somehow the truth came pouring out. Maybe it was because he was talking to a woman who had known him since he was a baby.

“Actually, that’s why I came. I’ve been trying to get Greg to come into Anchorage and see her. But you know how he is. Cities give him hives. Or so he says.”

“Unlike you, who loves them.”

He shrugged and gave her a crooked grin. “You know me well, Miss Annie.”

Annie nodded her appreciation for his use of the old term he’d used for her when he was a boy, but her brow furled. “Joey Camden, you’re Alaska born and bred,” she accused. “How can you stay down in that forsaken place in California when you know you should be back here where you belong?”

“Here?” He shook his head and laughed shortly. “Oh, no. I don’t belong here anymore. I’m a city lawyer now, Annie. You remember. That’s what I always wanted.”

She nodded, looking a bit sulky. “Oh, yes, I remember it well. Bright lights and big cities, that was what you always said. And I always told you it wouldn’t satisfy you for long.”

“Well, that may just have been the one thing you were wrong about.”

She shook her head, stubborn as ever. “Nope. I’m never wrong about things that have to do with the heart. You’re the one who just hasn’t woken up and smelled the coffee yet.”

It certainly wasn’t worth arguing about. “Maybe you’re right,” he allowed. “I see this town is going great guns. You’ve even got yourselves a nail parlor. How’d you get so lucky?”

Annie grinned. “Nancy came about a year ago. Calls herself an eco-feminist. Wanted to hunt and fish and live as one with nature. You know the type. Wouldn’t know nature if it came up and bit her where the sun don’t shine.” She chuckled, enjoying her own little joke. “Turned out she was a total failure at the hunting-and-fishing stuff. Guns scared her, and she couldn’t look a trout in the eye. Thought they were slimy. But I got to hand it to her—she wouldn’t give up. I suppose partly it was that she didn’t want to go back and face her eco-feminist friends with failure. Anyway, she decided she would stay, but go with avenues down which her talents really lie.”

“Nails,” Joe guessed.

“Yup. And manicures for the guys, things like that.”

“Oh, come on, Annie. How many men around here want manicures?”

“Every dang one of them when the place first opened. You should have seen them. They were standing in line.”

Joe looked shocked, then his face changed as the light dawned. “Oh. She’s a looker, is she?”

Annie grinned. “She’s about the prettiest girl we’ve had around these parts since the Babbitt twins left for summer jobs at Disney World and never came back.”

Joe nodded. The twins had been about five years older than he, but he remembered well the sad day they left for the lower states. The men in Dunmovin had mourned for months.

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Let me fix you some dinner. How about it?”

He smiled. “Thanks, Annie. But right now, I’ve got other things on my mind.” He glanced around the littie room again. “Do you have any idea where I could find my brother?”

Annie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I take it you’ve already been out to the house,” she began, then her eyes brightened. “Say, wait a minute. Billy McGee was in here earlier and he said some woman had come in on the mail plane, come to see Greg. Had two little kids with her.”

Joe nodded. “That’s right.”

Her black eyes narrowed craftily. “Said she was coming here to marry Greg. Any truth in that?”

Joe hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m not sure about that.”

Annie leaned forward and pinned him with her flashing gaze. “Said she was some sort of mail-order bride. Any truth in that?”

Joe sighed and gave her a long, lazy look. This was not a rumor he wanted spread. “I thought mail-order brides went out when the gold fields dried up,” he said silkily. “I never did believe a woman would do something like that, anyway.”

Annie snorted. “I know plenty of men who would jump at the chance to pick out a wife like they pick out their drill presses and their Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes. Just choose a number and send in a check and she’s yours, for better or for worse.”

“Mostly worse, likely.”

Annie raised an eyebrow. “Who knows? The divorce rate ain’t so great on matches people choose for themselves when they supposedly fall in love first.”

He grinned at her. “You’ve got a point there.” His grin faded and he grimaced, leaning closer so that only Annie could hear him. “Tell you the truth, she does claim she’s here because Greg...well, because he sent for her. You don’t know anything about this?”

Annie’s eyes glittered but she shook her head. “No, . really. Greg has never been one to whisper his secrets in my ear.”

Joe grinned. “I know that. I just thought you might have noticed the mail going back and forth.”

One eyebrow rose. “Now that you mention it, there was a lot of correspondence there for a while. You know, Greg comes in with his bills once a month. That’s usually the only time I ever see him. Oh, and when the Field and Stream magazines come in, he’s always here the next day. But he was coming in almost every other day for a while.” She gasped. “Wait a minute. I do seem to remember overhearing him talk about some girl he was going to get hitched with. I didn’t pay it much mind—you know how your brother tends to...” She hesitated.

“Lie?” Joe supplied.

“Well, now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. How about he just embroiders the truth a little? He likes to make life dramatic.”

“Yeah, right.” Joe nodded, his mouth twisting cynically. “Meanwhile...I’ve got a bride on my hands, and no groom in sight. If you see Greg, tell him to get his tail on home and clean up this mess.”

“You can bet I’ll do exactly that.” She followed him to the door of the building and added gruffly, “And you come on back and see me again before you leave. You hear?”

“Will do.” Surprising her, surprising even himself, he bent down and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “See you later, Miss Annie.”

She pressed her hand to where he’d made his imprint and colored as he left, swinging down the steps and sliding behind the wheel of his fancy car. “You always were a little dickens,” she muttered, but she couldn’t hold back the pleased smile, and she shook her head as he waved, taking off in a dust cloud.

It was eerie walking into the house and hearing someone in the kitchen. Almost like the old days. But it was even eerier hearing children playing in the living room. That wasn’t much like old days. Joe and his brother never played happily like Rusty and Kim were doing. They had mainly fought.

Joe stopped in the doorway, watching the kids. They’d rigged up an old sheet between two armchairs and were using it as a tent. Kim was under the canopy, sitting cross-legged, swaying and singing a song to herself. Rusty was being an airplane, zooming around the room, stopping to babble something unintelligible at the two long-tailed goldfish who were swimming lazy laps in their bowl on the hutch, then turning abruptly to swoop toward Kim, making her shriek with delighted fear. For a moment, Joe took in the play and wondered at it. So this was what happy children did. He realized he didn’t know much about kids, when you came right down to it. All he knew about was the way he and his brother had been, and the word happy hadn’t come up much.

Suddenly, Rusty caught sight of him and stopped dead. Kim whirled, saw him and her thumb went straight into her mouth.

“Hi, kids,” he said, feeling a little awkward.

They stayed still as statues, staring at him, as though they had to be prepared to run if he took another step toward them.

He searched his mind for a topic of conversation, but came up with nothing. Then his gaze fell on the goldfish bowl.

“Hey, how do you like these two guys?” he asked heartily. “Aren’t they cute?”

Rusty looked at the bowl and nodded. “What are their names?” he asked.

“Uh...” How should he know? But pets had to have names. “Goldie and Piranha,” he said off the top of his head. “Do you like goldfish?”

Neither of them said anything. Both just stared at him, and he found himself sweating under this kind of scrutiny. Swearing softly under his breath, he turned away. Obviously, he had no natural knack with children. That was hardly surprising. Still, it hurt a little to think kids hated him on sight.

On the other hand, women usually liked him just fine, and there happened to be one on the premises. Feeling better about it all, he made his way to the kitchen, where he’d heard those busy sounds when he’d first come back into the house.

Chynna was at the sink and he stopped, startled by the change. She’d cast off her business suit for jeans and a jersey top that hugged her curves like—well, it might be best not to go on with that simile. And it might be important not to let his gaze linger too long on the more spectacular elements. Shifting his attention to the dishwater, he came in and plunked himself down at the table.

“How did you know,” he asked abruptly, “that you were going to like kids? Before you had them, I mean. What gave you the courage to take the plunge?”

She looked at him for a moment, turning her head so that her long, loose hair swung like a pendulum at her back, and laughed. “What did they do to you now?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

He managed an innocent look. “Nothing. Not a thing.” Then his conscience got the better of him. “Well, if they were a little older, I’d say they snubbed me. But since they’re just kids...”

“Kids can break your heart, too,” she said softly. “They’re so open and innocent about it. They haven’t learned to hide their feelings, so what they do comes straight from their soul. That can hurt a lot.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged it off. “I guess you’re just a natural with children, aren’t you?”

She threw back her head and laughed, surprising him. “Hardly,” she said, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I made a lot of mistakes. I still make them.”

He shook his head. “It’s all too complex for me. I don’t think I’ll ever have kids. I have enough trouble keeping a dog happy.”

The laughter evaporated from her face like spring rain on hot pavement. This was not the way she wanted things to go.

“Kids are great,” she said quickly. “They grow on you.”

“Like fungus?” He made a face. “No, thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

“You’ll see,” she said, gazing at him seriously. “You’ll see.”

He looked back into her deep, dark eyes, and something he saw there—or maybe something he didn’t see—made him uneasy.

“Listen,” he began, feeling as though he had to explain things to her, make her face the fact that he wasn’t Greg, that he would never go for kids, that he doubted if Greg would, either, that she had made a big mistake coming here to Alaska.

But as though she read his mind and didn’t want to hear it, she turned away, reaching for the pan she’d been scouring, and the words stopped in his throat. At the same time, he noticed she’d been cleaning.

“Wow,” he said, examining the kitchen, first one side and then the other. The tile on the counters was shining, and the boxes of food that had been stacked there earlier had vanished. “You didn’t need to do this.”





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