Книга - To Catch a Husband

To Catch a Husband
Laura Marie Altom


U.S. Marshal Charity Caldwell has been in love with Adam Logue for what seems like forever, but the fellow marshal sees her as nothing more than a friend. Scarred by the shooting of his first love, Adam doesn't think he's capable of being in a serious relationship ever again.Charity has faith that one day she'll get married and have the children she so desperately wants. The problem is, she doesn't want to spend her life with anyone but Adam. So with the help of his matchmaking family, she launches a plan to help Adam think of her as more than a friend, and even more than a woman — it's a plan to make him see she'll be the perfect wife!









The United States Marshals Service


Formed in 1789 by President George Washington, the United States Marshals Service is the oldest federal law enforcement agency—and in my mind, one of the most mysterious. They used to carry out death sentences, catch counterfeiters—even take the national census. According to their Web site, “At virtually every significant point over the years where Constitutional principles or the force of law have been challenged, the marshals were there—and they prevailed.” Now the agency primarily focuses on fugitive investigation, prisoner/alien transportation, prisoner management, court security and witness security.

No big mystery there, you say? When I started this series, I didn’t think so, either. Intending to nail the details, I marched down to my local marshals’ office for an afternoon that will stay with me forever.

After learning the agency’s history and being briefed on day-to-day operations, I was taken on a tour. I saw an impressive courtroom and a prisoner holding cell. Then we went to the garage to see vehicles and bulletproof vests and guns. Sure, I’m an author, but I’m primarily a mom and wife. I bake cookies and find hubby’s always-lost belt. Nothing made the U.S. Marshals Service spring to life for me more than seeing those weapons. And then I realized my tour guide wasn’t fictional. He uses these guns, puts his very life on the line protecting me and my family and the rest of this city, county and state. I had chills.

Things really got interesting when I started digging for information on the Witness Security Program. Deputy Marshal Rick ever so politely sidestepped my every question. I found out nothing! Not where the base of operations is located, not which marshals are assigned to the program, what size crews are used, how their shifts are rotated—nothing! After a while it got to be a game. One it was obvious I’d lose!

Honestly, all this mystery probably makes for better fiction. I don’t want to know what really happens. It’s probably not half as romantic as the images of these great protectors I’ve conjured in my mind. Oh, and another bonus to my tour—Deputy Marshal Rick was Mills & Boon American Romance–hero hot!

Laura Altom


Dear Reader,

This book was especially fun to write, as it’s all about crushes. Charity’s angst over whether or not Adam likes her as more than just a friend brought back fun—sometimes painful—memories of the crushes I’ve had.

My first crush was tall, blond Michael. For months I chatted and flirted with him, and when Valentine’s Day came, I was super excited about the prospect of him maybe buying me one of the student council’s fund-raising carnations. And can you believe it—it snowed and school was closed!

I was at my best friend Kristen’s, shoveling her driveway, lamenting about how I’d never know if Michael liked me, when he and his dad pulled up in a car. Instead of one of the student council’s stinky old carnations, I got a pretty crystal vase with three roses. How sad is it I don’t remember what color? Anyway, a few days later, when Michael asked me to Go With Him (going-steady lingo then) I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Charity feels the same way with Adam. Sadly, like my torrid, ninth-grade affair, Charity’s contented glow lessens when she finally takes off her rose-colored glasses.

I didn’t end up marrying my first big crush. As for Charity ending up with Adam…you’ll have to read the book and see!

Laura Marie Altom

P.S. You can reach me through my Web site at www.lauramariealtom.com or write to me at P.O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101.


To Catch a Husband

Laura Marie Altom






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


For United States Marshal Timothy D. Welch and Deputy U.S. Marshal Rick Holden. Thank you for the incredible tour of Tulsa’s marshals’ office, and for patiently answering my gazillion questions.

Any technical errors are all mine.

And for Twon Beeson—even though you didn’t directly share your bubble gum story with me, I still enjoyed it very much.

And for the ladies of Girls’ Weekend 2005! Lynne, Abbey, Holly, Denise, Sandy, Pam, Katherine, Michelle, Diane—thanks for including me in your crazy-fun tradition! You all rock!!




Books by Laura Marie Altom


MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

940—BLIND LUCK BRIDE

976—INHERITED: ONE BABY!

1028—BABIES AND BADGES

1043—SANTA BABY

1074—TEMPORARY DAD

1086—SAVING JOE * (#litres_trial_promo)

1099—MARRYING THE MARSHAL * (#litres_trial_promo)

1110—HIS BABY BONUS * (#litres_trial_promo)




Contents


Chapter One (#u10eee75e-7b4c-5d2f-b1c7-d39508a6107d)

Chapter Two (#u8ce36336-60f2-50cb-afef-25168aad65e9)

Chapter Three (#u5595d985-345d-5e01-b5bc-2a89be03e280)

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)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“No,” Deputy U.S. Marshal Adam Logue said to the company shrink, sitting across from her in her second-story loft located in the center of Portland’s artsy Pearl District.

“Now what kind of attitude is that?” The middle-aged woman eyed him with a concerned frown before consulting her clipboard. The clipboard on which she’d somsehow managed to cram everything that’d been going on in his head. Private stuff. Stuff he’d never told another soul—so how had it ended up there?

“Mr. Logue,” Dr. Margaret Davey said, resuming her former all-business smile. “Or, Adam, if I may call you that?”

“Mr. Logue works for me.”

“All right.” She made a note on her clipboard.

Great. After that San Francisco shooting, all he needed was another mark on his record.

“Look,” he said. “If I get brownie points for allowing you to call me by my first name, that’s cool. I just—”

She wrote faster and faster.

“Did you hear me?”

She stopped. Looked up. “Sure, I heard you, Mr. Logue. My question for you is, are you hearing yourself? Because I’m sensing an enormous reserve of pent-up anger. But even more importantly—fear. Care to expand on that?”

“Well…” He leaned forward, gracing her with an acid smile. “I could tell you everything that led me here, but what’s the point? You’ve got it all there on my chart.”

“True, but I have someone else’s version. What I’m after is your own.”

“My version?” With a sharp laugh, he began. “Here goes. I fell for the wrong girl. She was shot and killed. I couldn’t do a damn thing to save her. When I saw a guy threatening to whack my brother and the woman he loves, I shot him. I was doing my job as a U.S. Marshal. Am I angry? Hell, yeah. But not at the world. Not at the system. I’m mad at myself. I’m especially pissed my dad’s behind this.” He gestured to the sparse surroundings—the gray walls, the black-leather furniture. Even the curtains were gray, blocking out a gray Portland, Oregon, day. “Even though my old man’s retired, he still plays golf with my boss. Over an afternoon of too much sun and beer, the two of them hatched this plan for me to get my head straight. So when you so cavalierly suggested I start dating again, my answer was no. Will always be—no.”

“So then there’s really no point in being here?”

“Right. Glad you finally see this my way.” He pushed himself up from the stupid, too-soft black armchair he’d spent the past thirty minutes drowning in. “I take it the boss gets the bill?”

She nodded.

“Great. Have a nice life, and sorry if I come across as rough around the edges, but I’m not a touchy-feely guy. Never have been, never will be.”

“Sit down, Mr. Logue. You’re on my time, and I still have another thirty minutes.”

He ignored her, heading for the door.

“Your boss feels that, because of what happened in San Francisco and years earlier with Angela Jacobs, you’ve become a shell of a person. A robot. Which, in turn, has affected virtually every area of your life—including your work. Would you say this is a fair assessment?”

“I’d say,” he said, fingers clenched around the cold, brass doorknob, “it’s none of your business—or Franks’. I do my job. Was cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“Fair enough.” Scribble, scribble. “More orthodox psychiatrists prefer slow, methodical treatment, but I’ve never been that long-suffering. Hence your prescription.”

“My prescription?”

“Yes, earlier, when I suggested you resume dating, it wasn’t just an idea I tossed out. I believe when a patient has fallen off their horse, they should climb right back—”

He marched across the room, planting his hands on her chair’s armrests. “Angela isn’t a freakin’horse. She’s a flesh-and-blood woman who—”

“Are you even aware you’re speaking of her in present tense? As if she’s still alive?”

At the shrink’s venomous words, Adam abruptly released her chair. Took about ten steps back, parking himself in the relatively safe back end of her office.

“Before next week,” she said, “I’ll expect you to have gone on one date. It doesn’t have to be long or elaborate. Meeting a woman for coffee will do. But, Adam, whether you believe it or not, your boss is serious about getting you help. And after meeting with you today, I must say that in my professional opinion, his concerns are valid. Now…” She cleared her throat. “I believe I’ve sufficiently explained your assignment. Do you have any questions?”

Oh—he had questions. Such as, was this invasion of his personal life even legal? And how long would he be put in the slammer for kidnapping his boss, then forcing him to sit through an hour of this asinine psychobabble?

“All right, then.” She stood and flashed him what he took as a pitying smile. “If you have no questions, I’ll look forward to seeing you next week.”

Not if he had anything to say about it.

“BUG,” Adam complained, “you wouldn’t believe the crap she said to me. I mean, it was as if I wasn’t even in the room. I swear, the woman’s got it in for me.”

Deputy U.S. Marshal Charity Caldwell—“Bug,” as friends, co-workers and family called her because of her vast insect collection—didn’t look up from pinning the Goliathus cassicus she’d ordered off the Web. Wow, was he a beauty—the West African beetle, not Adam.

Well, Adam was a beauty, too. But not because of his gold iridescent wings. She snort-laughed.

“I’m pouring out my heart, here. What’s so funny?”

“You had to be there,” she said, attention back on her acquisition. Adam had been on this tirade for a good thirty minutes. And truthfully, though she felt for the guy, she’d heard enough. She agreed that he shouldn’t be dating—at least no one but her. Charity loved him. Had loved him ever since their first stakeout when her foot-long chili dog fell out the van window—long story—and he’d given her his.

“Where have you been lately that I haven’t?”

“Nowhere,” she said. “‘You had to be there’ is a figure of speech.”

“I knew it. While I was stuck in traffic getting to and from the shrink’s, not to mention the time I wasted there, something good went down and I missed it. Let’s hear it.”

She rolled her eyes. Shoved her obnoxiously thick glasses higher on her nose.

“Tell me…” Like some powerful, long-legged cat, he sprung from his chair, lunging at her mounting plate. “Talk, or the cockroach gets it.”

“It’s not a cockroach, and—” You’re seriously invading my personal space. For just a second she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in. Had any man in the history of manhood ever smelled this good? Adam’s scent was this crazy-hot mixture of everything she loved. Being outside on cold rainy days, gun powder and fast-food hamburgers. In short, he was her total package—only to him, she was just another of the guys.

Why, oh, why, couldn’t she love someone else? Why was Adam’s eternally messy dark hair such a turn-on? Why did she melt with just one look into his chocolate-brown eyes? Why did his big old toothy grin turn her stomach upside down? And the biggest question of all—why did she love him when she wasn’t even sure he realized she was a woman?

Okay, and maybe that wasn’t the biggest question, because an even more burning question was, when her biological clock was tick, tick, ticking to the point she no longer had the luxury of being choosy, why couldn’t she for once banish the guy from her heart?

“Spill,” he continued to tease, taking the mounting plate from her lap, setting it on the coffee table.

“Adam…”

“Don’t think I won’t tickle you, because you know I will.”

Before she had time to fight him, he’d wrestled her up and out of her chair, down to the floor, tickling her ribs and underarms until she couldn’t breathe from laughing.

“Stop!” she shrieked. “I’ll tell you!”

“’Bout time,” he said, breathing heavy, straddling her hips. Crossing his arms with a look of utter victory, she wiped the smirk off his face by pulling her best wrestling move, flipping him off of her and square into the recliner.

“Ouch!” he complained. “What’d you do that for?”

“You told me to spill,” she said with a sweet smile. “You just never said what.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re mean?”

“Been hearing it ever since I gassed my first water bug.”

“That is pretty harsh,” he said, leaning back against the recliner.

“My perfect sister thought so, too.” But for as long as she could remember, Charity hadn’t had a problem with any aspects of her predominantly male-oriented world—even if it meant gassing her own insect specimens. It wasn’t something she liked thinking about, but she used to be a girly girl, hanging out with her mom and big sister while her twin brother, Craig, was tight with their dad. Then Craig had died when they’d been only seven. He’d fallen out of a tree house he and their dad had built that past summer.

It had taken her father a year and another summer to recover from Craig’s death, and Charity liked to think that in large part, she’d been the reason Dad had begun to live again. Trouble was, in her heart of hearts, she knew that to her father she’d stopped being a daughter and had assumed the role of surrogate son. She’d taken up softball, stamp and bug collecting. Even as an adult, she still very much enjoyed her bugs—the hobby her father launched. The activity was calming. The camaraderie of sharing exciting new acquisitions with her dad—even if it was now mostly over the phone or Internet, seeing how he and her mom lived in Wyoming. The best part of the pastime was the order it brought to her world, where chaos typically reigned—at least where Adam was concerned.

Charity’s dad was her hometown’s sheriff, and he’d encouraged her to follow in his footsteps. And because she loved him—never again wanted to see hollow loss in his eyes—she’d done just that and made him proud. Sometimes, she feared, at the expense of her own dreams.

Don’t get her wrong, she loved her work. Her work meant the world to her. It’s just that lately she’d started wanting more. Which was where her whole baby craving came in.

The more she’d hung out with her dad and other guys, the easier it’d become. For most of her life, she felt more at home with guys than girls. Most guys, that is. Until meeting Adam. Adam bore the distinction of being the one man who made her crave being a woman. Therein lay the rub, seeing as how he thought of her as just another guy.

“Yeah,” he said. “That lady doc today? She reminded me of your sis. Lots of makeup and hair that looked like it wouldn’t budge in a stiff breeze. Could’ve been a fifty something hottie if she’d taken the know-it-all stick out of her butt.”

Charity winced. Would Adam talk like that around a real girl? Not that she wasn’t a real girl with all the requisite parts and needs, but—

“You want me to call in a pizza?”

“I thought the poor lady doctor with the stick in an unmentionable spot gave you an assignment?”

He shrugged, then reached for the cordless phone she’d left on an end table. He pressed the talk button. “Oh, man. It’s dead. Bug, how many times do I have to tell you to put the phone back on the charger?”

“Sorry. Use your cell. Better yet, call from your own apartment.”

“You know I like it more here. Besides, I’m under stress. You have to help me.”

He was under stress? Ha! He didn’t know the meaning. Staring out her fourth-floor condo’s window at a steady autumn rain, she massaged her left hand with her right.

“Okay?” Adam asked.

She glanced his way, wishing she still didn’t feel breathless from having him all over her. What would it feel like to have him on top of her for a purpose other than tickling? “Uh-huh,” she said in response to his question. “Lately, the rain seems to make me stiff. Must be getting old, huh?” She grinned, but the statement held a sad truth. No, she wasn’t ancient, but at thirty-five, if she wanted more from her life—husband, kids, house—it was time to get on with it.

From the same table where he’d found the dead phone, he grabbed a tube of pear-scented lotion her sister, Stephanie, had given her for her birthday. The only reason Charity had even opened it was because she’d run out of her usual generic brand.

He flipped open the green tube’s top, waved it under his nose. “Nice.” Glancing at the label, he whistled. “Victoria’s Secret. La-di-da.”

From her spot on the floor a few feet from him, Charity lunged for the lotion, but missed when he held it over her head. “Do you always have to be such a spaz?” she asked.

He flashed her one of his slow grins that were so breathtakingly gorgeous. They were really starting to tick her off. “As a matter of fact,” he said, squeezing a dollop of lotion into his palm. “Yes, I do have to be a spaz. Which is precisely why you love me, right?”

Why did he do this? Spout words that to him meant nothing but to her—

She lost all capacity to think when he took her hands in his. He’d rubbed his hands together first, warming the amazing-smelling lotion, then smoothing it into her skin, methodically massaging each finger until she was nearly purring from pleasure.

“How’s that feel?” he asked.

“G-good.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Why?”

“I dunno. You seem tense.”

How would he feel if the tables were turned? If he’d loved her for as long as he could remember, then some buttinski shrink told her to start dating other men? But that was the problem. They weren’t dating, and Adam didn’t love her. So, yes. She was tense. Crazy tense. Which led her to say, “That’s good. On my hands, I mean. You can stop.”

“Sure?”

She nodded.

He released her, and once again she could breathe.

“I left my cell in the truck, so let me run out and get that and I’ll call in an order. What do you want? The usual?”

“I guess.” Look at them. They were like an old married couple—without the sex. Only, if Adam were hers, she’d want to—well, you know—every night of the week!

“You’re grinning again,” he said, pulling on a leather jacket before heading out the door. “When I get back, you’d better tell me what happened today, or else.”

If by “or else,” he meant he’d tickle her again? Charity would gladly take her chances.

SATURDAY NIGHT, Frederika, a Puerto Rican swimsuit model Adam met Friday afternoon while she was doing a promo thing at his favorite sporting goods store, glowered across the table at him. “Are you on purposefully trying to ruin our evening?”

“Um, no,” he said, putting down his menu. It’d been two days since his shrink-mandated order to find himself a date. He’d done just that, and look, on his very first try, not thirty minutes into the evening, already it was a disaster. “Why?”

“First,” she said, slapping down her menu, as well. “You show up dressed like…” With exaggerated Latin flair, she waved her hands. “A hobo—”

“A hobo?” He glanced down at his jeans and T-shirt. “This is one of my best tees. I even ironed it.” Sort of. Seeing how he’d yanked it out of the dryer while it’d still been warm.

“And this place…” she said with a roll of her tongue, eyeing Ziggy’s red walls lined with sports memorabilia and the light fixtures that’d been rigged from basketball halves. She probably wasn’t much into the all-sports radio blaring, either. “Could you no have afforded better? And now, you tell me we must have beer with dinner, not wine? And your car was…how you say? Fill-thee.” Her speech’s grand finale was a theatrical shudder.

“Sorry,” he said, nose back in his menu. Cheese-burger or ribs? Tough call.

“You should be sorry. Do you know how lucky you are to be with me? I could get another man just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I deserve better. You show me good time or I’ll call my brother Rico. He tell you how to treat a woman.”

Adam inwardly groaned.

“Well?” his date said, lifting razor-thin eyebrows. “You ready to take me to a nice place?”

Where Adam wanted to take her was straight back to her apartment, but a vision of his glowering shrink made him try to please.

“ADAM?” Charity opened her door as wide as the security chain would allow. “What’re you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Only for homebodies like you,” he said. “For normal people it’s 8:00 p.m. So? You going to let me in?”

She closed the door to unfasten the chain, then opened it again, wishing she’d had the foresight to put on real clothes.

Once he’d helped himself to her sofa, then flicked on the end table lamp, he asked, “What’re you wearing?”

“It’s a nightgown.”

“No,” he said with a wink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was negligee. Your sis give you that to go with the Victoria’s Secret lotion?”

“Yeah, what of it? I wouldn’t even be wearing it if all my sweats weren’t in the laundry.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said. “Looks good on you. You should wear it again sometime.”

“F-for you?”

“Like friends with privileges?” He winked. “Hell, yeah!” A jab to her ribs showed her he was just joshing. So why wouldn’t her pulse slow down? “Hey, you wanna order pizza? I’m starving.”

She dropped onto the far end of the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest, then wrapping her arms around bare legs, wishing the ivory satin-and-lace baby-doll-styled number had a couple more yards of fabric. “Thought you had a swanky dinner date tonight with that swimsuit model?”

“I did. But she didn’t like Ziggy’s Burger Barn, so I ended up having to take her to Swenson’s—and you know how pricey that place is. I shelled out fifty bucks a head for an ounce of beef and a few mystery green squiggly things. Oh, and there was some freaky mushroom pile, drowning in gravy and carrot sprinkles. But she didn’t like that, either. I was going to stop back by Ziggy’s after taking Freddy home, but after all that mind-numbing talk about her hair, clothes and nails, I found myself craving pizza—and you.”

“Flattery like that will get you everywhere,” she teased, plucking ten or so insect catalogs from the sofa so he could park himself beside her. “Well? You going to order?”

“Sure. The usual?”

“You know it.”

He snatched the cordless phone from the coffee table, placed an order for a large pan pizza with the works, gave his credit card number, then hung up. Wandering into the kitchen, he grabbed a bag of potato chips from her snack cabinet. For an average person, this might’ve seemed odd, but Adam ate more than anyone on earth, so chips after a swanky dinner and before pizza was pretty much his norm. After popping two Hostess cupcakes, as well, he said, “And, hey, while we’re waiting for the grub, I’ve got something I’d like to run by you.”

“Shoot,” she said, returning to the stag beetle she’d been pinning before Adam’s interruption.

“Here’s the deal…” He sat beside her, then reached for her hands. As focused as she’d just been on pinning her new acquisition, the shock of him again taking her hand so intimately jolted her to a whole ’nother place—the fantasyland she’d spun of the two of them. Her first instinct was to yank herself free, but instead she froze, like the last time he’d pulled this stunt, selfishly indulging in the decadence of being held. “In the middle of this date with a strange, high-maintenance woman I knew after being alone with her for five minutes I never wanted to see again, I had a great idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Glad you asked,” he said with a grin so potent, it took Charity a second to find her next breath. “The company shrink told me I had to date, right?”

“Yeah.” He was still massaging her hands, flooding her with tingling pleasure.

“Well, the doc didn’t say a thing about who I had to date—just that I had to go out with someone.”

“And?” Charity said, blaming trace formaldehyde fumes for the dizzying heat.

“And—you’re going to love this—so I figure, why don’t I just go out with you?”




Chapter Two


Charity hadn’t yet recovered from Adam’s first ludicrous statement, when he kept going. “The beauty of this plan,” he said, “is that not only do I get the doc off my back, but you’re not going to expect anything of me, right? We can hang here. Or have nice, cheap dinners at Ziggy’s. The way I see it, it’s a win/win for both of us, seeing as you’ll get free grub.”

Charity snatched back her hands.

“No,” she said, pushing herself up from the sofa. “I’m too busy.”

In front of the now-dark view of Mount Hood that’d been the reason she’d forked over too much for this condo, she crossed her arms and tried hard not to give in to the knot swelling at the back of her throat.

“Too busy?” Adam laughed, leaving the sofa to join her. “What do you do besides hang out with me?”

“That’s the point,” she said, good and mad not only at his presumptuousness, but at herself for letting their relationship—or lack thereof—get to this level. She was tired of being his buddy. His pal. Dammit, she wanted to at least be his girl. And if she were totally honest with herself, in her wildest dreams, what she really wanted was to someday be his wife. Have his babies. “Is it so wrong of me to want more?”

“More?” He coughed. “What’s that mean?”

“Want me to spell it out?”

“Might be nice.”

“Okay. First off, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Over three years. And that’s just sad. Night after night, I sit here, listening to all your problems, Adam, and never once do I saddle you with mine.”

“You could,” he said, grinning, landing a friendly slug to her upper arm. “You know I’d be here for you—anytime. Come on, give me a few. I’m all ears.”

“All right, for starters, I’m around men all the time, yet they don’t see me as a woman, but just another guy. I know I’ve got to do something to change that perception, but just the thought is overwhelming.”

“Huh?” Sitting again, he leaned against the sofa back. “Are you PMSing? You’re acting a little mental.”

“Thanks,” she said. She was really on a roll. “That helps a lot. Okay, next problem—since you mentioned PMS—I just had a physical, and my doctor asked if I plan on starting a family. Next, she launches into this speech on how if kids are something I want in my future, I might want to get on with it. She then proceeded to point out just how drastically the odds of fun stuff like birth defects increase the older women get. Geesh, I’m only thirty-five, so I ask, aren’t women having babies at fifty? But then—”

“Whoa,” Adam said, making a T with his hands. “Time out. You? Want babies? As in someone a foot tall calling you ‘Mommy’?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

He sobered. “Not at all, it’s just…Well, I never thought of you in that way.”

“What way?”

“You know…nurturing. Tucking little humanoid beings in for the night. Making sure they take their vitamins in the morning, helping with homework. When are you going to have time for you? And work? Let alone me?”

“Adam?” The laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes had her smacking him over the head with her ladybug throw pillow. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But you’ve always been one of the guys. It never even occurred to me you’d go the family route.”

“Family route? You think a dream I cherish is some stupid route?”

“I never said that—and I sure as hell never said it was stupid. You’d make a great mom. But, babe, how do you expect guys to think of you as anything other than a guy when all you ever do is guy stuff? Play video games and watch ESPN. Slave over your bugs. I mean, if you want some dude to like you—in a baby-making way—maybe you should put on a dress. You know, let him know you’re interested. Speaking of which, got anyone special in mind for the daddy?”

Someone knocked on the door. The pizza guy?

“That was fast,” Adam said, relief in his voice at the interruption. As long as Charity had known him, he’d never been all that keen on sharing emotions. Lucky her, it looked as if he wasn’t about to change tonight. “To show how sorry I am about the baby crack, I won’t even ask you to pay half the bill.”

“Maybe it’d be best if you just left.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, expression dumb-founded. “The pizza just got here.”

“Just go,” Charity said, arms crossed, having a devil of a time trying not to cry as the realization of what she’d just done hit her. Blurting out she wanted a baby like that. Nuts. That’s what that was. “I seriously want you to leave.”

“But—”

“Please,” she said. Before I not only spill my deepest, darkest secret about loving you, but start blubbering, too. “Go.”

Adam stood, pizza in hand, in front of the open door. “Sure that’s what you want?”

Swallowing hard, Charity nodded.

For the longest time he just stood there in the chilly hall, staring. The cool air raised goose bumps on her miles of bare skin, but she didn’t care. Why, she couldn’t say, but something about her asking him to leave had been akin to drawing her own personal line in the sand.

She’d only just now realized it, but enough was enough. She couldn’t go on this way anymore. Doing the same old things. Following the same old routines. If she was ever going to make more of her life—stop being the son her father wanted and discover the woman she knew herself deep in her soul to be—now was the time.

With his free hand, using just tip of his index finger, Adam stroked heat from her shoulder to elbow, causing her to shiver both inside and out. “I’m worried about you. But if it’s space you want, you got it.”

Dying a thousand tiny deaths over his unexpected kindness, she almost called him back inside. Almost. But what would that have served other than to prolong her pain? They’d never be a couple—not the way she wanted. The sooner she got that fact through her head, the better off she’d be.

He wagged the pizza box, shot her a heart-stoppingly handsome grin, then headed down the long hall.

Closing the door, sliding the chain lock into place, lingering scents of Adam and sausage-and-mushroom pizza flavoring the air, Charity finally gave in to her tears.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Adam was drowning his sorrows in football and a bowl of chili—he’d wanted queso, but Bug wasn’t answering her phone and he couldn’t remember the recipe—when the doorbell rang.

Opening the door, he said, “Bug?”

“Sorry,” his dad said with a chuckle, barging his way in with a bag overflowing with green stuff. “Better luck next time.”

“Yeah, right.” Adam muted the TV, then reclaimed his usual end of the sofa. His dad, a retired marshal, set his bag on the small table in what the official apartment complex guide called the dining nook, then lowered himself into the recliner. “What’s up?”

“Just curious how your trip to the head doctor went. You were supposed to call.”

“Guess I forgot.”

“Well?”

“Want chili?” Adam asked, reaching to the coffee table for his empty bowl, taking it to the kitchen for a refill.

“No, thanks. I spent the morning at the Briar Street Farmer’s Market with Cal and Victoria. You remember her? Allie’s mom.” Cal was his oldest brother Caleb’s son—the son he hadn’t met till the kid was eight! Allie was Caleb’s wife. Caleb, also a marshal, had recently discovered he’d fathered a child when assigned to protect Allie, a judge. It blew Adam’s mind to think the woman had kept Cal from his father all those years. Still, seeing how the two of them had long since worked it out, Adam wasn’t one to interfere, or to dwell on the past.

Ha! His conscience had a field day with that one. Other folks’ pasts didn’t plague him. His own, however, was a burden he feared he might always bear.

Focusing on his old man rather than his own shortcomings, Adam raised his eyebrows. “Was this a date?”

“No, no.” His dad looked away and coughed. “Just a friendly outing with our grandson. That sack over there’s packed with veggies. Victoria says us men need more antioxidants.”

Adam grinned. Who knew the old guy still had it in him to charm the ladies?

“It’s your date I’m here about,” his dad said. “How’d Saturday night go? Caleb and Beau said this Frederika was a real looker.” Count on his nosy brothers to be the ones spilling Adam’s private life to the one person he didn’t want knowing about it. His second oldest brother, Beau, was also a marshal, and carried the Logue family trait of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

“Should be a looker,” Adam said with a grunt. “She’s a swimsuit model.” He turned the volume back up on the game. Seahawks vs. Jets. Sadly, the Jets were ahead by three touchdowns.

“And…you going out again?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. She’s pretty high maintenance. Not my type.”

“What’s Bug say?”

“Huh?”

“You know,” his dad pressed. “About the date. Does she think you should ask Frederika out again?”

Adam turned up the TV.

AT WORK MONDAY, Charity did everything in her power to steer clear of Adam. Which was tough, seeing as how their team had just been assigned to a major drug case being tried in federal court. The defendant had been caught with more than thirty-two kilos of cocaine in his vehicle. As a statement to the jurors, the prosecution displayed the mounds of neatly packaged coke in the courtroom.

The boss wanted marshals on hand to dissuade anyone who’d calculated the drug’s street value and thought it worth the risk to steal.

All day, Charity stood at the back of the courtroom, dressed in her baggy black suit that, okay, did probably come across as a trifle masculine. But geesh, was she supposed to have shown up to guard the goods in a miniskirt? Trying to avoid eye contact with Adam, who’d been posted behind the judge, had only added to the fun.

Talk about awkward.

“Yo, Bug.” Her friend and fellow marshal, Bear, ducked into her office cubicle after court had been adjourned for the day and the defendant escorted “home” for the night. “We’re headed to Ziggy’s. Wanna go?”

“No, thanks,” she said, not looking up from the report she’d been trying to finish for the past week.

“Your loss,” Bear said. A few minutes later the giant sweetheart who shaved his head because he thought it made him look meaner, was back. “Seen Adam?”

She shook her head.

“If you do, tell him—”

“Okay,” she snapped. “Do you mind? I’m trying to work.”

“Ex-cuuu-uuse me,” he said. “What bug crawled out of your collection and up your—”

“Cut her some slack,” Adam said to Bear, barging into her cubicle, helping himself to the microwave popcorn she’d popped more to keep her mouth busy than because she’d been hungry.

“Tell her to cut me some slack,” Bear said. “All I did was ask her to hang with us at Ziggy’s and she bit my head off.”

“She’s sick, okay?” Adam said.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Um, guys? Hello?” Charity waved. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Well?” Bear asked Charity. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Now, would both of you please leave, so I can get some work done.”

“I thought you told me you had woman problems?” Adam said. “You know, all that stuff about how you want to get pregnant but—”

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked Adam, shoving back her chair so hard she rammed it into the cubicle’s back wall and, in the process, managed to knock down a few thick procedural guides. “I told you that in private. Why couldn’t you keep your big mouth shut?” Standing, snatching the mini-backpack she used for a purse, she shot both men her dirtiest look, then headed for the door.

“She’s pregnant?” Bear asked Adam once Bug was out of earshot.

“Nah,” Adam said, finishing off her popcorn, wondering what he’d said to tick her off this time. “At least, I don’t think so. Guess she could be, but who could be the dad?”

“I dunno,” Bear said. “Only guy she ever hangs with is…” He looked straight at Adam and grinned. “Congratulations, man. I didn’t even know you and Bug were an item. Well, I knew you two hung together, but—”

“Cut it out,” Adam said, taking off after her.

Dammit, Bug was his best friend. What had happened between Sunday morning at her apartment and now? All he’d done was ask her to pretend to be his date. Had that really been so much to ask?

Hell, he’d helped her move—twice! Seemed to him that’d been a whole lot harder than a measly few nights out on the town.

He just couldn’t deal with going on a string of meaningless dates. Casual, he could do. But putting himself out there in a romantic way hurt too damn much—especially because no matter how hard he tried, nearly a decade later, he just couldn’t seem to work through what’d happened to Angela.

He’d met her while on assignment. Her dad was a high-powered judge, and death threats had been made against not just him, but his wife and only daughter. Adam, who was twenty-five at the time and easily blended in with her college crowd, had been assigned to be her closest contact.

Adam had always considered himself to be a man’s man, not easily swayed by batting eyelashes or pouty lips. But one look at Angela and he’d been a goner. Even though he’d known getting involved with her was against the rules, when she’d showed classic signs of interest, he’d fallen hard. They’d managed to keep things under wraps for a while, but pretty soon, with Angela wired for sound, his boss caught on to the fact that every time her mike cut out, Adam had been cutting in. Lord, but they’d had some hot make-out sessions in her sorority house attic.

He’d tried, for Angela’s safety—and his sanity—to cool things down, but that had only made her want to be with him all the more. God help him, he’d felt the same. He’d loved her. For the first time ever, he’d known what it was like to be willing to die for someone.

He’d been pulled off the case. Then, over a candlelit frozen lasagna dinner at his apartment, asked her to marry him. With an excited squeal, she’d accepted.

Adam had expected trouble from her family—he was far from her social standing—but to the contrary, her dad had been a self-made man, working two jobs to get through law school, and he’d adored Adam. He’d also loved the fact that Adam wasn’t one of Angela’s typical spoiled frat boys. Despite ever-increasing death threats, Angela’s mother had launched plans for a wedding fit for royalty. She’d been warned it wasn’t safe. But she’d said a life lived in fear wasn’t worth living. Adam had admired the hell out of her moxie, yet he’d worried.

The size of the family’s security detail doubled.

Still, Adam worried.

Worried to the point that Angela had moved in with him, because he believed with his entire being no one could keep her as safe as him. After all, no one else could have comprehended loving her as he had.

But in the end, the security hadn’t been enough.

His love? That hadn’t done squat.

On a blustery Tuesday afternoon, hustling to interview a wedding consultant, Angela had been shot outside Adam’s apartment door. He’d been right beside her. Two other marshals had flanked her. Four other marshals had covered the stairwell and parking area. The coward-ass sniper had shot through them all. Hit Angela straight through her heart. She was supposed to have been wearing a vest, but had whined it made her look fat. Yeah, well, there in his arms, she’d looked dead. And there wasn’t a damned thing—

Swallowing hard, willing himself to breathe, Adam squeezed his eyes shut.

He’d let her down. Yeah, she should’ve worn the vest, but he should’ve insisted. Made a game out of putting it on her himself.

Should’ve. Would’ve. Could’ve.

He could second-guess himself till the end of time, but the end result would still be the same. For all practical purposes, he’d killed the woman he’d loved. And now he would pay the consequences—for the rest of his freakin’ life.

Sure, on the outside, he came across as a happy-go-lucky guy, but inside, he knew damned well he was damaged goods. Which was why it was so important for him to keep things right between him and Bug. He didn’t deserve another chance at love, but surely even screw-ups like him deserved a best friend.

Which was exactly what Bug had become.

He caught up with her in the parking garage just as she was about to climb into her company-issued black SUV. “You’re fast,” he said.

“Why are you here?”

“My car’s parked next to yours.”

“And that’s it?”

He sighed, wiped his face with his hands. “We’re together every Sunday, right?”

“Usually. But what does that have to do with why you followed me?”

“I didn’t follow you,” he said. “I just pointed out I was parked next to you.”

“Okay. Great. See you tomorrow.” She opened her door and climbed in behind the wheel.

“Wait.”

She sighed. “Adam, I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, I know. But yesterday, having to watch football without you—or your Velveeta dip—now that was a long day.”

Lips pressed tight, she rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, with both my brothers married and most of the other guys I know either in a serious relationship or rooting for another team, Sunday afternoon I realized just how alone I really am. The game was a blow-out, so I turned off the TV and went for a long walk. Thought about a lot of stuff. About how maybe instead of constantly grieving Angela’s death, I should celebrate her life. But what I can’t figure is how I’m supposed to do that if I have to be out wasting my time with women I don’t even like.”

“Adam,” Charity said. “I’m really tired. Where are you going with this?”

“Where am I going?” He laughed. “Bug, don’t you see? When I’m with you, losing Angela doesn’t hurt half as much. But when I’m not with you, I feel…” He looked away. “I’m bad at this. Really bad.”

“How do you feel, Adam? Tell me.” Please. God knew she felt for Angela. Her too brief shining life. But were Adam to be granted the miracle of one more talk with her, Charity felt certain the woman would’ve told him to get on with things. To have a life. As he was, he just sort of wandered, not really living. Not really dying. Just being. If Angela had loved Adam even half as much as he’d loved her, she would never have wished this limbo on him. Worse yet, as much as Charity loved Adam, his limbo was now her own. “Tell me, Adam. How do you feel?”

“Okay…” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Raw. Guess that about sums it up. Is that how you are? You know, about all that baby stuff you brought up the other night?”

She didn’t answer.

“Bug?”

“That’s not my name.”

“Sorry. Charity. Is that what’s going on with you?” He stood in front of her, one hand holding the suit jacket he’d had to wear in court over his shoulder, the other tucked into the pocket of his dark slacks. He’d locked his beautiful brown gaze with hers, and though Charity wanted to look away, she couldn’t. “Well?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s exactly how I feel—not that there’s a lot I can do about it.”

“Want me to fix you up with someone?”

She shook her head. “How about you? I heard one of the clerks in Judge Baker’s office just got divorced.”

“Nah. Too much baggage. What I was really hoping is we could just hang out. You know, so things go back to the way they were.”

“How’s that going to help either of us?”

“I don’t know,” he said, breaking his stare, with his free hand, thumping her open door’s window. “Sorry I ever even brought it up.”

So was she. Because no matter how insulted she was that he obviously didn’t think of her as a woman, she couldn’t get past the idiotic craving she had to go along with his plan. But why help scam his psychiatrist? How would that help Adam? And what about her? How would it feel to only pretend to be his date, knowing she didn’t have a shot at being the real thing? Better yet, follow her original plan to remain just friends? Maybe even sever that tie in favor of finding someone else to declare her best friend? Like a woman who might actually understand some of what she was going through?

“Wanna go with the rest of the gang to Ziggy’s?” he asked.

Yes. “Thanks,” Charity said, “but I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

“Sure? It’s all-you-can-eat baby back ribs night.”

She loved ribs. Would it really hurt to pal around with Adam just one more night?

If she were truly serious about finding a husband instead of a guy friend—yes.

“HOW COME you’re not with Adam?” her big sister, Stephanie, asked that night. She sat on the foot of her bed, painting her toenails Tequila Pink.

“Since when is tequila pink?” Charity asked, reading the name on the bottom of the bottle.

“Probably since the color designers ran out of legitimate pinks. Now, nice try at changing the subject, but you never, ever come to see me on a weeknight unless you need money. So out with it. How much are you short this month and what exotic bug am I helping to import?”

“There are no bugs and can’t I come see you because I miss you?”

“Sure. I’d love it if that were the real reason you’re here.” She put the final coat on her last toe, then screwed the lid on the bottle. Holding it out to Charity, she asked, “Want to do yours?”

“No, thanks.”

“Different color?” she asked, pointing Vanna White-style at her vast array of polish.

“Steph?”

“Yes?” Duck-walking so as not to muss her toes, she headed to her closet for a dress to wear on her date with Dr. Larry, a pediatrician. This was her first real relationship since her amicable divorce with her stockbroker ex, Todd. He was East Coast, she was West, and the two never really met halfway.

“This is going to sound strange,” Charity said. “But do you think I’m pretty?”

“Of course.”

“That was weak. Like you’re just saying that because you’re my big sister. Come on, I can take it. Tell me the truth.”

“Sweetie…” Steph returned to the bed, put her hands on Charity’s knees. “If you’d let me have my way with your clothes and hair and makeup for a couple hours, you wouldn’t be just pretty, but gorgeous.”

“Now I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Wanna bet? And what brought all of this on? You’ve never given two figs about your appearance. I’ve always envied that in you. Your knack for being yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” Charity made a face. “Right about now, being me sucks. All my mixed-up feelings are thanks to Adam.” She told her sister what had transpired between her and her supposed best friend—stressing the part about how mortifying it’d been that here she’s crazy in love with him, yet he only sees her as a pal who’d be handy for duping his shrink.

“And so you turned down his proposal?” Steph asked.

“He didn’t propose! He asked me to be his fake date!”

“I know,” her sister said. “You get what I mean. His proposal for the two of you to pretend date.”

“Of course, I turned him down,” Charity reasoned. “You think I shouldn’t have?”

“Well…” In the bathroom, Steph expertly wielded her hair-straightening iron. “Seems to me, if you’re serious about having a baby and husband, maybe you’re going about this all wrong. What if you agreed to be Adam’s date, only to show him how fantastic the two of you could be on another level?”

“Oh, please.” Playing around with her sister’s eyeliner, Charity said, “How am I going to do that when he doesn’t even see me as a woman?”

“That’s a cop-out,” Steph said. “I’ll guarantee if you doll yourself up, he’ll see you differently. And another thing, you’re scared that even if you make an effort to transform yourself into a bona fide hottie, Adam still won’t get the message. And then what?”

“I’m not scared,” Charity said. “Of anything.” Except maybe missing her window of opportunity.

She wasn’t sure why she wanted kids. Because as Adam had pointed out, raising them would take up a huge chunk of her time. Work would be logistically tough. But knowing that didn’t stop the wanting. The yearning every time some lucky woman returned from maternity leave, brandishing her newborn, passing him or her around. When Charity took her turn and felt the trusting warmth against her chest, the impossibly soft scents of lotion and powder, and cute little clothes, she wanted a baby all her own, all the more. Along with the adoring husband proudly standing nearby, lugging around baby equipment.

That was the eternal problem. Sure, in this day and age, all Charity had to do to get a baby would be to pay a visit to the local sperm bank. Surely a town the size of Portland had one, or a dozen. But what was the fun in having a baby if she didn’t have anyone to share it with? Meaning what she really wanted in her greedy heart of hearts was the total package. The perfect little family to match her already perfect job.

Charity pitched the eyeliner in the cosmetics basket and headed for the bathroom door. “I’d better get going and let you finish dressing for your big date.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Steph said. “In fact, why don’t you come with us? Larry’s been saying he’d like to meet you.”

“Thanks,” Charity said at the door to her sister’s bungalow. “But I’ve got a big night. Just got a Eupatorus gracilicornis in from Thailand that needs mounting.”

“Okay, but if you ever want to take me up on that makeover, I’ll be here. Seriously, Charity, enough’s enough where Adam’s concerned. Not that it’s any of my business, but it’s high time you gave the man a wake-up call.”

That made Charity laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“The notion of Adam ever realizing we could be so much more than friends. In fact, I set him up with someone in the hopes of him moving on. That way, maybe I could move along, as well.”

Steph rolled her eyes.

“WHO WAS THAT?” Bear asked Adam on Tuesday as they filed back into the courtroom after the noon recess.

“Oh, you mean the redhead I did lunch with?” Adam asked.

“Duh. She was hot. A scorcher.”

Adam shrugged. “True. Bug hooked us up. But truthfully, while she’s easy on the eyes, and from what I read between the lines, a closet nympho, I thought by the end of it, my ears were gonna bleed. Blah, blah, blah…If I’d had to hear one more thing about her demon ex, I’d have gnawed my hand off to get it out of her whiny clutches. What I wouldn’t have given to just do lunch with Bug.”

“What’s up with you two?” Bear asked, holding open the door while Adam stepped through.

“Long story. Don’t ask.”

All through the afternoon session, Adam was forced to stare at Bug. His best friend. Who for some unknown reason since Sunday morning had pretty much refused to speak to him—except for setting up his lunch from hell. Which, come to think of it, she might’ve done it for spite.

He didn’t get it. One minute they’d just been palling around, and the next, Bug acted as though he had the plague—at the very least a nasty flu.

Once court was out, he waited around the office until most everyone had left but her.

Enough was enough.

One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of what was bugging his Bug.

“Hey,” he said, holding out an unpopped bag of microwave popcorn. “Peace offering?”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“What are you, then?” He sat on the edge of her desk, playing with her collection of wind-up bug toys. He wound a jumping cricket, then let it go.

“What’s that supposed to mean? And quit messing with my stuff before you—aggghh!”

Crash!

The already struggling ivy she’d kept alive for two years crashed to the floor. The terra-cotta pot was in twenty pieces, mixed in with dirt and crumpled leaves, and the still-jumping mechanical cricket topped the whole mess. Adam lay alongside it, having lunged to the floor to catch the pot, ultimately making things worse.

“Oops,” he said, rubbing his aching lower back.

“Are you all right?” she asked, instantly out of her chair and on her knees beside him.

“I’ve been better. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’m just glad you’re not hurt. But you should be. I told you to quit messing with stuff.”

“Wish you’d have been more forceful about it.” Adam winced. “Well? Aren’t you going to offer to kiss my ouchie?”

“You sure you didn’t conk your head instead of your behind?”

The office’s perfect Robocop of a marshal strolled up with a smirk on his face. “Figures it was you two causing the commotion,” said the guy Adam secretly called Suck-up Sam.

“Move along,” Adam said. “Show’s over.”

“Need help?” Sam said to Bug, holding out his hand to assist her over the debris heaped at her feet.

“I’m good,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

“You bet.” He winked at her. Winked!

Once Sam was out of earshot, Adam said, “God, that guy makes my teeth hurt. He’s such a tool.”

“I like him,” she said. “He’s always seemed nice.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’ll help clean up.”

“You’ll help?” Eyebrows raised, she said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you the cause of this mess? Sam!” she called. “I need you, after all!”

Like a bad smell, Pretty Boy silently appeared, holding out his hand for Bug to take—which she did!

After he’d helped her step over the dirt and debris, he said, “I was just heading out for a bite to eat. Care to join me?”

“No, thanks,” Adam said. “We’re busy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bug said, gazing up at the guy with the smile she usually only used when downing Ziggy’s chocolate malts. “You broke it, you clean it.”

Sam said, “See ya, Adam.”

Bug didn’t say anything, just waved.

Fury didn’t begin to describe the emotion bubbling in Adam’s gut. Then again, maybe it was lingering aftereffects of too much Sunday-afternoon chili? Either way, watching Suck-up Sam mosey off with his best friend didn’t set well.

At all.

Now the only question was, what, if anything, was he going to do about it?




Chapter Three


A wolf whistle greeted Charity on her trek through the office Wednesday morning.

“Damn, Bug.” Bear abandoned his coffee to chase after her. “What’d you do to yourself?”

“Why? Do I look that bad?” she asked, self-consciously trying to shove up her thick glasses, which were no longer there due to new contacts. Maybe taking such drastic steps with her appearance hadn’t been such a hot idea? Easing into a new look might’ve been the best way to go.

“You look that good,” he said with a laugh. “Adam see you yet?”

“No? Why?” Just the mention of Adam’s name sent her pulse racing. What if he didn’t like her changes? The honey-blond, flirty flip cut that replaced her usual messy, mousy ponytail. The makeup her sister taught her to use that made her green eyes look huge. The emerald-green silk camisole and form-fitting black suit jacket and short skirt that would probably get her fired. Worst of all were the black heels she’d have to kick off should she have need to chase bad guys across the crowded courtroom.

Seeing Adam’s reaction to Sam asking her for a date had been all the impetus she’d needed to take this last step in attempting to take their relationship to a new level. Granted, she was no expert, but even she’d seen Adam hadn’t liked another man paying attention to her. Which had been her cue to once and for all make a play for him, or forever quit mooning and get on with her life.

Bear just chuckled, then went back to his coffee.

His reaction left Charity wishing for an earthquake—nothing major, just something big enough to open a hole large enough to swallow her.

“Looking good,” Adam’s brother, Beau, said on his way to the holding cell.

Adam’s brother, Caleb, winked on his way to see the boss. “Hot stuff.”

Oh, Charity felt hot all right! Hot enough to melt through the office floor without the help of a natural disaster!

“Stop,” Sam said.

“W-why?” She froze. “Is there an escapee aiming a stolen gun at me?”

He laughed. “I want you to stop so I can look at you. You’re stunning.”

“Um, thanks,” she said, cheeks blazing.

“You’ve always been pretty, but now…” He shook his head and grinned. “I’m blown away.”

“Knock it off. I don’t look that different.”

“Yeah, Bug. You do.” Adam stepped out of Caleb’s office, file folder in hand, his expression stormy and unreadable.

Charity’s breath caught in her throat. What did that face mean? Did he hate her new look? So what if he did? Why should she care? Every other guy in the office seemed to think she looked okay. Better than okay judging by Sam’s reaction.

According to her sister’s instructions, she was supposed to apologize to Adam first thing this morning, then offer to help with his dating dilemma. In retrospect, she wasn’t so sure. It was as if something between them had irrevocably changed.

They used to be best friends. Able to talk about anything, but now…

“Say, Charity?” Sam asked. “There’s a new Italian place that just opened down the street. Want to share an early supper after work?”

“Sure,” she said, never breaking Adam’s stare.

“Sounds great,” Adam said to Sam, “but Bug’s busy after work.”

“Her name is Charity,” Sam said. “And if she were busy, she wouldn’t have accepted my invitation.”

“Your invitation isn’t worth—”

“Adam!” Charity said. “Stop it. What’s wrong with you?”

Good question, Adam thought. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said, dragging her by her upper arm into Caleb’s office, then shutting the door in Sam’s gaping face. “But I can’t begin to guess what’s going on with you.”

She sighed. Crossed her arms. “That was rude.”

“Oh—” He laughed. “And it wasn’t rude of old Suck-up out there to horn in on our standing Wednesday night…” What did they call their ritual Wednesday nights together? Ziggy’s had all-you-can-eat boiled shrimp, and draft beers were only a quarter. The sticky-fingered, laugh-a-minute nights weren’t dates, but sacred all the same.

“Our standing Wednesday night what, Adam? I told you I want to start a family. How am I going to do that hanging out at Ziggy’s with you and Bear?”

Sam pounded on the door. “Logue, that move wasn’t at all professional.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “If he were a real man, he’d kick the door down and claim you.”

“You know…” Shaking her head, Charity said, “I came in here today, ready to apologize. I’m sick of fighting with my best friend. I figured what the hey? Why not help with your dating problem? But seeing how you’re behaving, why should I help when you’re obviously not the slightest bit interested in helping me?”

Before Adam could stop her, or even come close to figuring out what she was upset about, she’d left him to join Sam, who’d been waiting for her out in the hall like a lost puppy.

Because he didn’t know what else to do, Adam clenched his fists. Dammit. Why had he reacted like that over nothing more than Bug changing her hair-style and wearing a dress?

So what if she went out with Sam? It wasn’t as if Adam had any claim on her. And if she was right, if he was her true friend, he’d wish her well in finding a guy who’d give her the family she all of a sudden wanted.

If he was her true friend, he’d apologize for going off on her like that. Then he’d do something grand as a follow-up. Really, spectacularly huge. Something big enough to prove he wasn’t just saying sorry, but truly meant it. And not only that he was sorry about his latest explosion, but most especially back at her condo when he’d been less than enthusiastic about her confession about wanting kids. Which, looking back on it, had been the spark that’d ignited this whole feud. If a baby was what she wanted, then he was one-hundred percent behind her decision.

Even if that meant she’d end up with some guy like Sam?

Adam groaned.

Obviously he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but for the moment anyway, he and Bug needed to at least get back on speaking terms. Then he’d broach the subject of her getting a kid via sperm bank or adoption!

AFTER COURT ADJOURNED for the day, Charity returned to her cubicle to see a dozen roses in a gorgeous crystal vase accompanied by a small white box.

Heart hammering, assuming the items were from Sam, but hoping, praying, they could be from Adam, who’d glowered at her across the crowded courtroom all through the excruciatingly long day.

First, she plucked the card from the roses, berating herself for trembling hands. Geesh, from the way she was reacting, you’d think she’d never gotten roses before—which she hadn’t.

The card read:

The heaviest insect is the African Goliath

beetle, which can weigh as much as nearly

a quarter of a pound. But then obviously

whoever made that claim hasn’t seen

the newest bug in your collection.

Sorry for being a dung beetle.

I miss you. Your friend, Adam

Tears stung Charity’s eyes.

The note was classic Adam. The flowers were not. How had he even figured out how to call a florist, let alone arrange for delivery? The gesture smacked of his sister, Gillian. Sticking with the Logue family job, she was still a part-time marshal, but also a wife and mom. And since marrying a great guy, Joe, she also happened to be loaded. Meaning, if ever there was an extravagant gift around, Gillian and Joe were usually the ones to thank.

Charity deeply inhaled the roses’ rich scent before moving on to the box. Finding flowers was one thing, but finding a rare beetle she didn’t already have was another. Had Adam found her an Indonesian Euchirus longimanus?

Lifting the lid, at first the only things she saw were mounds of pink tissue paper. Then she dug deeper to find keys and a picture of an adorable black VW convertible bug.

No way…

Heart hammering, she looked up, and there was Adam, standing at the opening to her cubicle, wearing his most heartstopping sexy-slow grin. “Don’t suppose I could catch a ride home?”

“I-Is this for real?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Real as you want it to be. I’ve been a jackass, and in order to show you how sorry I am, I kinda felt something along this scale would be appropriate.”

“B-but you can’t afford to buy me a car on your salary, Adam.”

“Yeah, well, I know a couple who give super loan rates. Gil and Joe were only too willing to help, seeing how much they’ve both always liked you. And they agree with me that when you do finally have a baby, you should have a reliable car.”

“You told them? About how I want to—”

“They won’t tell anyone else.”

“That’s not the point. You just can’t go around—”

Before she could get out further objections, he kissed her. Fast. Hard. Deliciously, surprisingly thorough. “Just say thank you, Charity.”

“Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can I have that ride?”

ZIPPING ALONG with the top down, Adam all big and rangy and beyond-belief handsome beside her, Charity wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry.

He’d kissed her.

Bought her a car.

What did it mean? Was it truly just a friendly gesture? And what about that kiss? Talk about confusing!

“Turn here,” he said, squinting against the bright fall sun.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because that’s the way to the next installment of my apology surprise.”

“I think you’ve already done way more than necessary,” she said. “And besides, I’m partially to blame, too. I could’ve just agreed to go out with you. You know, strictly to get that shrink off your back. So if you still want me to be your pretend date, I will. For medicinal purposes.”

“That sounds good,” he said. “It’ll be like a scientific thing.”

“Absolutely.”

For the next thirty minutes they rode in companionable silence—well, silence save for the Velvet Revolver CD blaring on the awesome sound system.

Autumn colors and smells were in full swing. A wake of red and gold leaves swirled behind them. The air was flavored with sweet wood smoke from hearth fires built to ward off the evening chill.

Adam kept giving directions, and she kept following until the area again grew familiar. “Are we heading for your sister-in-law’s restaurant?”

“Maybe.”

“Adam, this is too much. Her place is pricey.” Gracie Logue, Beau’s wife, was a world-renowned chef. After barely surviving a nightmare with her psycho ex-husband, she was now living the good life. Amazing job. Enchanted marriage. Plus, she’d been on dozens of TV shows and won so many awards for her culinary skills, her hubby built an addition on to their home—right alongside the new nursery—to accommodate them all.

“And you’re not worth it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said with a grin and flip of her flirty new hair. In this car, she not only felt pretty, but confident. As if maybe she really did have a shot at landing a great catch like Adam. Even better, if her luck held, she might land Adam himself.

While the sun set, they dined on black bean soup, grilled filet mignon, wilted watercress and horseradish-whipped potatoes on a patio with radiant heaters and a breathtaking view of Mount Hood. Upping the fairy-tale atmosphere were the little things. Such as their fingers brushing when she’d handed Adam the salt; the way, when she’d said her feet were cold, he’d gallantly lifted them onto his lap and used his fingers to warm her toes.

She wasn’t sure how it’d happened, but tonight had to have marked a changing point in their relationship. Sure, they’d still be great friends, but now there’d be that added spark she’d long dreamed of them sharing.

Over a dessert of cranberry-apple crumble with Irish oatmeal crust, Adam asked, “You ready to hammer out the details?”

“Of what?” Charity asked, still dreamy over the unexpected—magical—night’s course. Chez Bon was a million miles from Ziggy’s, and the fact that Adam had wanted to share the place with her made her feel like the most special woman in the world.

“You know.” Adam reached over the low candle and flower arrangement in the table’s center to steal a bite of her dessert.

“Hey!” she complained, pulling the plate closer to her and hopefully out of his reach. “I’m still eating that.”

“Sorry. I’m starving. Gracie’s a great cook and all, but I’m more a meat-and-potatoes guy.”

“We had meat and potatoes.”

“Yeah, but not enough.”

Rolling her eyes, she shoved her half-finished dessert toward him. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

“Cool. Then maybe we can stop by McDonald’s on the way home. I’d kill for a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese.”

“Thanks,” she said with a half grin.

“Sure, but for what?”

“Sucking every shred of romance from this beautiful setting.” A local guitarist sang folk tunes and some of the other couples dining on the patio had started to dance in the moonlight.

“They might be feeling romance vibes,” he said. “But not us, right? I like you—a lot. But you know what I mean. That’s why we have to work out the details of this whole pretend-dating thing, just so we don’t accidentally have a for-real date or anything along those lines.”

Charity leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Me? Kid on a topic as serious as romance?” He laughed. “When I lost Angela, I threw away the key to—” He pressed his palm to his chest. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love people. My family—even you. Just not that way.”

“Sure,” she said, suddenly nauseous from the rich food. Or maybe it was Adam’s ridiculous speech making her sick? Had he forgotten kissing her? Had he forgotten giving her a car as an apology gift? The way their fingers brushed while passing each other the salt? How he’d warmed her cold feet?

“So?” he asked. “Ready to hit the road?” Shell-shocked, she nodded.

Charity was just pushing back her chair when Gracie, Adam’s sister-in-law and Chez Bon’s head chef and half owner, bustled over. She was six months’pregnant and she looked radiant, with a contentment Gracie feared she’d never know. “How was everything?” she asked.

“I’m still hungry,” Adam complained.

Gracie swatted him over the head with a dishrag.

“It was delicious,” Charity said. “Best meal I’ve had since the last time you fed me.”

“Wonderful,” Gracie said. “I’m glad at least one of you enjoyed it. Although, Charity, Beau tells me you and Sam are getting to be quite the item. Maybe next time I’ll see you two lovebirds at my best table?”

“You all right?” Gracie asked Adam when he choked on his last swig of coffee. Patting his back, to Charity she said, “Beau said you two look darling together. You and Sam, that is. This oaf of a brother-in-law of mine you’re with tonight is strictly friend material.”

Oh, now that made Charity feel better—not!

What was she supposed to say to a thing like that? And what had given Beau the outrageous idea that she and Sam were a couple? Sure, they’d been out for a few casual lunches at the Subway down the street from the office, but those had been no big deal. Nothing like this night during which every bone in her body screamed this was it. The night Adam finally got his head out of his rear and realized how great the two of them could be as so much more than friends.

“Well,” Gracie said, again to Charity, as if Adam wasn’t even at the table. “I know you have a long drive ahead of you in that darling new car. Gillian told me all about it. Plus, I imagine you’ll want to get home early enough to call Sam to have him wish you good-night.”

“Gracie,” Charity said, placing her napkin on the table in front of her, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me and Sam. He’s just—”

“You don’t have to pretend things are casual between you on my account,” Gracie said. “Beau’s good at sniffing out interoffice romances.”

Adam snorted.

“Did you say something?” Gracie asked, hand on his shoulder.

“Bug,” Adam said. “Hand me your keys and I’ll get the car.”

“I can do it myself,” Charity said.

“But I already said I’ll do it for you.”

At the intensity behind his dark stare, Charity’s stomach did a nervous flutter. Could he have made the request to be gentlemanly? Or had Gracie’s rambling about Sam actually upset him? At the very least, sparking his competitive edge where his office rival was concerned. Just in case, she, as demurely as possible, reached into her purse for the keys, handing them across the table, trying with all her might to ignore hot tingles when their fingers brushed yet again.

“Thanks,” he said, eyes suddenly bright. “I’ve been itching to get my hands on this baby’s wheel. See how she performs on that curvy section between here and Johnson Avenue.”





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