“Mama, I’m scared.” Lucas stood in the bedroom doorway, clutching his teddy bear. The bullet had almost hit him.
“Get down! Now!” Angie dived out of bed and pulled her son to the floor. Heart pounding, she lay on the rug, protecting him with her body as another shot shattered the window and slammed into the mattress. An eternity seemed to pass before she heard sirens wailing down the street. Gang fights happened in this part of town, but she’d never known one to come this close.
Lucas had begun to sob. “The police are on their way, Lucas,” Angie whispered. “Lie still. We’ll be safe soon.”
And they would be safe, she vowed. She would get her precious son out of this neighborhood and give him a decent life—even if it meant making a deal with the devil.
Inching forward, she switched on the bedside lamp, found Jordan’s card and fumbled for the phone.
Angie stood on the balcony, gazing down into the courtyard of the rambling Cooper home. The last rays of sunset cast an amber glow over hundred-year-old adobe walls. The tinkle of an ancient stone fountain blended with the distant call of a desert quail.
She’d been here before. But with the sadness of losing Justin coloring her memories, she’d forgotten how enchanting this place was. Justin had told her about the time, money and love his mother had lavished on refurbishing the historic hacienda. Everything here was perfect, from the stately, exposed vigas that supported the roofs to the Chimayo rugs, the priceless Pueblo pottery and the two Georgia O’Keefe paintings that flanked the great stone fireplace.
Now Jordan lived here by himself. Was he aware of the beauty around him, Angie wondered, or only of its value? What, exactly, made Jordan Cooper tick?
Last night, when she’d phoned him, he’d answered at once; but his manner had been so brusque that she’d suspected he wasn’t alone. At first light, a pickup had arrived with two men from the ranch. They’d boxed up Lucas’s toys, Angie’s computer and their other personal things and had them on the road in less than an hour. Angie, with Lucas in her car, had followed the truck to Santa Fe and from there to the ranch.
Marta, the graying housekeeper, had fed them cheese quesadillas and shown them to their rooms on the second floor of the newer guest wing, where their boxes were waiting. The woman had been coldly polite, which puzzled Angie until she remembered that Marta had watched the twins grow up. Justin had been her special pet.
It wasn’t going to be easy living in this house where people viewed her as the enemy. But Lucas seemed happy to be here. She owed it to her son to make this work.
Jordan had yet to show his face. He’d promised to leave her alone, but a word of welcome would have been reassuring. Now, as the twilight deepened around her, Angie couldn’t help feeling like a stranger, unwelcome and unwanted.
Jordan paused in the shadowed doorway, studying Angie where she stood against the wrought-iron balustrade. She wore a simple turquoise sheath with flat-soled shoes. A white cardigan wrapped her against the evening chill.
For a moment Jordan found himself wishing he could erase the past, stride forward and meet her for the first time. But that was fantasy. Reality was Justin’s absence and Justin’s child—and the misstep that had changed everything.
Stepping into the light, he cleared his throat. “So here you are. Dinner’s on the table. Where’s Lucas?”
“Lucas had a bowl of cereal and went to sleep an hour ago. It’s been a long day for him.”
“Is he all right with the move?”
Her laugh sounded strained. “As far as Lucas is concerned, this place might as well be Disneyland. I’ve never seen him so excited.”
“And how about you?” As she fell into step beside him, Jordan checked the impulse to brush a hand across the small of her back.
“This isn’t about me. I’m here for my son.”
“I didn’t bring you here to punish you, Angie. What do you need?”
“Time, maybe. It’s not your job to make me happy, Jordan. I’m a big girl. I can work things out for myself.”
They’d reached the stone steps that descended to the patio. As she moved ahead, her perfume drifted up to him—a light floral fragrance with a sexy undertone that slammed into his senses, spinning him back in time.
He’d only meant to comfort her that night in his car. But before he knew it the situation had grown too hot to handle. By the time his fingers brushed Angie’s bare thigh, Jordan’s manly urges had taken over. Hang the consequences, he’d wanted her.
Angie’s blistering slap had brought him back to his senses. He’d deserved her rebuke that night, and he’d done his best to accept it as a lesson learned.
But the sweet, hot feel of her had burned into his memory—and into his conscience. Now the damage was done, and there could be no going back.
“I need to apologize for waking you up last night,” she said. “I’d have waited till morning, but after that scare—”
“No, you did the right thing. And you didn’t wake me up. I was just … busy.”
“Oh.” There was a world of knowing in that single syllable.
“I’d have shown up this morning to help you move, but I had some important business in town. I only just got home.”
“Business.” She shook her head. “Justin always said your business was the great love of your life. He claimed that sometimes it was all he could do to drag you away from your desk to spend time with him and your parents.”
They’d entered the older, central part of the house. The living room had been left dark, but lamplight glowed through the open door of the dining room on the far side.
“There’s more than one way to see to family,” Jordan said. “If it weren’t for my investment business, we’d be selling off parcels of land to keep this place solvent. Picture ugly housing tracts in all directions.” He paused, dismissing the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
Jordan’s smile was forced. Just being with Angie ripped open old wounds, probably as much for her as for him. They were both playacting tonight, making believe the past didn’t exist. But how long could they keep up the pretense before the masks fell away?
The hand-hewn table was medieval in size, a relic of the days when the ranch had entertained flocks of guests. Tonight Angie and Jordan sat alone at the end nearest the kitchen, eating chicken and sausage paella with crisp green salad and red wine. Carlos, Marta’s shy young nephew who’d served the meal, had been friendly. But, then, he hadn’t been here four years ago, Angie reminded herself. Odds were he and Justin would never have met.
Her gaze shifted to her dining partner. She’d never had a problem telling Justin and Jordan apart, mostly because of how they’d behaved toward her. But tonight, with Jordan making an effort to be pleasant, the resemblance was uncanny. Except for the awkwardness that hung between them, it could’ve been Justin sitting across from her, smiling and making small talk.
“My calendar’s clear for tomorrow,” he said. “I was thinking Lucas would like to see more of the ranch—with you along, of course.”
Hadn’t he resolved to keep his distance? Angie squelched the urge to argue. Lucas, she knew, would love an outing. “What a coincidence. My calendar’s clear, too,” she said.
“I know you’ve ridden a little. We can take horses up to the springs for a picnic. You’ll want to hold Lucas on your lap, but I’ve got a gentle old mare that’ll be fine