Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon. Sandra Steffen

the hell kind of answer is that?”

      Brittany took a fortifying breath and willed herself to refrain from saying what she was thinking. Taking the utmost care to instill her voice with patience, she said, “What are you doing here tonight, Nick? I thought you said you weren’t coming until Monday.”

      Nick ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the man with the silver ponytail and handlebar mustache. What was he doing here? There was a question. Turning his attention back to Brittany, he thought a better one would have been How did he ever let her go? Suddenly he felt very tired, and very alone.

      Releasing a pent-up breath, he said, “I cleared up everything back home and took off a couple of days early. How are you, Brittany? And how’s Savannah?”

      There was nothing Brittany could do to keep her heart from sliding into her stomach. Angry, Nick Colter was a force to be reckoned with. Nice, he was almost impossible to resist. Fighting valiantly to do just that, she gave in to a heartfelt sigh. “I’m fine, Nick. And so is Savannah. She fell asleep a little while ago. She’s going to be tickled to see you.”

      Leading the way to a table on the far side of the room, she felt the eyes of half the people in town, yet she was more aware of Nick’s gaze following her every move. He’d always been able to undress her with his eyes. No matter what else had gone wrong between them, her husband had always been an earthy, virile man. Her soon-to-be ex-husband, she reminded herself. Training her eyes on her six-year-old daughter’s dark head nestled in the hollow of Crystal Galloway’s shoulder, Brittany hurried through the crowd.

      “Well, well,” Crystal exclaimed, watching them advance. “Who have we here?”

      Hoping her friend would attribute this sudden attack of breathlessness on her brisk trek across the room, Brittany said, “Crystal, this is Nick Colter. Savannah’s father.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Nick said.

      With delicate eyebrows arched knowingly, Crystal extended her right hand. Nick shook it, but strangely, his fingers didn’t linger.

      Crystal smiled. “Charmed I’m sure.”

      Brittany glanced up at Nick. She’d been wondering how he would react to Crystal. She wasn’t jealous. It just so happened that she thought the world of her new friend. But Crystal was gorgeous. And men always noticed, which made them easy targets for her flirtations. Nick’s attention had already shifted back to her as if seeing a buxom blonde with startling green eyes was no big deal. Brittany absolutely, positively forbade herself to melt.

      “Taste this punch, Brittany,” Crystal said, holding up a paper cup.

      Thankful to have something to do with her hands, Brittany lifted the cup to her lips. Two hours ago the punch had been sweet. Now, it warmed a path from her throat to her stomach where it curled outward in waves.

      She glanced around the room, suddenly understanding the reason why the noise level was bordering on a dull roar. The punch was spiked. From the depth and heartiness of the men’s guffaws and the silliness of the women’s laughter, it had been that way for some time.

      “Can you believe Isabell missed it?” Crystal asked, pointing to a gray-haired woman who bore an amazing likeness to the cartoon character Olive Oyl, and was twittering louder than anybody else.

      Brittany smiled at the spectacle Isabell Pruitt and Opal Graham, two of the staunchest leaders of the Jasper Gulch Ladies Aid Society, were making from the center of the dance floor. “It looks like they’ve made up,” she said, thinking of all the months it had been since the former best friends had spoken. Cheeks flushed and chins bobbing, they moved their hands and shook their hips in a manner that looked very little like the dance they were trying to do.

      “Isabell and Opal doing the Bunny Hop. Now there’s one for your history books, Brittany,” Crystal declared.

      “Everybody’s getting sloshed,” Nick said, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can. “Reminds me of your senior prom. Somebody spiked the punch that night, too. Remember?”

      Brittany didn’t intend to meet his eyes. Once she had, she couldn’t look away. He was gazing at her much as he had that night all those years ago. He’d been young and defiant then. He wasn’t much different now. Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol that night. Brittany had felt intoxicated without it, drunk on whimsy and on love.

      Nick had rented a tux for the prom, when she knew darn well he couldn’t afford it. Nick Colter had always been proud, had always been intent upon impressing her. What he’d never understood was that he didn’t have to try to impress her. She’d been a girl on the brink of womanhood. He’d been the first boy to kiss her with his tongue, the first boy to touch her breasts, the first boy to make her heart speed up and her breathing deepen. She could practically hear the rasp her dress zipper had made as he’d lowered it after the prom. She could practically feel that first touch of his hand on her naked skin. She’d been so certain he’d loved her, and so filled with the vehemence of youth. They’d managed to keep from going all the way that night. But they’d both known it was only a matter of time.

      She came back to the present slowly. Nick was breathing through his mouth, a muscle working in one cheek much the way it had when he’d walked her to her door that night all those years ago. She still sighed when she thought about how reluctant she’d been to allow the night to end.

      Crystal cleared her throat, reminding Brittany that she and Nick weren’t alone. “How old were you two when you met?” Crystal asked.

      “Brittany was seventeen,” Nick answered. “I was two years older.”

      “You went together for a long time, didn’t you? You must have known each other pretty well.”

      Brittany didn’t know how to answer. She’d thought she’d known him. As the years had gone by, she’d begun to realize that knowing someone wasn’t always enough. Suddenly feeling as if she could use a stiff drink herself, she gave herself a mental shake and said, “I should take Savannah home.”

      She reached for their child, but Nick beat her there. It required little effort to lift Savannah into his arms. She was petite like her mother, but he pretended to stagger beneath her weight. “She’s grown.”

      Brittany nodded. “She just turned six.”

      Nick knew how old his little girl was. He remembered every detail of the night she was born, just as he remembered every detail of the night she was conceived.

      She stirred, smiling at him before her eyes had completely opened. “Daddy.”

      “Hi, Savannah-banana.”

      “Are you still mad at Mommy and me?” she asked.

      Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. “I was angry, Savannah, but never at you or Mommy.”

      He was almost glad when Brittany didn’t meet his gaze, not that she was fooling him with the way she pretended that all her attention was trained on getting Savannah into a small red coat. She was aware of the strong emotions between them, and so was he.

      A helluva lot more people noticed Nick’s exit than had noticed his entry into the room. He could practically hear the speculation behind their stares. After all, he was leaving with a beautiful woman who happened to be his wife.

      “Where’s your car?” he asked from the top step.

      Brittany went down to the sidewalk before answering. “I came with Crystal.”

      It was the end of March, and officially spring. A person couldn’t prove it by the snow clinging to the ground or the wind cutting through his clothing. Anxious to get Savannah and Brittany inside where it was safe and warm, Nick said, “Come on, my car’s over here.”

      He made short work of the drive to Custer Street, thanks to Brittany’s simple directions. Her house was located in the middle of the block on one of the streets that didn’t have a sign. He’d driven past it