The Texan's Honor-Bound Promise. Peggy Moreland

her into the water.

      “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she muttered and snatched her hand from his. She sank onto the circular bench opposite him. Jets churned the warm water around her, making her skin tingle and the underwater lights dance beneath the surface.

      With a contented sigh he dipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Heaven, huh?”

      “It does feel good,” she said, willing to concede only that much.

      “Nothing eases sore muscles faster than a good soak in a spa. Other than a full-fledged massage,” he amended, then lifted his head to peer at her through one eye. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me one?”

      The smile she offered him was saccharine-sweet. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

      “I’d return the favor.”

      She shook her head, then couldn’t help but laugh when he slid beneath the water, his face a mask of dejection.

      Moments later he reemerged, slicking his hair back from his face.

      She lifted a brow. “Kind of shallow for swimming, don’t you think?”

      He blinked the water from his eyes. “Wasn’t trying to swim. I was checking out your legs.”

      She snatched her knees up and hugged them against her breasts. “If I’d known you’d invited me out here to ogle me, I would’ve stayed inside.”

      His smile smug, he reared back, splaying his arms along the spa’s stone edge again. “Honey, me ogling you is the least of your worries.”

      She tried to frown but couldn’t help but laugh. Pushing out a hand, she shot a spray of water at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

      “No,” he corrected, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m just a man who recognizes a pretty woman when he sees one.”

      “Much more of your bull, and I’ll need boots.”

      He shot her a wink. “No bull, ma’am. Just fact.”

      Deciding it best to ignore him, she slid farther down the wall of the tub and propped her feet against the bench opposite her, wanting to take advantage of the spa’s therapeutic effects. The new position aimed jets of water at her upper back and shoulders, pulsing away at the tension knotted there. She would have purred her pleasure, but she refused to give Sam the opportunity to say I told you so.

      “Tell me about your family,” he said after a moment.

      She opened her eyes wide enough to narrow them at him. “Why?”

      “It might give me some insight into what’s troubling Craig.”

      At the mention of her nephew she sat up, frowning thoughtfully as she swept her hair up to knot it on top of her head. “We don’t have much family left. You already know about my father and brother. My mother died about five years ago, which just leaves Craig, Patrice and me.”

      “How did your mother die?”

      “The official ruling was suicide, but I prefer to believe she grieved herself to death.”

      “Over the loss of your father?”

      Uncomfortable with the subject, she plucked a leaf from the bubbling water, trying to think how best to answer.

      He lifted a brow at the action.

      “That’s not being anal,” she informed him and dropped the leaf over the side of the tub. “It would end up in the filter anyway, which I have to clean out. I was just saving myself some time.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      Flattening her lips, she directed the conversation back to his question. “And yes, my mother never got over losing my father. She never gave up hope, either. She always believed he’d come home some day.”

      “Was Craig close to her?”

      She shook her head. “No. Mom was so consumed with finding my dad she didn’t have time for much else.”

      “She searched for him?”

      “She didn’t go to Vietnam, if that’s what you mean. But she spent hours and hours combing through reports about POWs and MIAs, hoping to find some mention or reference of my dad.” Knowing what most people thought of her mother’s obsession, she grimaced. “You probably think she was crazy.”

      “Not in the least. A woman who loved her husband as deeply as your mother obviously did deserves my admiration, not my scorn.”

      Though surprised by his response, she didn’t pursue it, as she preferred not to talk about her parents. “Tell me about your family,” she said instead.

      “Not much to tell. I’m an only child. My parents divorced when I was fifteen. Dad moved to Atlanta, remarried and has three kids.”

      She gave him a chiding look. “And you said you didn’t have siblings.”

      “Since I’ve never been allowed to see or talk to them, I don’t consider them siblings.”

      “You’ve never even seen them?” she asked incredulously.

      “Nope. My stepmother’s rule. She likes to pretend I don’t exist, that my dad’s life began when he married her.”

      “And he puts up with that?”

      “Not entirely. He and I get together a couple of times a year. At a neutral location,” he added.

      “Never at their home.”

      Stunned, she sank back against the tile wall. “What a bitch.”

      “You won’t get an argument out of me.”

      “What about your mother?” she asked after a moment. “Where is she?”

      “In Seattle. Moved there after I graduated from high school. According to her, that was as far away from Dad as she could get without falling into the ocean.”