From Mission To Marriage. Lyn Stone

make that very clear.”

      “Consanguinity?” He knew what the word meant, of course, but what the hell was she talking about?

      “Oh yeah,” she said with a chuckle. “No relatives considered, goes without saying. Also, I can’t marry within my own clan whether there are blood ties or not. Usually there are, to some degree, but it’s not a problem.”

      “Yet you aren’t married,” he observed. “Must cut down on the number of potential candidates.”

      “Not really. There are seven clans to choose from. But I’ve never felt the urge to go looking.”

      “Why not?” And why did he insist on prying into her life as if it were any of his business?

      She shot him a saucy look. “Ambition outweighed lust. Simple as that.”

      That raised his eyebrows. “A virgin, at your age?” God, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He bit his tongue. “Sorry.”

      She laughed again, this time a low, seductive sound that sent a ripple of desire straight to his groin. “I never claimed that,” she quipped as she wheeled around a curve and pulled up in front of a two-story log house. “But they probably think so, so let’s end that topic before we get out of the car.”

      She tooted the horn, unfastened her seat belt and opened the door all in what seemed one motion, exiting before Clay could pry any further.

      Not that he would. What business of his was it if she had a lover? He didn’t even want her to tell him. He’d known the woman barely half a day and had already violated every rule he’d ever made about conversations with the fairer sex.

      He couldn’t get over how different she was from every woman he had ever known, how off balance he felt around her. This was not good, and still he knew he would seek her out again, even if something separated them right this minute. If Mercier recalled him and ordered him never to come back here, Clay knew he would disobey orders just to see her, to explore this weird, unsettling connection or whatever it was. It made no sense at all.

      “Hey, Du-da, my man! What’s cooking?” Clay heard her cry as she took the stone steps two at a time. He watched as she embraced a gray-haired man who was frowning at Clay over her shoulder.

      This wasn’t what Clay had expected. The house impressed him with its charm, slate roof and sturdy construction. The Walkers weren’t poor, that was for sure.

      Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze. Oak rocking chairs and a swing graced the porch. The view up here was fantastic, the air sweet, the landscape lush even this late in the year.

      The old man didn’t fit Clay’s preconceived image, either. Though probably pushing seventy, he looked like an aging adventurer who kept in excellent shape.

      Vanessa turned and beckoned Clay up on the porch. “A-gi-du-da, this is Clay Senate, an agent from Virginia who has come to help me out on one of my cases.” Her manner was polite now, bordering on formal. “Clay Senate, meet my grandfather, John Walker.”

      Clay extended his hand and gripped the gnarled one, several shades darker than his own. “Mr. Walker, my pleasure.”

      “Welcome,” the man said simply. No questions, just as Vanessa had promised. Well, none yet, anyway.

      “Where’s E-ni-si, in the kitchen?” Vanessa asked, linking her arm with her grandfather’s. The man grunted and nodded, gesturing for them to accompany him inside.

      Clay held the door for both of them and entered last. Vanessa threw him a reassuring smile over her shoulder. “Smell that? Du-da’s been cooking it out back in the pit for a couple of days. Mouths are watering in the next county, I bet.”

      The grandmother stood in the doorway of the kitchen regarding Clay with frank curiosity. She was a beautiful woman, probably around sixty-five, though her face was virtually unlined and her hair barely striped with strands of silver. This was how Vanessa would look in about forty years, Clay thought. He offered the woman his best smile.

      “Clay Senate, my grandmother, Rebecca Walker,” Vanessa said. “E-ni-si, Clay and I will be working at Cherokee for a week or two, at least until the festival.”

      “Then you both must stay here,” the woman said with a decisive nod. “Please make yourself at home, Mr. Senate. We will feed you first, then my granddaughter will show you where you will sleep.” Then she looked directly at her husband, a question in her eyes. The old man shook his head.

      Clay assumed the unspoken query had to do with his reason for being here, that he had not come to offer for their beloved Vanessa. He experienced a surprising little stab of regret at their obvious disappointment. He seriously doubted Vanessa brought many men here, probably for that very reason.

      A sharp tug on the back hem of his jacket distracted him. Clay turned slowly, expecting to see a dog. Instead it was a child. Bright brown eyes peered up at him, disappeared behind impossibly long black lashes for a blink, then reappeared. “You Daddy?” she whispered.

      Clay’s heart melted. He squatted to her level to answer. “No, not Daddy. My name is Clay.”

      She frowned. “Like red dirt?”

      He smiled. “That’s right.”

      She poked her pink-clad chest. “I’m Dilly.”

      He nodded. “Delinda. Like beautiful?”

      She smiled back. “That’s right.”

      Vanessa scooped her up in a hug and swung her around. “Hey, squirt. What’s happening?”

      “Bitsy had kittens. You wanna see?” She twisted in Vanessa’s arms and craned her neck at an impossible angle to include Clay. “You can come, too, but you can’t touch ’em.”

      “I promise,” Clay assured her. He had never met a cat he liked and touching one was about the last thing he would want. Still, he followed Vanessa to one of the outbuildings with her little cousin riding on her shoulders, listening as they sang a silly little song about counting cats.

      “She’s charming,” he commented to Vanessa as the little girl squatted to run her fingers over the mother cat’s head. “So she lives with your grandparents?”

      “Not all the time. She stays the weekends with my cousin Cody and his wife, Jan. Cody is Brenda’s brother. When I take a few days off, Dilly stays with me.”

      “Who has custody of her?” Clay asked.

      Vanessa frowned. “We do. All of us.” Then she shrugged. “Oh, if you mean legally, on the books, Cody and Jan, but they both work. I guess when she starts school, she’ll stay with them most of the time since they live in town. For now, though, this is a good place for her to spend the bulk of her time.”

      Clay could not imagine the child not having a permanent home. Strange that he should feel such an affinity for this kid, only having just met her. Maybe it was because they had something in common—mothers who had died too soon.

      “She’s lucky to have family,” he said, wondering what it would have been like if he had been absorbed into his mother’s tribe after her death. For one thing, he probably wouldn’t be feeling like such an outcast at the moment.

      “Here,” Dilly whispered, rubbing his hand with a tiny ball of fur. “Don’t squeeze, though.”

      Instinctively, Clay opened his hand and accepted the tiny white kitten as she laid it in the palm of his hand. “I thought you said we couldn’t touch them.”

      She tilted her head to one side, her small fists resting on her jean-clad hips. Then she reached up and placed her small hand on his wrist, just touching. “Me and Bitsy trust you. Put her back at her mommy’s tummy when you get done. That’s her dinner.” In a bouncing flash of pink and denim, she skipped away and disappeared.

      Vanessa relieved him of the wriggling fuzzy kitten and placed it back in the nest with