Because of Jane. Lenora Worth

the Indian summer sun hitting the dusty clay at her feet.

      And of course, her low blood-sugar dizziness chose that very moment to kick in, making her vision get fuzzy and her legs turn to mush. Should have had some protein, Jane thought belatedly.

      “Are you all right?” he asked, meeting her disoriented gaze with one of his own, his whole stance so domineering and formidable, she could understand why he’d put fear in the hearts of opponents all across America.

      “I was talking to myself,” Jane said, rather defensively. Don’t let him smell any fear. Because she absolutely was not afraid. Anxious to get on with it, maybe. Determined to change his life, definitely. But not afraid. But being nervous was a good thing. It kept her on her toes. She’d faced down worse subjects. But never one who looked so…tempting.

      Just to prove she was capable of overcoming temptation, she added, “I like to talk out loud. It helps me to remember things.”

      He grinned, showing a row of million-dollar white teeth set against the aged tan of his face. “Well, then, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, answer yourself.”

      Flustered but not defeated, Jane waved a hand in the air then regained her balance. “I’m not that far gone yet.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      She watched as he whipped a spiffy cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans and hit a key. “Marcus, you’re fired.” Then Lenny popped the phone shut, put his gun against the big oak and headed toward her, lifting her tight, efficiently packed suitcase with all the ease of a gorilla.

      “You must be way gone, lady, to come all the way here after I specifically told my fool of an agent to stop you.” Hoisting the suitcase with one hand, he started toward the house. “For the record—I don’t want you here.”

      “You didn’t just fire your agent, did you?”

      “I did.” He kept walking. “But I fire him once a week for good measure anyway.”

      She registered his expected hostility and denial. Nothing a little behavior modification and open discussion couldn’t fix. “That’s terrible. But at least you know who I am and why I’m here.”

      He gave a short chuckle, his melancholy blue eyes flashing fire. “Oh, yeah, I know who you are, all right. And I can tell you right now, I do not need a life coach and I sure don’t need a stranger coming into my home to get it organized. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He shook his head at the notion, the skin around his eyes crinkling nicely as he smirked. “Life coach, my—”

      “You don’t want me here,” Jane interrupted, glad to be rid of the heavy suitcase and glad to get the nasty denials out of the way. Hurrying to catch up with his long-legged stroll, she added, “That is perfectly understandable, Mr. Paxton, but I can assure you, we will work through that.”

      “I’m Lenny, and it is not perfectly understandable,” he replied as he stomped on his battered boots toward the house. “I’ll put this in my Jeep and we’ll get you back on the road to Little Rock, because we don’t have anything to work through.”

      Jane stopped at the bottom step, looking up at where he’d dropped her suitcase amid an old pile of pots and pans on the gray-colored, planked porch floor. “I’m not leaving. Your agent said the judge who presided over your last court hearing and arraignment—for cracking a few heads in a bar in Dallas—specifically said you needed a psychological evaluation. I can give you one and get that judge off your back at the same time. And maybe we can also work through getting this house and your life organized.”

      He turned to stare down at her with ice-hard disdain. In spite of his freezing look, more sweat beads popped out down her backbone. His voice went deceptively low. “No, you’re not going to analyze me, Ms. Harper. And, yes, you are leaving.”

      “I can’t,” Jane replied. “I promised your agent we’d get you in shape for that big endorsement contract. You know, the one with certain stipulations—the first being that you show up sober for the preliminary photo session and press conference and you don’t try to back out on the contract that you technically already signed.”

      LENNY DECIDED he didn’t want to play this game after all. “I didn’t want to sign that contract,” he retorted, his reasons for bolting too raw and harsh to explain to this perky stranger. “And I did not agree to this stupid idea that Marcus and some judge concocted about cleaning up my act.”

      Then he looked out at the autumn-tinged mountains beyond this quiet valley, wondering why he even bothered to explain. She wouldn’t care about his newfound insecurities and fears. And he was too much of a man to spill his ugly history to anyone, let alone some skinny shrink who was probably only here to garner a mention in the press, just like everyone else who shadowed him.

      “And not that it matters, but I was not drunk that day of the press conference and photo shoot. The night in the bar, yes, but not the day of the press conference.”

      She put her dainty hands on her dainty hips, reminding Lenny of one of the pretty dolls his grandmother liked to collect. “That’s not how the tabloids saw things.”

      “Yeah, well, the tabloids lie.” He shifted, let out a grunt. “I don’t need you here, Ms. Harper.”

      She stared at him with so much clinical intensity, he actually got nervous. “You know something, Lenny, you’re an amazing specimen of manhood. So completely male, the testosterone is bouncing off you like laser rays.”

      “Glad you noticed,” he said with a lift of his chin. And a testosterone-filled angry glare.

      Score one for Lenny. She touched a hand to her burnished hair, while an equally burnished blush moved down her throat. “All of that aside, you’ve made a mess of things. You need a life coach.”

      He said something crude then shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I do. I am perfectly fine and I wish my superagent could get that through his thick California skull.”

      “He’s concerned about—”

      “He’s concerned about the money,” Lenny said, coming down the steps to take her briefcase and tote. He handily tossed them up beside her carry-on, oblivious to the crinkle and crash of her files and personal items. “He doesn’t want the Lenny Paxton gravy train to end. And I’m pretty sure it’s my money he’s offering you to come here for this exclusive therapy session.”

      “I wouldn’t exactly look at it that way,” she said through a cringe of distaste. “He just hates to see you wasting away.”

      He lifted his hands then winked at her to hide the bulletlike accuracy of her words. “Do I look like I’m wasting away?”

      Looking appalled and attractive, she shook her head. “You look okay. Maybe a little out of shape and you do have dark circles under your eyes. But we can fix that with diet and exercise and meditation, and in just a few weeks.”

      “A few weeks?” Lenny stomped a foot against the wooden steps, causing caked mud to fall away from his boots. He couldn’t handle this kind of talk for that long. “You’re not serious?”

      “I’m very serious. I came to stay for the duration, since part of my assignment is to go through this place and get it in tip-top shape. Usually it takes about a month, but I’m prepared to stay longer if necessary.” Then she leaned forward like a mighty little warrior. “You see, it’s not so much about the clutter in the house, but more about the clutter in your head.”

      He put his hands on his hips then nailed her with what sports reporters called the Paxton Scowl. “Meditation? You’re really serious?”

      She smiled prettily. “Very.”

      He scowled nastily. “Really?”

      “Really.”

      “We’ll just see about that. I’d hate to resort to shooting a woman.”

      Her