Baby at his Door. Katherine Garbera

cows filling the air. Not like Manhattan.

      The pillow beneath her head was firm, not the cloud-like softness of her own goose-down pillow. The sheets were cotton, and she seemed to be wearing some sort of sleep shirt with buttons.

      She sat up, trying to identify the other person in the room. A familiar scent assailed her. Woodsy and masculine. An aftershave that was familiar to her but not her father’s.

      “Lydia? Are you awake?”

      The sheriff, Evan. The events of the night rushed back to her. She’d been in a wreck and instead of doing the smart thing and telling the truth, she’d concocted a story to cover herself. And not much of one at that.

      For the first time since her father had made public his intention to buy her a husband six months ago she felt free.

      She shrugged aside the feelings of melancholy and vulnerability and savored instead her newfound freedom.

      The neon glow of the clock on the nightstand said six-fifteen. The second time she’d wakened, she thought. The first time he’d awakened her, and it had been vague and annoying because she was so tired.

      This man wanted nothing from her. He didn’t care that she had a large sum of money tied to her. His concern for her safety came from the genuine goodness inside him. He was a tough-looking character, but he had a good heart. She’d noticed that not only in the way he’d dealt with her, but also in how he interacted with the other professionals at the accident scene.

      “Yes, Sheriff, I am.”

      He made a tsking sound and walked over to the bed. A click and then the bedside light was on. “I thought we agreed you’d call me Evan?”

      He looked rumpled and sleepy, and she wanted to open her arms, pull back the covers and invite him to rest his weary body next to hers. Some deep primal instinct made her want to comfort him. “You’re right—Evan.”

      “That’s better,” he said, caressing her cheek.

      His touch sent shivers of awareness coursing through her veins. The electric pulses were the forerunners of desire, Lydia thought, with no small shock. She’d never felt desire before this evening. Never wanted a man to linger when he caressed or kissed her. She enjoyed the touch and resented its loss when Evan pulled back.

      “I’m going to have to head out soon to start the morning chores before going into town. You can take today off and start that job at the office tomorrow. My father will wake you in two hours to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

      He liked to give orders, Lydia realized.

      “Yes, sir,” she said, with a tinge of disrespect.

      “Does your mouth ever get you into trouble?” he asked.

      “Not anything I can’t handle,” she said, feeling flirty from his touch. Would he caress her again if she sat up? Could she tempt him into kissing her?

      She sat, letting the top sheet drop to her waist. His gaze skimmed down her body lingering over the curve of her breast before he looked away.

      “I’m sure,” he said, walking to the door.

      “Evan.”

      He glanced back over his shoulder; cloaked as he was in the shadows spilling from the opening doorway, his expression was inscrutable.

      “Sorry.”

      He crossed back to her, taking her shoulders in his hands, he leaned her back against the pillow. He pulled the sheet up to her neck, and his hands lingered on her body. She wanted to wriggle around and bring his touch closer to the aching parts of her body.

      “Don’t tease me, Lydia. I’ll take what you’re offering and give you back passion like you’ve never found before.”

      “I wasn’t teasing.”

      “What were you doing?”

      “I don’t know. But your touch…”

      “Yes?”

      “Your touch is like the sweetest imported chocolate I’ve ever had. One that I savored for months, coming back time and again for a tiny lick. I wanted one more lick.”

      “Not right now,” he said.

      “No, not right now,” she agreed.

      He walked to the door again. Just as he stepped into the hallway, she leaned up on her elbow. “Evan, I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with just one lick.”

      “Neither will I,” he said and disappeared.

      “There’s a woman in the house.”

      Evan didn’t look up from putting his tack away. “Yes, Dad, there is.”

      “Why?” Payne asked.

      “She had a wreck last night avoiding one of our cows.” Evan closed the tack-room door and started up toward the house. His father fell into step beside him. Evan watched the old man from the corner of his eye. He wondered if Payne ever got lonely living out here with just Evan and ranch hands for company.

      “We’ve got insurance,” Payne said, interrupting his thoughts.

      Evan nodded. “She has a head injury.”

      “Concussion?” Payne asked as they entered the kitchen. Both men stopped to kick off their boots. One of Evan’s mother’s lingering edicts. No dirty boots in the house. She’d been dead for over twenty years, but they still wouldn’t track muck into her kitchen.

      “I don’t think so. But we couldn’t be sure.”

      “That’s good. When’s she leaving?”

      “She’s broke. I’m going to put her to work at the sheriff’s office until she has enough money to pay off her car.”

      “Do you know what you’re doing, son?”

      Evan nodded.

      “She looks a little like Shanna.”

      “I know.”

      “See that you remember that.”

      Evan started breakfast trying to forget what his father’s words meant.

      Shanna had been spoiled, and though she’d loved him at school, his hometown had been too much for her. She’d begged him to move back to D.C. with her. To go back to working with the FBI when it became apparent that ranch life wasn’t what she’d envisioned. But he hadn’t loved her enough to leave his family and his home. Nor had she.

      He’d been a mess when Shanna had left him for the bright lights of D.C. But Evan had learned that lesson. He didn’t need a reminder. Fooling around with Lydia was all he had in mind. And that was more dreaming than anything else. If she stayed here, there were Payne and a dozen ranch hands to act as chaperones.

      The two Powell men sat down to a cold cereal breakfast without speaking. The silence was comfortable to them and they both enjoyed it for their own reasons.

      The phone interrupted breakfast, and Payne, closest to the wall unit, reached out his long arm to answer it. He nodded to Evan. Evan took the call in the other room.

      “What’s up, Hobbs?”

      “I ran the description of the car and the lady last night and nothing came up.”

      “Okay, we’ll look into it when I come down this afternoon.”

      Lydia passed by the doorway as Evan hung up the phone. “Lydia?”

      “Yes?” she said.

      He saw that the lights last night hadn’t fooled him, she was even more beautiful in the pure light of day. Her icy blond hair was pulled into a chignon. He knew it wasn’t a bun because his mother had explained women’s hairstyles to him when he was a boy.

      “We