Dedicated To Deirdre. Anne Marie Winston

pressing his lips together to prevent the chuckle that was trying to escape. “But I know another way to put out a small fire like this. Want me to show you?”

      “Okay!” Both little boys stepped back as he stood.

      “Fire needs air to breathe, just like you do,” he explained. “I’m going to step on it, keep it from getting any air, until it dies.”

      “Can we help?”

      “Sure.” Anything to get that fire out before it realized how much prime fuel surrounded it. “One, two, three, stomp!” And as he did, he slipped the magnifying glass into his pocket. Where in the heck was their mother, and what was she thinking, to be letting them try a dangerous stunt like this?

      It didn’t take much convincing to get the boys interested in a ride in the truck—another issue he’d mention to their mother. He boosted them in and drove on down the lane to the house, parking in the graveled area next to the old barn. As he lifted each child from the truck, a battered green Bronco came jouncing across the pasture farthest from him. As it neared, he saw Deirdre was driving. She looked scared and upset—until she saw the children. Then her expression changed to pure fury.

      She was out of the Bronco almost before it slid to a stop. “Where were you?” she demanded. “I specifically told you to stay in the yard.” Her pretty, heart-shaped face was stern, and she tapped her foot as she waited for an answer.

      Ronan was fascinated. He’d thought the phrase, “Vibrated with anger,” was a figurative description until now.

      “But the yawd bums,” Tommy offered.

      “Yeah, we didn’t want to start a big fire,” said Lee.

      “A fire?” Her green eyes grew round. “Where did you get matches? What did you set fire to? Is it still burning?”

      Ronan cleared his throat as he reached into his pocket, offering her the magnifying lens. “The intrepid scouts here didn’t need matches. I helped them put it out.”

      “You’re kidding.” She took the item from him as if it might bite. “You actually started a fire with this?” she said to the boys.

      “Yep!” Tommy, less experienced at reading his mother’s ire, swelled with pride.

      She didn’t miss a beat. “And is it okay to play with fire?”

      Both children visibly sagged. Small voices muttered, “No.”

      “That’s right,” she said. “And what’s the rule about fire?”

      “There has to be a grown-up with us.” The older boy looked chastened—but not exactly sorry.

      “And what happens when you don’t follow the rules?”

      As one, two little faces fell, and they turned toward the house. “Go to our rooms,” they said in mournful unison.

      “I’ll let you know when you can come out,” she called after them. Then she turned to Ronan. “Mr. Sullivan, I don’t know what to say, except thank you again.” She sighed, looking at the magnifying glass and shaking her head. “They can find things to get into that I’ve never even thought of.”

      He couldn’t suppress his grin any longer. “They were pretty proud of that trick.”

      She shuddered. “Thank God you came along when you did. I went the other way to look for them because that creek is like a magnet. I was sure they were down there.” She slipped the lens into her own pocket. “You know, if you decide to stay here, you’ll have to put up with them.”

      He chuckled. “They aren’t so bad. Just lively.”

      “You can say that again.” She shook her head in exasperation and blew out a breath as she shoved stray black curls out of her peripheral vision. Pointing to the stable as she began to walk, she indicated that he should follow her. “I’m sure you’ll think twice about this apartment when you see it. I’ve been planning to fix it up, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. As I said, it needs a lot of work.”

      “I don’t mind work,” he said mildly.

      “And Butler County isn’t exactly a hotbed of social events. You’ll have to drive back into Baltimore for any kind of nightlife.”

      “Definitely not high on my list.” The thought of social events led like an electrical current through a chain of thought that halted at the first time he’d ever met this woman. As he followed her into the barn and up a flight of stairs, he could almost see her sitting in a pool of candlelight, a strained, obviously false smile pasted on her pretty face.

      The social event had been the annual Christmas party for the office employees of Bethlehem Steel. His cousin Arden, being between boyfriends, had invited him. He hadn’t had any plans, so he’d agreed to go. They were seated at dinner by name cards, eight to a table. He and Arden had been paired with one of the company vice presidents and his wife, the vice president’s executive secretary and her husband, and Deirdre and Nelson Patten, who was another top executive.

      Drink had flowed freely during dinner, too freely, and Patten had gotten slurring and stupid, well before the end of the meal. His wife had sat in embarrassed silence, eyes on her plate unless someone spoke directly to her.

      He’d been struck by her unusual beauty, unable to keep his eyes off her—and the first time she’d risen to visit the ladies’ room, he’d realized that she was heavily pregnant. He’d never thought pregnant women were particularly sexy, but his body seemed to forget that when he looked at Deirdre Patten.

      Even obviously unhappy, she was strikingly pretty, with soft roses blooming under the fair skin along her high cheekbones and big, long-lashed green eyes beneath strongly defined, arched brows. Her black hair was pulled back into a classic twist, but strands of it escaped to form a halo of curl around her head.

      The gown she wore was basic black, plain in contrast to some of the sequined atrocities that decorated some of the other party goers. But in his memory, the color had been the only thing basic about it. The dress had only two teeny, tiny straps, baring her creamy shoulders, showing off her delicate collarbones and her long, pale neck before molding itself to her breasts and falling over her belly nearly to the floor. It had a sort of stole around it that clipped in the front, right at her breasts, and though she was certainly far better covered than many, he could see that she was generously proportioned in that department. Most generously proportioned. At the time he’d wondered if that was due to her pregnancy, but now he plainly could see that she was still well endowed.

      The dancing had begun after dinner. He’d taken Arden onto the floor, and promptly lost her to the attentions of a young man. As he returned to his seat, he’d noticed Patten had taken to the dance floor, too. But instead of holding his lovely wife in his arms, he was wrapped in an indecently close embrace with the executive secretary, whose husband was nowhere to be seen. Deirdre sat alone at their table, a small, forced smile pinned into place, her head high.

      A real lady, he remembered thinking. He also remembered thinking that if she were his, the last place he’d be was in the arms of some other woman. Especially when she was pregnant. Any idiot knew women needed reassuring when their bodies were stretched out of shape and their waists were nothing but a memory. No, he’d have to take that back. Her idiot husband obviously didn’t know it.

      Ronan had taken the seat next to her, but he’d never been good at small talk. Why was it that he could think up dozens of glib lines for his characters to utter, and when he needed them, words always seemed to have dried up? Deirdre had sat beside him in silence, trying gamely to ignore her husband practically having sex with the woman on the dance floor.

      Around eleven o’clock the pair had disappeared altogether for a time. Arden had come floating by, whispering in his ear that this might just be The One, and would he mind very much if the fellow took her home, at which he’d laughed and told her to call him in a few days.

      He could have left then, but no power on earth would