Runaway Lone Star Bride. Cathy Gillen Thacker

pulse racing, Maggie quickly put the phone down. She sat forward in her chair and went back to tackling yet another prenuptial task for a client. And not a second too soon, either, as firm male footsteps and the sound of something being rolled—maybe a cart?— followed. Seconds later, a familiar face appeared in the portal.

      Maggie blinked at the sight of the ruggedly handsome ex-soldier. Although she and Hart had talked—or was it flirted?—from time to time on the phone when he “accidentally” called her extension, she’d never imagined what it might be like for them to actually come face-to-face again.

      “Hey.” Ignoring the jolt of excitement coursing through her, Maggie rushed to fill the awkward silence. “What are you doing here?” she asked cheerfully.

      Message or not, it wasn’t like Hart to just drop in. Particularly since he and his parents had barely been on speaking terms the last couple of years.

      In fact, things had been so tense between Hart and his folks since he had taken a job in Los Angeles that the two times Hart had returned to the ranch, Maggie’d taken advantage of the prior notice and arranged to visit her own family until Hart was gone.

      No such luck now, though, Maggie thought, still feeling a little embarrassed to square off with the man who had chased her down on what admittedly had been the worst day of her life. Not that Hart seemed to be thinking about that, Maggie noted cautiously. Or anything else remotely connected to her, thank heaven.

      Apparently oblivious to the conflicted feelings welling up within her, Hart faced her across the cluttered surface of her desk. Clad in an expensive olive green button-up, nice-fitting khaki pants and boots, he looked handsome and sexy. His sandy brown hair was still cut short enough to require little in the way of maintenance, although it was more stylish now. The taut, masculine angles of his face had been left unshaven. He also appeared unusually contained and exceptionally tired around the eyes, like he’d been travelling for what seemed forever to get there. Which, given the fact he accompanied his famous boss, Hollywood movie actress Monica Day, wherever her work took her, could certainly be the case.

      “I came to see my folks,” he said. Every taut inch of his tall, imposing frame was poised and ready in a way she’d never seen before. “Are they around?”

      Maggie studied the sticky-sweet smear of what looked like apple juice on the shoulder of his expensive shirt, and lower still, what looked like ground-in-cracker debris. Maybe it had been a long flight. Maybe he’d sat next to...well, what did it matter.

      Aware he was still in need of an answer, she said, “Ah—actually, no. Your mom and dad are on a cruise to New Zealand and Australia.”

      Briefly, Hart appeared stunned. “When will they be back?”

      Maggie shifted her gaze upward, over the strong suntanned neck, to his intense sable brown eyes. He had the same devastating impact on her that he’d had the first time they’d met. “Ten days.”

      His brow furrowed in a way that said he was anything but pleased about that.

      Maggie fought back her attraction and pushed on, “I gather you’ve got some time off, too?”

      “A little over two weeks, yeah.” He shrugged his broad shoulders restively. “I had something important—” He sighed. “I wanted to surprise them.”

      Maggie leaned back in her chair. “Well, you did that, all right.”

      He shoved a palm through his hair, looked around at the empty suite of rooms where The Wedding Train business was conducted. “I just assumed it being the height of the season, they’d be here.”

      Normally, they would have been, Maggie knew. Unfortunately, bookings were down almost twenty-five percent in the past two years. Sadly, for a lot of reasons, it wasn’t looking to get any better. Not that she planned to get into any of that with Hart, who made it a habit to stay as far away from the family business as possible. She watched him tilt his head, as if listening in the direction of the hallway beyond. For the first time she wondered if it was possible he wasn’t alone. Could he have brought a woman home to meet his folks? Was that part of the surprise? And if so, why did she suddenly have a pit in the bottom of her stomach?

      “When is the next event?” Hart asked softly.

      A brief rustling sound echoed in the silence of the hall.

      Maggie watched as Hart tensed even more and doubled back, toward the door. Brawny arms still folded in front of him, he stuck his head around the opening and peered out.

      “At the end of next week,” she said.

      She watched him frown, tense all the more, while still lingering there in the doorway looking at whatever was out there before finally turning back to her.

      Drawing a deep, stabilizing breath, Maggie gestured at the stack of ivory placards and calligraphy pens on her desk. “I’m prepping for the next wedding now.”

      He nodded. His expression indicated he wasn’t really interested in the details, but still he asked, “What about the rest of the staff? Where are they?”

      Another thorny question. There had previously been four full-time time employees in addition to herself and his parents, as well as a number of part-timers. “They still show up for events, but right now they are working other jobs,” Maggie said.

      “But you’re here.”

      As the lone person on staff who had so little personal life she could afford to be constantly on call, Maggie confirmed lightly, “Twenty-four, seven.”

      This caught his attention “You’re kidding, right? You’re not really still living here on the ranch?”

      Aware her accepting one of the guest suites at the sprawling ranch house had initially been only a temporary measure, Maggie said stiffly, “Hate to break it to you, but yeah, I am.”

      He looked her over critically, head to toe. “You do realize you can’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face the fallout of your ‘big mistake’ and rejoin the world.”

      Leave it to Hart to be hopelessly blunt. “Thank you, Dr. Ruth,” Maggie bit out sarcastically.

      Mischief sparkled in his dark brown eyes. “Funny, I would have thought you would’ve referenced Dr. Phil. But Dr. Ruth works.” He squinted. “You know you’re blushing.”

      Probably because I just referenced a renowned sex therapist instead of a relationship expert. Maggie winced. “You have that effect on me.”

      He gave her another long, steady look. “Get you all hot and bothered?”

      Ignoring the tautening of her nipples, she allowed sweetly, “Hot under the collar, maybe.”

      He chuckled, his eyes holding hers for a disreputably long moment. “I’m all for that, too.”

      Maggie held her breath to avoid releasing a wistful sigh. Reaction shimmered through her, along with a deep-seated need that had gone too many years without sating. The merriment in his eyes faded, replaced by something stronger, hotter, more provoking still.

      Then, without warning, there was another faint noise in the hall.

      Hart appeared to tense, and glanced in that direction again.

      Hopelessly curious, Maggie rose and moved around the desk. If Hart Sanders did have a ladylove out there, and he’d been in here flirting with her, she really would kick him in the shin.

      “What about you?” she asked casually, edging closer to the door. “Doesn’t Monica Day have her new movie debuting all over Europe soon? Won’t you be going with her to handle security?”

      Hart shifted, his warrior frame deliberately blocking her exit to the hall. “Which is something else I need to talk to my parents about,” he drawled.

      Then there were two things that had brought him back to Texas—giving Maggie more food for thought. Although why any of this should matter