His By Any Means. Maureen Child

into a hall closet, pulled out a heavy black coat and slipped into it, covering herself up so thoroughly, Sage’s brain was able to kick back into gear.

      She stepped onto the porch, locked her front door, then joined him with another smile. “Shall we go?”

      And he knew at that moment, when her blue eyes were staring into his, that this night was not going to go according to plan.

      At the restaurant, Sage was grateful for the clink of fine crystal and the murmured conversations that reminded him they were in a public place. Otherwise he might have been in trouble. She was damned distracting, sitting across from him.

      “This is lovely,” she said, turning her head to look around the interior of Moscone’s Italian restaurant. It was filled with small round tables, covered in white linen and each boasting a single candle in the center. A sleek black-and-chrome bar stood along one wall and Italian arias played softly over the loudspeaker. The floors were tile, the waiters were all in white aprons and the scents filling the air were amazing. “I’ve never been here before.”

      “Food’s good,” Sage mused. “But they’re going to have some serious competition when the Lassiter Grill opens up.” Damn. He could hardly get words past the knot of need in his throat. Sage took a sip of the wine the waiter had poured just moments before.

      “It was really nice of you to bring me here,” she said, “but it wasn’t necessary. We could have talked at my house.”

      But then she wouldn’t have worn the dress. Sage shifted uncomfortably on the black leather bench seat. He hadn’t expected to spend the night in agony, but apparently he was going to. And just by looking at her, he knew she had absolutely no idea what she was doing to him. He had to take back control of this situation or he was going to achieve nothing.

      “What can you tell me?” he asked, blurting the question out to divert himself from the thoughts plaguing him.

      “Anything you want to know.”

      Like if you talked an old man into leaving you money? Did you steer him away from giving Angelica the company she loves? Did you wear that damn dress on purpose, knowing what it would do to me?

      Couldn’t start with those questions, though...could he? His brain scrambled, coming up with a different way to begin.

      “First tell me about you. How long have you been a nurse?” Good. Get her talking. Then later, once she’d relaxed her guard, he’d be able to slide the more important questions in.

      She took a sip of wine and he watched, hypnotized by the movement in her throat as she swallowed. Not good.

      “Eleven years,” she said, setting the goblet back onto the table and sliding her fingertips up and down the long, elegant stem.

      Sage’s gaze fixed on to that motion, and his brain fogged over even as his body went rock hard. He had to force himself to pay attention when she continued to speak quietly.

      “When my father got sick, it was such a blessing to be able to help my mom take care of him.” Old pain etched itself into her eyes briefly. “After he died, I realized that I was more interested in taking care of people one-on-one than in a hospital setting. I decided to become a private nurse. So I could make a real difference in the lives of families who were going through what we went through.”

      Was she really as selfless and kind as she appeared? He wanted to spot deception, gamesmanship in her eyes, but those soft blue depths remained as clear and guileless as ever. Was she really that good an actress, he wondered. Or was she really an innocent?

      No, he mentally assured himself. There were no innocents anymore. And a woman this staggeringly beautiful had no doubt learned before she was five just how to work a man.

      Pleased that he’d managed to wrest control of his own urges, he asked, “How long ago did you lose your father?”

      “Six years,” she said softly and her features once again twisted with sorrow.

      “Then,” she added, “Mom and I both decided we needed a change, a chance to get away from the memories, so we left California and came here.”

      “Why Cheyenne?”

      She laughed a little and her blue eyes sparkled with it. Instantly, his control drowned in a sea of pulsing desire that grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go.

      “You won’t believe it.”

      “Try me.”

      “Okay.” She leaned in a little closer, as if telling a funny story. Unfortunately, this increased his view of the delectable cleavage that dress displayed.

      “We laid a map of the U.S. out on the dining room table and Mom closed her eyes and poked her finger down. She hit Cheyenne and here we are.”

      Surprise and a bit of admiration rose up inside him, however reluctantly. “Just like that. You packed up and moved to somewhere you’d never been before.”

      “It was an adventure,” she told him with a smile. “And we both needed one. Watching someone you love die by inches is horrible. At least you were spared that. I know it’s not much comfort though.”

      He didn’t speak because, frankly, what the hell could he say? She’d obviously had a much better relationship with her father than he’d had with his.

      “Although,” she added, “the snow was hard to get used to. We’re California girls through and through, so we needed a whole new wardrobe when we got here.”

      “I can imagine.” His mind brought up the image of her seeing her first snowfall, and he almost wished he’d been there to witness it.

      “When your winter coat is a sweatshirt and you can wear flip-flops year-round...” Another bright smile. “Let’s just say it was even more of an adventure than we’d thought it would be.”

      “But you enjoy it?”

      “I love it,” she said simply. “I’d never had a change of season before. I love the fall. And the snow is so beautiful. Then the spring when everything comes alive again. Mostly though, I love the mountains.”

      “Me, too.” Funny, he hadn’t thought they’d find common ground, but here it was. Unless, his mind chided, she was saying what she thought he wanted to hear. After all, if J.D. had talked about him as she said, then she knew Sage owned a ranch in the high country, and why else would he do that if he didn’t love the mountains?

      “I know... J.D. told me about your ranch.”

      Ha! Proof then. But he played along. “If I can help it, I rarely come down off the mountain into the city.”

      “I know that, too,” she said, her hand stilling on the wineglass. “J.D. talked about you a lot. How you preferred your ranch to anywhere else in the world. He missed seeing you, but said that you almost never left the ranch.”

      A flare of something hot slashed through him. Guilt? He didn’t do guilt. “J.D. didn’t have much room to talk. You could hardly blast him off the Big Blue with a stick of dynamite.”

      “True,” she said, agreeing with him. “He told me. Truth is, he used to worry that you were too much like him. Too ready to cut yourself off from everything.”

      “I’m not cut off.” Hadn’t Dylan said the same thing to him just hours ago? Why did everyone assume that because a man was happy where he was that he was missing out on other things?

      “Aren’t you?” It was softly asked, but no less invasive.

      He stiffened and the desire pumping through him edged back just a little. Sage hadn’t brought her there to talk about him.

      “No,” he assured her, and even he heard the coolness in his tone. “Just because I didn’t visit J.D. doesn’t mean I’m a damn hermit.”

      Hermits had a hell of a lot more peace and quiet than he ever got. It wasn’t