The Midnight Special

THE MIDNIGHT SPECIAL Sara Orwig

Her students looked like little angels, and Maggie Linden was thrilled to be tutoring the four nephews of renowned journalist Nick Brannon. Her enthusiasm was just slightly dimmed when she learned her new charges had already sent fourteen teachers packing! Maggie was determined to prevail even against mice in her suitcase and snakes in her bed! But Nick Brannon knew how to rattle her as no one else could... with provocative whispers and sizzling embraces that stirred up all her emotions. Maggie wanted Nick, and tried to hold him close to her heart, but Nick's career beckoned him to dangers Maggie couldn't share.

One March sunlight streamed through long, multipaned library windows, splashing over the beige silk sofa, across the low carved mahogany table with its silver pots of coffee, cream, and sugar. A few feet away another shaft of sunshine filtered down to light Maggie Linden's auburn hair, sunbeams sprinkling gold dust in the red strands. Crossing long shapely legs and smoothing the navy blue linen skirt of her dress, Maggie balanced a Wedgwood teacup on her knee and looked into the six pairs of eyes staring at her. Behind thick bifocals two pale blue pairs gazed at her benignly, with relief and welcome. The others might as well have been Genghis Khan's descendants looking over their next victim. Maggie smiled, trying to get the names straight in her mind. Quentin, seventeen going on thirty. Slouched in a silk-covered antique Louis XVI chair, he looked as out of place as a bristly warthog. He gazed back at her with smoldering appraisal, locks of dark hair falling in his hazel eyes. He was what his great-aunts referred to affectionately as their "darling." Darling looked capable of assault and murder. The next two, identical twins Billy and Bobby, sat with gleeful smiles on their faces, as if they couldn't wait for her to move in. Twelve years of age. Nice, but the wicked gleam in their hazel eyes made her wary. Then her gaze shifted to the youngest, eight-year-old Freddy—Frederick Nicholas Brannon—and she relaxed. He had the face of a cherub. Thick blond curls framed a round face with pink cheeks and wide blue eyes. An innocent. A sweet child who gazed at her serenely. She could cope easily with one of them. Quentin, Billy, Bobby, Freddy. March, April, May. All she had to do was move into the Brannon mansion, tutor four boys for the last two weeks of March, all of April, the first two weeks of May—two months actually—and she would make more money than she could earn in a semester teaching high school. The tutoring job seemed a dream. The only potential disturbance was a pair of burning hazel eyes that held hers in an aggravating manner. Well, two

months was a short period of time, and the job would give her good experience.

That's what she told her sister-in-law the next day while she packed a suitcase. Seated in Maggie's small apartment, Jesse shifted Trish, the sleeping baby, and listened while Maggie explained her new job. Brushing blond hair off her forehead, Jesse frowned. "It should be fabulous, Maggie. You get to live two months in the Brannon mansion, you'll be through in time to teach summer school at Wilson High, but..." Maggie shot a glance at her sister-in-law and braced herself. Here it comes, she thought. Jesse would argue with God. "Maggie, why aren't those boys in school? Tulsa is full of schools." "The little ladies said that the boys have been living in Houston for the past year, where the Brannon drilling company is headquartered. But since their parents were killed, the boys were left unsupervised, without family, so they were brought here to stay with their great-aunts until their uncle settles the estate." "But why not put them in school here?" "They said it's too late in the year." "I don't believe it!" "Jesse, whatever the reason, I want to teach them because it's only four boys, it's good experience, and the pay is fantastic. What's wrong with that?" How many times in years to come would Jesse remind her of that question? While she folded a pair of jeans, Maggie looked around her bedroom at the secondhand furniture she had refinished when she rented the apartment in Sapulpa, her hometown just outside the Tulsa city limits. She paused to face

Jesse. "Besides, I understand a little of the shock those boys are going through." Jesse's frown deepened. "Look, just because you lost your parents like these boys did, don't let that cloud the issue. They could be put in school somewhere. There's something rotten in the air." Maggie laughed. "What's rotten is your suspicious mind!" "Maybe." She furrowed her brow. "Is Nick Brannon going to be there?" "The uncle? Yep. He arrives today. Apparently he comes and goes." "I read about him in Esquire and in Playgirl—" "Playgirl!" Jesse grinned. "Unfortunately, he was interviewed with his clothes on. He wasn't a model, but he looked as if he could have been. Maggie, he's single, he's tough, he's a foreign correspondent with one of the national wire services. He won a Pulitzer prize when he broke the story of the massacre of innocent villagers and an American priest in Central America by guerrillas. And both magazines had pictures of him with beautiful women." Maggie looked around for her hairbrush, kneeling down to peer beneath the bed to see if she'd dropped it. "Stop worrying," she announced. She retrieved the brush and flung it into the suitcase. "No jet- setting, world-traveling journalist will look twice at Maggie Linden. That'll be the day! Even Tom Smith, local boy and aspiring insurance salesman, won't look twice." "That's what worries me." Maggie paused. "This ought to be a good one. What worries you?" "You've known the local boys since you learned to walk. You're buddies with them. You go everywhere surrounded by an army of buddies. No one else has a chance to get near you."

"I'm twenty-three." She tried to keep a note of defiance out of her voice. Jesse had hit closer to the truth than Maggie cared to admit. "And you look seventeen. Maggie, be careful." "I'm always the good friend. I hear all the problems; I never am one." "You might be this time," Jesse said softly. "With a man like Nick Brannon? The spring weather has tangled up your thought processes like kite-string. I'm safe. I'm always safe. Put your mind at rest. I can't wait to meet Mr. Nicholas Brannon." "I guess not! You and fifty thousand other females." "Jesse, his aunts said he's a quote, sweet, dear boy, unquote." Jesse slapped her hand against her forehead. "Maggie, no man who is a newspaperman, the most cynical breed in the world, can be a 'dear boy,' old aunts to the contrary." Maggie smiled. "Do you know how few men reach the top of that profession? To get where he is takes claws and muscle." With most of her mind wondering whether it was too early in the year to pack a pair of shorts or not, Maggie murmured vaguely, "His aunts think he's wonderful." Deciding in favor of Oklahoma's unpredictable weather, she tossed in the shorts. "The one they told me to watch out for is Tyler." "Tyler?" "Their accountant. Once a month he comes and stays a week at the house. They said he's an ogre, arrogant and demanding. In dark tones they hinted that he was handsome, but to beware of him."

Jesse shifted the sleeping baby. "Maggie, my knees are beginning to ache. You know that means trouble's brewing." "Your knees ache because you've been sitting holding Trish in the same position for the past thirty minutes." "No, I've got that feeling. Can't you just get a job at Kelly Girl, some nice temporary work for the next few months?" "Ill be all right. Really, I will. I can't wait. Quentin, Bobby, Billy, and Freddy. And Freddy looks like an angel, an absolute angel." "I gotta run." Jesse stood up, carefully adjusting the baby. "But I've got one of those feelings. Four kids—they should be able to put them in school anywhere." "Jesse, by the time you've walked to the car, you'll feel normal again. Stop worrying. It'll be a cream puff. A delicious, rich cream puff."

At ten o'clock on Monday morning Maggie drove up the sweeping circular driveway to the three-story brick and white wood Georgian mansion. In front of the wide veranda a fountain sparkled, its glistening water arching through early morning rays of the sun, creating a shimmering rainbow in the misty spray. Golden butterflies swooped over beds of pale yellow jonquils and daffodils. Spring had come early to Tulsa this year, and today had brought one of its best gifts, a cloudless blue sky, robins on the greening lawn, and no breeze at all. Perfection. Maggie smiled, her full lips turning up, enthusiasm glowing inside like the radiant day outside. So much for Jesse's premonitions. She drove to the back, parking in front of the six- car garage. She climbed out of the car and leaned down to get her suitcase. Inhaling the crisp fresh air deeply, she smoothed her green linen dress and started eagerly toward the house.

As she stepped onto the wide veranda she heard a rustle. In the flower bed a yellow forsythia bush shook vigorously, tiny blossoms flying into the air like yellow snowflakes. From behind the arching branches a drift of smoke wafted skyward. Curious, Maggie set down her suitcase and descended the steps. Avoiding the bright yellow jonquils, daffodils, and the purple hyacinths, she rounded the tangled clump of forsythia, a twig snapping underfoot. Suddenly branches scraped against her legs as a small boy tried to run past her. She reached out, caught a shoulder, and spun Freddy around. Baby blue eyes squinted through a haze of smoke while a cigarette jiggled up and down between his lips as he said, "Let go! Dammit, let go!" "Freddy Brannon! You shouldn't smoke!" "Bull. The house is on fire." She smelled smoke, more smoke than just Freddy's cigarette. She whirled to see a plume of gray spiraling behind her. A tongue of orange flame danced into the air. With Maggie's attention elsewhere, Freddy jerked free, trampling delicate yellow jonquils into the brown earth as he dashed around the house out of sight. Maggie let him go, her attention focused on saving the Brannon mansion. She rushed around the forsythia bush and spotted a fire that would earn a Boy Scout high praise. Papers and logs burned away merrily, blackening the foundation of the house, lapping hungrily toward the wooden floor of the veranda. She kicked dirt on the fire, using her purse to beat out a spark on the porch. Another bright orange spark danced to life in the forsythia. She swatted at it, then leaned down to scoop up more dirt and pitch it onto the flame. She kicked a flurry of reddish- brown earth over the fire, watching it smother the last glowing ember. As she bent down to pick up her purse, Maggie heard a rustle in the flower bed and straightened as a dark shadow loomed over her. Strong fingers closed on her arm and she was spun around to collide with a very solid body.

"Caught you!" For an instant she inhaled a whiff of an enticing male scent, a woodsy smell reminiscent of dark forests. Fingers gripped tightly on both her upper arms. Maggie looked up at her captor. His cold, steel-gray eyes narrowed. "What the hell? Aren't you a little well- dressed for pyromania?" The voice was mellow, as rich as thick black coffee and as hot going down, a full-throated baritone that commanded instant attention. "I beg your pardon! I put out the fire; I didn't start it!" "I saw you kneeling down there!" "To throw dirt on it!" What an obnoxious man, she thought, in spite of a voice that was as sensuous as a loving touch. He was attractive in a harsh, compelling way, with cheekbones so prominent they lent sharp angles to his slender, hawklike face. Black hair was feathered away from his forehead; his mouth was well-shaped, full-lipped, but not too full. The arrogant tilt to his jaw, which had a white scar running across the left side, was definitely rugged, but his eyes were the soul-finders. Those ash-gray eyes had a glint to them that probably made fair hearts faint and dogs wag their tails. Her gaze lowered over his navy suit, immaculate white shirt, the proper dark tie. Handsome? Commanding or rugged better described him, even dangerous. She glimpsed a calculator and a briefcase on the ground behind him. No doubt the accountant, who was coming to stay the week. The ogre. "Take your time, hon," he drawled in a husky voice threaded with amusement. "You must be Tyler Harris." Something flickered in the steely gray depths as sunlight bathed his face, making his eyes startlingly silver. "And you?" "I'm Maggie Linden. Thelma and Letty told me about you." She almost said warned.

"Did they now? Well, Maggie Linden, they didn't tell me about you. You just arrived, saw someone had built a fire in the garden, and came back to put it out. C'mon, hon, that's a good one. What's your angle?" "Angle! What do you think I was doing behind the forsythia? Digging for worms?" "Cute. Why're you here?" "Let me go, Mr. Harris." "Answer my question, Miss or Mrs. Linden." Fingers held her like a vise. "It's Miss." Even though she drew herself up to her full five-foot-seven, she still couldn't look him in the eye. "Let me go." "I will when you answer my question," he said with the softness of concrete. "What did Thelma and Letty say?" Maggie gave a tentative wriggle and his fingers tightened a fraction. She felt locked in a lethal duel, a challenge of one-upmanship hanging in the spring air along with the scent of purple hyacinths. "Frankly, they warned me that you could be difficult. But I'm not easily intimidated, Mr. Harris." "We'll see. Miss Linden." He was beginning to enjoy himself at her expense. A smile played over his expressive features, hovering in his eyes like the butterflies flitting over the jonquils, only it wasn't as harmless. Tyler Harris's smile was creating a disturbance in her breathing. She had better put Mr. Harris in his place quickly. "You aren't my employer, and I don't owe you an explanation. Now, if you don't get your hands off—" "Yes, honey, you'll what?" His voice declared war, battles lines drawn, an age-old battle between male and female. And she felt it to her toes.

"Then we may stand here in the flower bed until sundown. My employers told me about you." "And did they tell you about Nick?" "Indeed they did!" She gave a brief, triumphant laugh. "They told me what a sweet, dear person he is." She added acidly, "Not like some other people they must deal with." To her surprise Mr. Harris looked as if she had handed him a delicious snack. One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin as he all but licked his chops over her words. "Oh, ho. Sweet Nick. Did you build the fire as a ploy to meet him?" "No! I didn't start the fire. I'll meet him anyway. Unfortunately, I've been compelled to meet you, Mr. Harris. The ladies said Nick is a dear boy." "Did they now? And what did they tell you about—" "I won't repeat a word. But you've lived up to everything I expected!" He laughed, a full, rich baritone that aggravated her more than anything he'd done so far. Yet, along with aggravation was an intense awareness of Tyler Harris as a man. A man who was looking at her in a manner that made her acutely aware she was a woman. They faced each other in a tense, silent contest of wills, trying to stare each other down as sparks flew around them. Little I'm-not-going-to-yield-first firecrackers popped between them until the fresh morning air all but glittered and sizzled. Even though her eyes ached, Maggie refused to so much as blink. And along with anger, another emotion tugged at her, a deep, swift-running flow of exhilaration. Tyler Harris was a veiy attractive man. "Won't give an inch, will you, honey?" he asked softly in a husky, wry voice. Like hot melted butter, his deep voice slithered over her raw nerves from her nape down her spine, spilling tingling warmth in all directions.

"No, Mr. Harris." She raised her chin, fighting two emotions at once. Forgetting herself, she leaned forward to look at him more closely. "Wanna bet?" His soft question startled her. She had forgotten the conversation, because Tyler Harris had jammed her thought processes, tuning them to a new wave length. What had the man asked? Brain functioned, and she repeated, "Bet? Oh heavens, an accountant who bets? I don't gamble, but if I did, I'd take this bet, because you're going to lose. I don't have to explain anything to you, Mr. Tyler Harris." "But you will. Miss Maggie Linden." "You intend to stand here until sundown?" "I won't have to." He stepped forward an inch and her heart began to thump erratically. "I'll kiss you until you tell me." Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to protest . . . and played right into his hands. Strong arms wrapped around her in a no-nonsense manner, crushing her to his heated, muscular body while his mouth covered hers, his lips pressing so enticingly that awareness diffused into sensation. His tongue invaded her softness with arrogance, a hard thrust that changed the relationship between them instantly. As he leaned over her, bending her body to his hard length, she realized Jesse had been right. Jesse's knees should ache so much she couldn't walk. Maggie had been kissed many times, by many boys, but all had been buddies. Tyler Harris was not a buddy. And it wasn't a buddy kiss. Tyler Harris's kiss plowed through her system like a John Deere tractor in an open field, cutting deep furrows across her ready nerves. Maggie felt lightheaded beneath an onslaught of luxurious sensation as he explored her mouth, tasting her sweetness, arousing her to a new contest that flared between them at his command. And in that moment spring came to

Maggie's heart. It opened to his warmth like petals beneath yellow sunshine. She responded to him, returning his kiss. She couldn't hold out against the velvet persuasion of his mouth, against the aching desire stirring within her. Deep within her warmth swirled, gathering force, building into a blaze that startled her. Then his arms fell away so swiftly she swayed. As he steadied her, she met his eyes. They'd transformed from cold steel to the color of dark evening clouds with opaque, changing gray depths. This man wasn't the same person who had reached for her with his threat of a kiss. He was another being entirely, a very special one with chemistry that was volatile. Out of self-preservation she tried to ignore the realization, to cling to indignation like a shield. He gazed at her with such intensity she couldn't breathe, and his searching expression was more devastating than his kiss. It made her knees ache. "Who are you, Maggie?" "I'm here to tutor the boys," she answered as honestly as he had asked, and they both sounded breathless. "Ahh." She didn't know what he meant by his "ahh," but he sounded satisfied. His tone was commanding as he asked, "Now, who set the fire?" "Freddy." "Freddy!" The spell between them was broken. While he swore softly, she realized how easily he had won the struggle. Putty didn't describe her responsiveness. More like mush—warm, gooey mush. Her lips tingled, ached. "I suppose you'll inform Mr. Brannon when he arrives," she said. "Someone should know." "Nick Brannon will know down to the last detail."

"And as long as you're at it, when you talk to Mr. Brannon tell him Freddy smokes. It isn't good for the child's health." "Most women I know would've run for help instead of putting out the fire." "Then perhaps you don't know another one like me, Mr. Harris." He grinned and she felt like slapping her cheeks, telling herself silently to stop fencing with the man. "You're here to teach the boys?" "That's right." "When Letty and Thelma were warning you so helpfully about . . . their accountant, did they warn you about your charges?" "No, but I know boys." He had such long eyelashes. Oh, Lord, her first assessment had been wrong. He was handsome! Or had his kiss changed her judgment? Tipped the scales of objectivity in favor of her emotions? He looked incredibly appealing. "You don't know these boys," he said dryly, and while he talked he touched her, little fleeting brushes, straightening her collar, smoothing her soft hair, tracing her watch around her wrist. And each touch evoked sparkling tingles. "Did they tell you why the boys need a private tutor?" "Why do the boys need a private tutor?" she asked. He grinned, and she realized how idiotic she had sounded. Blushing furiously, she snapped, "I thought you were going to add another reason! They said it was too late in the year to get them into a good boarding school. I can take care of myself with four boys, Mr. Harris." "May I quote you on that, Miss Linden? Soon?" "Certainly!"

"I've done some sinful things in my life, but I'm committing one of the biggest right now by not warning you . . ."He caught her chin in his hand and his touch was electric. Small shocks coursed through her. "The only person to give me trouble here, Mr. Harris, is you." She jerked her chin out of his fingers. "And I can cope with that too! I can take care of myself." Her words so glibly spoken danced into the air and wreaked havoc. They made him laugh, his white teeth flashing in an irresistible smile that would melt ice, that should have been the biggest warning of all. They echoed through her mind in the way words do when they shouldn't have been said. Regretfully, she realized she had flung down a gauntlet and he had snatched it up before she could retrieve it. "Very well, Miss Independent, Self-Sufficient Maggie Linden," he said, and each husky word strummed over her nerves. "Welcome to the Brannon house. Hubert will show you to your room. We'll have a drink before dinner. Nick Brannon is here and"— his brow furrowed for a moment—"he has a friend visiting, Glory Wakefield. They'll be having cocktails in the front drawing room at half-past six. Oh, and get your dress dry-cleaned and send the bill to the Brannons. They'll reimburse you." "Thank you." She was surprised. From what Letty and Thelma had told her, she didn't expect such generosity from T. Harris. "You're surprised." His lips curled up at the corners, causing lines to frame his mouth. Startled that he was perceptive enough to guess her thoughts, she looked away. "Perhaps." "I'm not quite the ogre you thought?" Heavens, the man wanted a compliment. "Mr. Harris, you're exactly what I expected!" "An ogre?" he persisted, laughter simmering in his voice.

"No, not an ogre, just mulish, aggravating. . ."She remembered his kiss. Her lips still tingled from the scorching pressure of his; her arms still felt the power of hard muscle and bone; her system still reeled from the shock. Her gaze drifted to his inviting mouth. His lower lip had felt so velvety and sensuous. "And . . ."he coaxed. She blushed, a full-fledged rosy glow that gave away exactly what she was thinking. "You want me to kiss you again!" "No!" She stepped back and almost fell into the for- sythia bush. Laughing, he caught her. "Steady, there." Fatuous male satisfaction oozed in his voice, making her blood boil. "Chalk up another bad mark for you, Mr. Harris. Conceit added to arrogance!" Why had she said that? Every word offered another provocation. Catching her chin in his fingers, he studied her as if she were a new horse. "You're twenty? Twenty- one?" "Twenty-three. Want to see my teeth?" she asked ominously. "I don't need to." With a smile he dropped his hand, adding in a throaty drawl, "I know exactly how they feel." Embarrassment fanned through her, burning her cheeks and eliciting a satisfied smile from Tyler Harris. He was a master at one-upmanship. He had won this round. This round? The thought of another made her heart drum in an absurd manner. "I'll see you at dinner, Maggie. I can't wait until you meet the 'sweet, dear boy.' "Trying to gather dignity around her like a shawl, Maggie stepped past

him, her purse tucked under her arm, and climbed the steps to the veranda. Her skin prickled with keen awareness of Tyler Harris standing on the ground below the steps. She didn't hear him walk away. Her shoulder blades burned, she was conscious of her legs, her hips, the taut pull of her skirt over her derriere as she climbed each step. Finally, at the top, she couldn't resist looking over her shoulder. He stood below, hands on his slim hips, a wicked, superior smile lighting his face. As if he knew it would embarrass her, he said, "I couldn't tear myself away from the spectacular view. Oh, hon, it's just marvelous!" Annoyed, she raised her chin, picked up her suitcase, and walked toward the door. Behind her a deep chuckle floated in the spring air, carrying a disturbing reminder of the lively, age-old battle that had flared so intensely between them. When she knocked, the carved oak door opened and she faced a gray-haired uniformed man who said he was Hubert Anderson, the butler. He took her suitcase and led the way through a wide hall filled with statues, paintings, a fountain, and potted palms. They climbed the stairs, then walked along another hall to her bedroom, an elegant room decorated in tones of orange and brown. Before he left he stopped at the door, looked into the hall, then looked at her again. "Miss ..." She realized that something was bothering him badly. Spots of pink darkened his cheeks and he was rubbing his hands together. "Yes, Hubert?" Glancing over his shoulder nervously, he lowered his voice. "Miss, maybe you could find another nice job elsewhere." "Why?" "Well, miss." He licked his lips. "It's not my business to say, but you look like the trusting sort, a little like my granddaughter."

Why did she always look like someone's daughter, granddaughter, or sister? She waited. "Miss, you're the fourteenth teach—" "Hubert, is Miss Linden settled?" Letty's quavering voice carried from the hall. Hubert paled and stepped outside. "Yes, ma'am." Maggie stared at the empty doorway, answering perfunctorily when Letty greeted her. Fourteen teachers! What had happened to them? Then she realized she had told Letty that she was comfortable, and that she would be down for dinner at half-past six. Letty started to leave, a smile lighting her pale features. "Letty, have there been other teachers before me?" Letty turned, her white hair a halo around her head. "Yes, dear, but don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine." She left and Maggie stared out the doorway after her. Fourteen? Since January? She mulled the possibilities while she unpacked, but other thoughts took priority. She remembered Tyler Harris's words and his wild, hot kiss that had a residual effect, that lingered and made her want more. More? Tyler's kiss had plumbed her depths, leaping beyond the physical, a mere sensual contact, into a realm of need and longing, of intimate chemistry and fulfillment. She shook her head. "Get a grip on yourself, Maggie!" she said aloud. What should she wear to dinner? Glory Wakefield. Was it the same Glory Wakefield who was a well- known singer? Well, Maggie would do her best, but there was no way her long lanky legs, her slender shape, the deep auburn hair, could look startlingly sophisticated or sexy. Not in a million years. She'd just try for nice. She would meet Nick Brannon. Tyler Harris would be there and probably do his darnedest to discomfit her. And probably succeed. Her heart beat faster just thinking about him. The boys and Thelma and Letty. A motley assortment.

Maggie used a curling iron to turn the ends of her hair under in a soft pageboy, then changed into a dark blue sleeveless crepe dress and high-heeled pumps. She felt as if she were dressing for battle, for a skirmish with an arrogant disposition and an irresistible smile. Three people would be friendly; Letty, Thelma, and Nick Brannon. Scratch angelic Freddy. If Freddy had tried to burn down the house, what would Quentin do? It didn't take her long to find out. But by the time she did, she no longer was concerned with Quentin. Not at all. Promptly at half-past six, Maggie descended the steps to a living room filled with priceless paintings and antiques garnered from all over the world. Awed, she looked at the large Savonnerie rug in rich reds and browns, the antique brass cornices over the high windows, and a painting by Goya. From the immense marble mantel above the fireplace to a beautiful Louis XIV cabinet in faux lapis lazuli and ormolu, each item silently proclaimed elegance, security, and money. When she paused in the doorway, all heads turned. Thelma and Letty were sitting on opposite ends of the blue damask sofa. Relaxed in a wing chair was a beautiful dark-eyed brunette in a green silk dress. The boys weren't in sight. But it was Tyler Harris who took all her attention. He stood across the room, one hand resting negligently on his hip, pushing open his charcoal jacket, the other arm propped on the mantel. With a drink in his hand he looked relaxed, his long body graceful in a purely masculine way. His eyes met hers and an invisible charge seemed to ignite the air. With an effort, Maggie looked away. Facing Tyler Harris, hands in his pockets, was a golden-haired man. As his blue eyes looked at her in mild curiosity, she realized that Nick Brannon was very handsome. Tyler straightened, setting his drink down deliberately. He approached her, creating tension between them simply by crossing the room. His tread was silent; he moved with the lithe sureness of a cat. She concentrated on his hair, dark as obsidian until the light reached it, revealing burnished glints in the depths of the black that made her think of a panther. Panther fit him. His

walk was the motion of controlled power, of well-coordinated muscles. But the likeness to a panther ended with his eyes. His smoldering, heavy-lidded gaze, was the silent message of a mem desiring a woman. Her body reacted; nerves became raw, her breasts felt heavy and taut, her breathing was difficult as she braced for a renewed duel. She raised her chin defiantly. When she did a faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. She met head-on the silver eyes that flaunted male confidence like flags on a warship. "Miss Linden ..." He took her arm. His touch singed her flesh. His fresh, clean scent reached her, an enticing aftershave that was unfamiliar to her. How lovely you look," he said so softly she knew no one else could hear. He waited, standing squarely in front of her, blocking her from the view of the others. And everyone else faded from thought or existence. Maggie felt compelled to tilt her head, to return his intense gaze. She had to fight the impulse to close her eyes, to part her lips. Her heart fluttered, oblivious to the man's faults. "Thank you," she whispered, and glanced down at the hand on her arm, surprised that a long scar ran across it. The tip of his little finger was missing. What had caused the injuries? she thought. What had caused the scars on his jaw and hand? He was watching her with a strange, searching stare, perhaps a little defiant, and she wondered if he was self- conscious about his hand. She placed her fingers over his, smiled, and felt as if she had reached out to stroke the panther. He seemed to accept her smile without reaction. "Let me introduce you." Turning around, he led her across the room. "This is Glory Wakefield." Maggie met cold, dark eyes and wondered why Glory had developed an instant dislike for her. Maggie never threatened any other female, much less one of Glory's caliber, but there was no mistaking the chill in Glory's eyes or voice when she said, "How do you do."

Tyler Harris's fingers tightened and her hand dropped away, falling to her side, yet retaining the memory of his warm flesh. Ogre or not, he was quite a man! He turned her toward the blond man waiting by the mantel. Tyler stepped to one side where he could look at her as he said, "I can't wait for you two to meet." Oh, boy. His voice indicated a full house. He expected to win this round. She gritted her teeth as he continued blithely. "Maggie Linden, I'd like you to meet Tyler Harris."

Two For a stunned moment Maggie stared into a smiling face, whose deep blue eyes held a curious glint. She turned to Nick Brannon. Nicholas Brannon! He reached out and pushed her chin up. She didn't know if her jaw actually had dropped open or not, but his touch revived her senses. Damn his grin! She felt the blush move up her throat, her cheeks, her ears, her forehead. She burned with embarrassment and fury. "Is something wrong, Miss Linden?" Tyler Harris asked. "Oh, no!" "Not much, Tyler," Nick Brannon answered with maddening cheer. "Miss Linden just lost round two. She's slightly surprised at your appearance, that's all." "Eh, how's that?" "Maggie's trying to figure out which one of us is the sweet, dear boy' described to her by Thelma and Letty." His eyes were too gleeful. While Maggie fumed, Tyler laughed. "That lets me out, and it sure as hell lets you out!" She looked at Tyler Harris. "It's amazing how people view their relatives," she said. "Absolutely amazing." Her gaze was drawn, compelled to shift to Nick Brannon. He couldn't have been happier. He looked blissful, like the cat who had finished off the cream, escalating her anger as he said, "Perhaps you'll discover you agree completely with them, if you give the sweet, dear boy half a chance." "Not in a million years."

"Another snap judgment?" he asked with a grin. "Hardly. I've seen living proof of the devious ways of the varmint. Sweet and dear he is not!" "Varmint?" He laughed, crinkles fanning from the corners of his eyelids. "Wow, it's getting hot in here! Feel the heat, Tyler?" "No, but I don't think I'm standing in the direction of the blaze," he said dryly. "I'll leave you two to settle your . . . er, dispute." "That'll teach you, Miss Maggie Linden." Excitement eddied around them like dark, swirling water. "You're right, Mr. Nicholas Brannon. I'm entirely too gullible. I believed your aunts, not realizing how easily a wolf in sheep's clothing can fool two sweet little ladies." The Fourth of July commenced between them again and he obviously loved each explosion. "Perhaps they bring out the best in me," he said, "while luscious green eyes, a smattering of freckles, and hair like a summer sunset do something else entirely!" "Now I know the full meaning of the word scoundrel." Luscious green eyes? Hair like a summer sunset? That was a sneak attack from far left field! One corner of his mouth rose, giving him a rakish look. "You're just mad as hell because I got the best of you." "Oh, no! To add to your faults, Mr. Brannon, you're conceited! I recall your asking if I'd built the fire just to get to meet Nick. Ha! Not every female swoons over you." He grinned. "At the moment there's only one I want in a swoon." "Doesn't Glory Wakefield need you?"

"Not at all. She's able to survive my talking to the boys' new teacher. Glory's broad-minded." "More than I would be." Two heartbeats of a pause came while he assessed her. "You wouldn't have to be," he said softly, and her heart beat faster at the look in his eyes. Then, like quicksilver, a glint returned to the ashy depths and a gauntlet was once more flung down. "You want to see how broad-minded she is?" "Good grief, no!" Her pulse drummed with alarm. "Scared?" She tilted her chin higher. "Nicholas Brannon, I'll never be scared of you!" Why, oh, why was she rising to each dare, issuing her own? It was a wonder a bolt of lightning hadn't followed her last foolhardy retort! Never be scared? Too late now. "You're a feisty one, Maggie Linden, a lively filly." Filly. A filly frisking around a sleek, muscled panther. A filly kicking up puffs of dirt before interested cat's eyes, the kind of eyes that never betrayed when they intended to pounce. But he wouldn't be a predator; Nicholas Brannon wouldn't need force. Silence, an electric tension, stretched between them. He smiled again and she forgot anyone else existed, forgot her surroundings, the others in the room. "You'll never be scared," he repeated huskily. "What will you be, Maggie?" He shifted, moving a few inches so that his back was to the others. His gaze lowered to the pulse in her throat. "Your heartbeat is fast. ..." His eyes drifted down to the full, uptilting thrust of her breasts and Maggie drew in her breath, unable to hide her reaction to him. "You're a dirty fighter, Mr. Brannon," she whispered.

"Sure, Maggie." His gaze rose to meet hers. "And I usually get what I want." "Maybe you've finally met your match," she said softly. An eyebrow arched. "This time the prize may be more than worth the struggle." "Pity you don't have any confidence." He shrugged, a twinkle showing in his eyes. "I'm just a sweet, dear boy." "That isn't the way I'd describe you." His voice lowered to an intimate rasp and he touched her chin lightly. "Want to hear how I'd describe you?" Her heart thudded violently. Someone said Nick's name, he turned around, and her mind began to function again. Maggie drew deep ragged breaths, as if she had almost drowned. Across the room the boys filed through the door. Freddy shot her such a baleful glance that she knew Nick had already confronted him over the fire episode. How could the child look so angelic and be such a demon? After they had greeted their aunts, Nick introduced the boys to Glory. Each one shook hands solemnly—Freddy, Billy, Bobby, and finally Quentin. Glory's eyes were glazed with polite disinterest as she shook hands dutifully. Until Quentin. Dressed in dark brown slacks, his neck pinched by the collar of his white shirt, he reached out to take Glory's hand. Suddenly her eyes widened and she jerked her hand away as if she felt an electric shock. Quentin grinned and turned toward Maggie. She had caught the exchange and slanted an oblique glance at Nick, who missed it. He was watching Freddy. The child offered his hand to Maggie, all the while glaring at her. "Evening, Freddy," she said. His expression was solemn as he crooked his finger for her to lean down. She bent over and Freddy stood on tiptoe.

"Judas," he whispered. "Not so, young man! There was good reason." He crooked a finger again. By now Nick was watching with curiosity. "Freddy," he asked, "are you up to something?" Freddy shook his head and smiled sweetly. Maggie leaned over again and Freddy whispered, "Quentin, twenty-four hours, Billy, forty-eight, Bobby, a week. We took bets on how long you'd last. Quentin has the best record at guessing." She tried to keep her features impassive. "I see. And how long did you guess?" Big blue eyes gazed at her above an angelic smile. "Eleven hours." "I'll remember that." "Freddy, whispering isn't polite in a group," Nick said, and moved closer. Freddy's smile widened. "Sure, Uncle Nick." The boy went over to talk to Letty. "Was he hassling you?" Nick asked. "No. He told me the betting on how long I'd last." "Oh, damn. Those kids—" "He's wrong. They all are," she said blithely. It wasn't the boys who disturbed her, jarred her senses, and addled her mind. She reached politely for Quentin's outstretched hand. And discovered what brought the shock to Glory's face as a finger tickled her palm. She realized it hadn't occurred to Quentin that he would get any reaction but one. He hadn't done anything to protect himself and his fingers

lay limply in her grasp. She closed her hand around his with all the force she could muster, crushing it in a tight squeeze. "Evening, Quentin," she said evenly, watching a look of surprise and pain flit across his features. Nick caught the exchange and stared at them with narrowed eyes. She held on a moment longer, then released his hand, smiling. Quentin's chest expanded as he drew a sharp breath and rubbed his fingers, his dark brows drawing together over the bridge of his nose. "Now, what was that all about? Quentin looked as if he'd stepped on a nail." "I can't imagine," she said calmly, determined to fight her own battles with the boys. Eleven hours! Hubert appeared beside Nick. "Excuse me, sir. You're wanted on the phone." As Nick left the room, Tyler rejoined Maggie. "Have you known the family long?" he asked. "No, I just met Thelma and Letty when I interviewed with them." "And you've come to teach the boys?" It was beginning to sound as if she had taken on the chain gang at the state prison. Suddenly Glory screamed. Maggie turned to see Billy and Bobby gazing at the ceiling while Glory gripped the arms of her chair, pressing into the back of it as if confronted by a monster. Peering through her bifocals, Letty said, "Oh, my, how dreadful. Where could that have come from?" Maggie saw a fat, furry green and orange caterpillar crouching on Glory's skirt just above her knees. Glory appeared to be headed for cardiac arrest if someone didn't come to her rescue. Maggie snatched up a bit of Dresden, a lovely china box decorated with flowers. She opened it, using the lid to scoop the caterpillar inside.

Glory wilted in relief while Maggie said cheerfully. "C'mon, boys, let's get rid of this animal." Billy and Bobby, fighting grins, followed her out of the room, down the wide hall past the marble statues, the fountain, and potted palms, and outside into the cool evening air on the veranda. "Whatcha gonna do with it?" Billy asked. "Can I keep it?" "Can you imagine how a caterpillar came to be in the drawing room?" Maggie asked. "Beats me," Bobby answered with a shrug, gazing skyward. "Aren't you afraid of it?" Billy asked. "It's creepy and fuzzy." "So are some other things around here. Well, out he goes," Maggie said grimly, stepping around to dump the bug onto Bobby's back. She had had it with the young Brannons. She knew what she would do if they were her relatives. "Whoops, wait a minute, Bobby, it's on your shirt." She hauled back and swung, her palm meeting Bobby's backside with all possible force. "Yoweee!" He jumped, the caterpillar fell off, and Maggie caught it in the open box. Bobby whirled around, rubbing his posterior. "You hit me!" From the shocked expression, she suddenly guessed that none of Gerald Brannon's children had ever been on the receiving end of an open palm before. "I had to get the caterpillar." "You can't hit me! I'll tell Uncle Nick on you!"She heard a chuckle and turned. Nick Brannon approached them, a spring breeze catching short black locks of hair, tumbling them over his wide forehead. She could have sworn she'd heard a chuckle, but his countenance was stern as he looked at the boys. He glanced at her and winked.

"Uncle Nick, Miss Linden hit me!" "Did she now? Maybe there was a good reason. Boys, I hear there was a caterpillar in the drawing room." "Yes, sir, we don't know how it got there," Billy said in a voice filled with innocence. "Well, let's study the possibilities. If you'll excuse us, Miss Linden." A hand dropped on each shoulder and the boys were propelled through the door and out of sight. Maggie shook the caterpillar out of the box and returned to the drawing room. She sat down next to Glory, whose rouge stood out glaringly on her pale cheeks. Her voice was sincere as she said, "Thank you. How could you touch that creature?" Shrugging, Maggie smoothed her dress. "I'm used to caterpillars, tadpoles, snakes. I have a brother." She noticed that Tyler was talking to Quentin, the two aunts to Freddy. Glory lowered her voice. "You're going to teach those hellions?" "That's right." "No amount of money could be worth dealing with . . . that oversexed adolescent and those two fiends. Of course, Freddy may bring a little joy into your life. If you like children. Where's Nicky?" "Talking to the boys." "I hope he drops them in boiling oil." She shivered. "Are you from Tulsa?" "Thank heavens, no. I live in California. That's as close as I want to get to Gerald's family again. Nicky and I had to leave Tahiti to come to Tulsa."

Maggie didn't need to ask how Gloiy felt about that. Within minutes Nick returned, two red-faced boys marching in front of him. The twins crossed the room and apologized stiffly to Glory. To Maggie, dinner was grim; the boys stared glumly into space while conversation swirled around them. From the head of the table, across crystal goblets filled with ice water, and over plates of crisp, green salad, Nick smiled at Maggie. "Where are you from, Maggie?" "Sapulpa." "Is there any sweet, dear boy in Sapulpa who has a claim on you?" "No, there's not," she answered darkly. An invisible charge seemed to spark the air every time she looked at Nick Brannon. "I can't believe it!" he said. "But then maybe there aren't any sweet, dear boys in Sapulpa. You may have had to come to Tulsa to find one." She looked him straight in the eye. "I doubt if such a breed exists. Life is full of rude awakenings." Nick grinned. Glory gazed at him thoughtfully, then at Maggie. "How did you hear about the boys, Miss Linden?" Tyler asked. "My brother, Colin, is a textbook salesman and someone told him about the job." Letty smiled. "Miss Linden assured us she is accustomed to boys." Tyler laughed abruptly. Every eye centered on him and he clamped his jaw shut. Maggie lifted her glass of water and felt a foot move sensuously over hers. Startled, she looked up. Quentin sat directly across from her, looking at her

solemnly. Then he winked and smiled. Maggie wanted to throw her water glass at him. Instead, she moved her foot slowly over his, then brought it down as hard as possible on his instep. "Yeeowp!" Quentin yelped, "What's the matter with you, Quentin? Are you sick?" Nick asked. "No, sir." His face flushed and he scowled at Maggie. She smiled in return, then realized Nick was watching her. Tyler chuckled and everyone glanced at him. He sobered, brought up the subject of baseball, and conversation resumed on sports while Nick continued leveling curious, disturbing glances at Maggie. After dinner, as Maggie moved to leave the dining room, Nick reached out to take her arm. "Maggie, wait a minute." "I'll get my purse, Nicky, and be right down," Gloiy said, and left. "We're going out. Think youll be all right?" "Of course," she answered with a laugh. He grinned. "Oh, yes, the independent Miss Maggie Linden. Why did I bother to ask?" "Thanks, anyway." "I told the boys to be in the library at nine o'clock in the morning, that you'd begin then. Maggie, is Quentin giving you a hard time?" "No." He grinned. "Could you be causing Quentin's yelps of pain?" "Whatever makes you think that?" She smiled sweetly, and Nick laughed.

"Good for you, babe. But if it gets rough, let me know. Quentin's a kid, but he's also over six feet tall and solid muscle. And mean as Lucifer." "Thanks." The conversation was matter-of-fact, but Nick Brannon's attention was anything but that. He was studying her with an intensity that shook her. And she wanted to prolong the conversation. Something invisible pulled between them, an attraction that was undeniable. Undeniable, but ridiculous. "How do you usually spend your evenings?" She shrugged. "Doing this or that." "This or that. Hmmm. I'd like to do this or that with you sometime," he said in his most suggestive, husky tone. She blushed to the roots of her hair and hated her fair skin that had a will of its own. "I think you're occupied." "Glory's a good friend." "Sure enough. 'Night, Mr. Brannon." "Maggie, is there a man in your life?" "I'm engaged." A startled look crossed his face. What on earth had made her lie? "Oh, who's the lucky guy?" he asked in an even voice, his expression changing to an impassive gaze. "Ah . . ." Nick Brannon's brows drew together, then arched, and the sparkle danced into his eyes again. "Maggie, shame on you!" "Well, I'm not engaged, but I'm off limits to you."

He folded his arms across his chest and the smug look returned. "Off limits to me." Innocence personified, he asked, "Now, why is that?" "You're dangerous, Nick. You're all the things I can't handle." "This gets better by the minute. What things? You seem able to handle everything that comes your way." He rested his hand on the bannister and moved closer, hemming her in on three sides. "Here I am, Nicky." Glory's voice saved her having to answer. The singer hurried up to take Nick's arm. "Be careful, Miss Linden. I wouldn't stay in this house without Nicky's protection for all the money in the world." "Glory, are you trying to frighten away my teacher?" "You're just thinking of yourself, Nick. Miss Linden is sweet and young and innocent. Those monsters will do her in." Nick laughed. "It wasn't Miss Linden who was screaming with fright." Glory scowled and peered intently at Maggie. "Don't remind me. I don't know how you manage to keep so cool around them." Maggie looked into Nick's wide gray eyes. "Things like caterpillars don't bother me." "What does bother you?" Nick asked too innocently. "Stop flirting, Nick. If such a thing is possible," Glory muttered, and grasped his arm. Nick laughed. "Glory, Miss Linden's a brave person. I just wondered what bothers her." "I know she's brave." Glory shivered. "Ugh! I can still see that horrible, slimy creature crawling on my skirt." As Nick and Maggie smiled, Glory

reached out to pat Maggie's arm. "Darling, I'll send you one of my albums when I get back to California." "That's gratitude," Nick said. "Thank you, My favorite is Lonely Moments," Maggie said. "You know my songs! And you like Lonely Moments best?" "You have lonely moments, Maggie?" Nick asked. "It's a very touching song." "How nice!" Glory said. She patted Maggie's arm. "You're really sweet, dear. I'll send you two albums." "Thanks, Glory. 'Night." Maggie turned to go upstairs. Her back tingled and she chided herself mentally. Nick Brannon stood below with a glamorous woman hanging on his arm. Why should Maggie Linden be tingling from head to toe, aware of every movement she made as she mounted the steps? Nick said clearly, "Glory, go on. I'll be right out." Glory's heels clacked on the marble floor, the door opened and closed, then there was silence except for the slight scrape of Maggie's shoe as she continued climbing the stairs. What was Nick Brannon doing? She couldn't resist. She looked down. Nick stood with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning broadly. "The view was too good to miss." She felt exasperated, invigorated, and had to fight to keep from smiling in return. She shrugged, attempting to keep her voice cool. "Glory's waiting. And while she is very broadminded—" "More than you would be?" "Definitely, Mr. Brannon. When I fall in love, I want him all to myself."

His chest expanded suddenly and his voice lowered. "Maggie, how tempting that sounds!" "It wasn't an invitation. Good night, Mr. Brannon." "It's Nick, Maggie." Maggie. Said in his deep voice it had a special sound. No one had ever said Maggie quite the same way as Nick Brannon did. She reached the second floor, fought the urge to look down again, and went to her room, grasping the doorknob like a drowning person grasping a lifeline. She stepped inside, and something black dropped over her head.

Three Maggie jumped, fighting off soft, woolly material as she reached for the light. She flicked the switch and saw what had enveloped her—a furry black cape fastened to the top of the door, rigged to fall when jiggled. It dangled from a cord tied to the door and a big note was pinned on the material: GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN! Maggie laughed, replacing the cape on a hook over the door. It wasn't the boys she feared. Not for one second. Danger of the worst sort lurked in the Brannon household in a teasing male voice, in a long, hard body, broad shoulders, dark hair—in Nick Brannon. She looked across the room at the window, flipped off the lights, and went to gaze below. A black car rounded the corner of the driveway and disappeared. Nick and Glory had gone out for the evening. She pulled the drapes and sternly vowed to get Nick Brannon out of her system. Determined to forget him, she sat down to look over the books she planned to use in teaching. She felt exhilarated and didn't want to examine why too closely. Chalk it up to-a new job. Sure. Why then did her lips still feel the imprint of Nick Brannon's velvet touch? She pulled off her shoes, sank down in a soft chair, and picked up the phone to call Jesse. Jesse's familiar voice sounded so good, asking, "How's it going?" "Do your knees still hurt?" "I knew it! What happened?" Maggie laughed. "One thing at a time. Jesse, it's terrible. And Nick Brannon is terrible." "He looked so sexy in his pictures." "Oh, he's sexy, all right." "I told you! What's he done?"

"For starters, he's kissed me. ..." Maggie heard a faint noise, like a suppressed snicker. She stared at the phone angrily, a blush darkening her cheeks as she realized what a large house she was in and how many extensions there were to the phone. Furious that she had so glibly revealed that she thought Nick was sexy and that he had kissed her, she said, "Look, I can't talk now." "Nick Brannon is with you?" "No. He's out on a date with Glory Wakefield." "The singer? But he's kissed—" "Jesse!" "You're not alone?" "No, I'm not. Hang up the phone, snoop!" "What?" "Just a minute, Jesse. You heard me, hang up that receiver or I'll come hang it up for you!" She waited, listening. Silence stretched. "Okay, you asked for it!" She clattered the receiver against the table, then held it to her ear. There was a click. "Jesse, I can't talk now, but your knees may hurt for several days.""What's going on there?" she whispered loudly. "He kissed you?" "Shh!" "Take a nice, simple job somewhere." "This is a challenge. A real challenge." "I don't like the way you say that. Maggie, you don't know the meaning of the word caution.""

"Don't worry. How's Trish?" "You ought to see your niece. She has chocolate cake from ear to ear." "I'll call you tomorrow." "Okay. Hey, how are the boys?" "The boys are incredible." She heard a sound like a muffled cough. "Nick Brannon kissed you?" "Shh! Gotta run. 'Bye.'" She replaced the receiver and looked around thoughtfully. Snoopy, bored kids who listened in on telephone conversations—what else would they do? It took ten minutes to find a hidden microphone in the base of the lamp and another beside the phone. With a determined thrust to her jaw, she began a thorough search of the room, lifting oil paintings off the walls, looking beneath cushions and under the bed. She found a hidden camera in the wall, a third microphone beneath the bed attached to a tape recorder, and a hole drilled in a wall behind a two-way mirror. The more she found, the angrier she became. She fished in her purse for a roll of cellophane tape and taped over the camera lens, covered the mirror with a pillowcase, then gathered up the mikes. She would confront Nick Brannon with them. She glanced around to see if she had overlooked any nook or cranny. Her gaze drifted to the bed. She pulled off the spread, then a soft, thin brown blanket. Something wriggled beneath the sheet, the unmistakable twist of a small snake slithering under the clean white sheet. Maggie flung back the sheet and snatched up the tiny black snake. She looked around, spotted a crystal vase filled with orange and yellow silk daisies. She removed the flowers and dropped the snake into the vase, then

set it beside the pile of microphones. With her hands on her hips, she looked around the room. Nine hours and Freddy expected to drive her away. She wouldn't be outsmarted by an ornery little kid. Not if she could help it! Unable to find any other traps, she settled in the chair to study until she became sleepy. When she started to get ready for bed, she thought of the hidden cameras and switched off the lights, undressing in the dark before she slipped beneath the covers to dream of forsythia and a stubborn man.

When she went down for breakfast Tuesday, she ate alone. At nine o'clock she sat down behind the desk in the library. By ten o'clock no one had appeared. Maggie gathered her things and went in search of Letty and Thelma. She found them in the sun-room. Letty was knitting while Thelma watched a soap opera on a small portable television. "Thelma?" "Shh, dear," Thelma whispered. "Do come in and sit down. Do you watch Light of Day?" "No, I haven't seen it." "Oh, today George may find out who shot Wilma." Maggie sat down next to Letty and whispered, "The boys didn't come in for their lessons." "I do declare! None of them?" "No.""Wait until a commercial to talk, please," Thelma whispered. Letty leaned close and put her gnarled fingers on Maggie's knee. "Go tell Nick. He'll take care of it. Nick is so sweet; he'll help."

Sweet Nick. Maggie didn't want to go tell Nick or she would have done so in the first place, but Letty had returned to her knitting and Thelma was absorbed in the show. She rose reluctantly and went to look for Nick, only to discover both Nick and Glory were gone. She spent the rest of the day alone, preparing more lessons for the boys, finally dressing for dinner. She had put on a beige blouse and skirt and was dabbing on a touch of perfume when she heard a knock. She opened the door to face a distraught, quivering Glory, suitcases piled behind her in the hall. Her green silk hat was askance, her face pale, and tendrils of dark hair had escaped from her chignon. Glory stepped inside and closed the door. "I'm leaving," she whispered. "Now. Immediately. I told Nick Brannon what he can do with his family. I never want to lay eyes on them again, but before I go, I wanted to warn you to get out too. As a matter of fact, you can share the car with me. Nicky's chauffeur will take me to the airport and he can take you home to Sapola." "Sapulpa. Thanks, Glory, but I think I'll stay. Are you all right?" "All right? Lord, no one's all right under the same roof with those diabolical creeps! Watch your suitcases, dear." She shivered and closed her eyes momentarily. "I gave Nick Brannon a choice, me or them. He chose them—so he can just live with them! Hah! You saved me from that . . . that awful thing crawling on my lap, so I'll try to return the favor. Get out of this house as fast as you can!" "Thanks for the warning, Glory, but I think I'll stay tonight." "How can you think of staying?" Glory squinted her eyes. "Oh. Honey, Nick Brannon eats little girls like you for breakfast. He's a heartbreaker. Your big green eyes look too trusting. You're walking right into trouble. He won't settle down for any woman. I promise you. Beneath that adorable, sexy chest, Nick Brannon has no heart. He acts like he has one, he does nice things, like giving diamond bracelets and flowers, but he doesn't own a heart, believe me. I can cope with heartless Nick, but you can't. You're a

sweet little girl from Sapola. Go home before you get trampled by his charm." "I appreciate the warning, but there's no need where Nick is concerned. He won't glance my way again." Her words had a hollow ring. "Nick Brannon couldn't keep his eyes off you during dinner last night, and you won't have me here to keep him pacified. Ill bet he's made a pass at you." Maggie couldn't stop the blush that gave Glory an affirmative answer. "I thought so," she said. "Honey, if you don't leave, you'll wake up some morning in Nick's bed and feel as if you've been run over by Amtrak. And then he'll dump you like he has all the others before you." "I think I'm safe." "Oh, God, Maggie, run—if not from him then from those. . . those inhuman, barbaric thugs mistakenly referred to as 'the children.' The children! The Pentagon should use 'the children' to combat Russian germ warfare. This morning I asked Freddy if he wanted me to read a story to him. That child's big blue eyes would melt the heart of a tyrant. He said yes, so sweetly, and went to fetch his little storybook. Then he climbed onto my lap and blew in my ear while I opened the worst collection of porn pictures I've ever laid eyes on. They're devils!" A knock sounded. "Glory, are you ready?" Nick's mellow voice came through the door. "Pack. Come with me while you still have a chance." "Thanks, but I'll stay." "Oh, kid. Oh, you poor little thing! I'll say a prayer for you when I'm safely away from this place. By this time tomorrow night you'll wish you had taken my advice."

She threw open the door and Nick's glance moved past her to Maggie, a fleeting look that made Maggie's heart jump. "Hi," he said. "I need to talk to you about the boys when you get back." "Sure thing." "Honey, are you sure you don't want to come?" Glory asked. "Hey, I need her to teach the boys." Glory adjusted her hat on her head. "The boys! Those savage monsters will destroy this sweet girl and you know it!" Nick rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. "Are you leaving too?" Maggie shook her head. "No." "Good. See you later." Nick winked, creases appearing in his cheeks. "Ill eat with Glory. I'll be back later tonight." He took Glory's arm and they headed toward the stairs. Maggie watched his easy walk, thinking about his wink that had made her feel warm all over. She went down to dinner with Letty, Thelma, Tyler Harris, and four smug boys. When she entered the living room Tyler stood up to greet her. Four pairs of eyes gazed at her malevolently. "Boys, I missed you today." Letty frowned. "Miss Linden said you boys didn't appear for your lessons." Quentin shuffled his feet. "Sorry, forgot." Beside her Tyler whispered, "Count your blessings."

Freddy glared at her and Maggie winked in return. "I have your black cape, Freddy. That was cute." His scowl deepened. When dinner was called, Tyler offered his arm. "I hear Glory just left. Couldn't stay another minute." Bobby giggled and Tyler frowned at him. "It was nice to have Miss Wakefield visit," Thelma said. "Nick brought her records for us to hear." They sat down to dinner and Maggie discovered the boys were politely respectful to their aunts and Tyler. After dinner she went to her room to work on some lessons until she heard a car in the driveway. In order to give him time to get settled, Maggie waited twenty minutes before she gathered up her evidence and went in search of Nick Brannon. She found him downstairs in the game room, leaning over a pool table. The only light was a hanging red, green, and blue glass lamp above the table. Brown leather furniture lined the walls, a red stone fireplace filled one end of the room. There was a solitary, off-limits air about the room, a hint of masculine domain, a sensuous aura in the subdued lighting and pool table, and even more so in the broad-shouldered male. She rapped on the open door. "May I talk to you?" "Come in, come in." He sounded weary. His coat was gone, his shirt cuffs turned back on his arms, and his collar was open at the throat, revealing short dark curls. Straightening, he retrieved several balls from the pockets and dropped them onto the table. Holding his cue, he picked up a half-finished drink, squinting at her through smoke drifting up from a small cigar in the corner of his mouth. Oh, Lord, he looked sexy! Her mouth went dry; she felt hot. Every nerve sizzled. How could he set her to trembling by a mere look? For one second she forgot why she'd come. Remembering, she closed the door, crossed the room to the bar, and deposited the recorder, the mikes, the camera, and the vase with the snake.

He smiled. "Is all that supposed to mean something to me, or are you bringing me presents?" "That's from my room." Aggravated, she pointed to the pile. "Hidden mikes, hidden cameras, a recorder, a charming little snake in my bed. I couldn't carry the two-way mirror. I've spent one night in there, but I'd like a different room, please." Dark brows drew together; he studied the pile of equipment. Suddenly, his shirt pulling tautly over his shoulders, he threw his drink at the fireplace. The crystal splintered into a thousand fragments, his drink splashing over the stone, and Maggie jumped. "Damn them to hell!" he said softly, yet with a contained force that chilled her. He ran his fingers through his hair, then tossed the cigar into the fire. Startled by his sudden change, she stared at him, feeling at a loss for words. His gaze met hers. "Sony." "That's all right." Jamming his hands into his pockets, he faced her. "They get to me. Last fall I was single, pursuing a career I loved, traveling all over the world, independent. ..." He ran one hand through his thick hair while the other flailed the air. "Now I have four incorrigibles and two little aunts to care for. Plus enough separate businesses to keep me occupied every day for the rest of my life. I ought to wash my hands of the boys the way Gerald and Alexandra did. Let the kids commit some heinous crime; let the police have them." "You can't do that. Don't give up on them." * "You're too sweet and innocent." "They're kids. There's some basic good in them somewhere. They'll soon realize you're pulling for them. If you save one out of the four, it'll be worth it." While she talked, Maggie racked the balls, picked up a cue, and shot. The red ball rolled across the green felt and dropped into a pocket with a thump.

"Good shot." He studied her with curiosity. "Want to play?" "Sure." Why not? Why not play pool with Nick Brannon? Why not pet a panther? "I always like to play for a stake." His words flung out a dare. "I should've known you weren't Tyler when you wanted to bet with me." He gazed at her across the table. "Bet now?" he asked softly, and she felt the challenge spark between them again. On one level he challenged her to a game of pool. On a more subtle level, he challenged her as a woman. "No, it's poor policy to wager with my employer." "Poor policy, but far more interesting. A kiss against—what would you like?" A kiss. The words made her pulse jump. She knew she should refuse, but he was tossing an irresistible challenge her way. She realized she might lose more than a game, but she was too female to ignore him and he was too male to let it pass. "Against..." She paused and wondered what she would like that was small. "Against a seashell." "A seashell?""A man of your ingenuity should be able to find a shell. I love seashells. I've never seen an ocean or a real beach. Shells are as close as I've come." He looked amused, one dark brow arching upward. "Seashell it is then." As they played in a silent contest of wills, Maggie realized he was as good as he was disturbing. She waited while he lined up each shot, his long torso bending over the table, his slacks clinging to his narrow hips as he moved silently.

Nick watched her execute a difficult shot. "I'm impressed. Where'd you learn to shoot pool?" "I've been doing this with my brother since I could see over the top of the table." "How many brothers do you have?" "One. Colin. He's older, married, and has a baby." "Do you have sisters?" "No, just Colin." "Do your parents live in Sapulpa?" "They're not alive now. They drowned in a boat accident. In a way I have a father, though. My brother is very protective." "Sony about your parents. Mine died a long time ago, but of illness. Letty and Thelma were my father's sisters and they never married, so they lived with my parents most of the time." He watched her shoot again and asked, "Are you playing like hell for your prize, or to avoid giving me a kiss?" "Perhaps both." She smiled. "And if I promise a shell whether you win or lose?" "I'll still play like hell." He strolled around the table and caught her chin in his fingers. His breath was faintly flavored with liquor, his voice husky and soft. "You enjoyed that kiss. You almost fell into the forsythia over it." She tried to ignore the fluttering inside, to face him with a degree of calm. "I'm competitive. It's natural to want to win."

"You're something new in my life, Maggie Linden." His eyes searched hers with a sudden solemnity. Thick black lashes fringed his eyes, giving a softness to his harsh features. "There's an unknown element in you. You're a brave one." She knew how dangerous it was to be so pleased. "The only thing you can't figure out about me is why I don't fall in a swoon at the thought of your kisses. Come on, Nick, you can't win every time!" "I don't give a damn about winning every time. Only when it counts, hon. And you did almost fall in a swoon," he added softly. "It was the hot sunshine," she retorted, and they both laughed. "It's your turn," she said lightly, sounding amused, far from what she felt. She felt high. Everything had become slightly more intense, unforgettable, as if the moment held special significance. Pool became a spectacular game; she felt as if she had practiced all her life for this match. "What a nice smile you have." "Thank you," she said politely. Her pulse raced with pleasure and she received a mocking grin from Nick. "The boys didn't show up this morning." she added. "None of them?" His amusement vanished. "No." "They will tomorrow," he said with determination. He moved away, leaning over the table, his white shirt pulling across his shoulders. His forearms were tanned, sprinkled with dark hairs. A flat gold watch circled his wrist, the face on the inside of his arm. He shifted and leaned over again, then shot. The green ball hit the opposite side, bounced against a yellow ball, sending the yellow ball into a pocket. And she saw he was going to win. The thought unnerved her.

"Don't look as if you'd promised your body to Dracula if you lost." She glanced at him to find him watching her with a sardonic expression. "I almost did," she answered lightly. She wanted him and at the same time was scared to death of him. He was all the things she couldn't handle in a man. She was out of her depth. With a purposeful glint in his eye he came around the table. She wanted to back up a step, but she stood her ground, hearing her heart pound in her ears as he stopped only inches away and placed his hand at the base of her throat. "Then why's your pulse doing the four-minute mile?" "All right, Nick Brannon," she said breathlessly, "I react to you. Satisfied?" "Not even remotely," he answered, and her heart thudded with hammer blows against her rib cage. "I'll win with the next shot." She knew he was telling the truth, not bragging. She hoped her voice didn't betray her turmoil. "Going to claim your prize early?" Again he caught her chin, holding it between a rough thumb and forefinger. "You have saucy cat eyes, Maggie. Green and full of lively curiosity. I'm going to win and I'm going to claim my prize. You knew what you were doing when you bet with me." "I might win yet." She drew a long breath. He smiled, then bent down, taking care to line up his shot. Just as he started his move, Maggie coughed loudly. If his aim was deflected, it didn't show. The last ball bounced off two sides and rolled neatly into a pocket. giving him the game. He straightened and placed his cue on the table. "Did you develop a sudden cough?"

"Sony." "That's cheating." "I coughed!" "Don't pull those stunts on me. Come here, Maggie." Her heart was ahead of the four-minute mile. She tilted her head to one side. "Sure you wouldn't rather have a seashell? A box of chocolates? A fifty-dollar bill?" "Fifty dollars to avoid my kiss?" His dark brows flew together. Taking the cue from her, he laid it down beside his, then rested his arms on her shoulders. Soft red-tinted light shed by the hanging lamp highlighted his coppery cheekbones. His voice was thoughtful. "You'd give up fifty hard-earned dollars to avoid a kiss from me? Are you that scared?" Oh, Lord. Her mind raced for any flimsy excuse. "Where I come from, out in Sapulpa, Oklahoma, a kiss should mean something." His features softened, crinkles fanning from the corners of his eyes. "You haven't had the right kissers, babe. A kiss is fun. Let me show you how much fun." And he did. His mouth met hers, a velvet warmth, opening hers expertly. His kiss was a languorous torment, teasing, driving her to a deeper hunger, a fuller response. He thrust his tongue inside in a heated duel that was intimate, caressing. And while he kissed her, his hard arms circled her narrow waist, pulling her in against his length, making her feel secure, desired. Her arms wound around his neck, rubbing over the soft white cotton, the stiff collar, against his warm neck. His lips shifted slightly. "I won. Give, honey . . ."he whispered. His arms tightened as his mouth came down again, claiming more them she had bargained for. He shifted her slightly, moving one leg past her to prop his foot on the bar rail, the inside of his thigh pressing against her hip. The

challenge that had sparked the air between them with every confrontation crystallized into a sensuous dalliance of sultry taste and touch, of a masculine quest and feminine response. Nicholas Brannon was as dangerous as a hungry, stalking panther. Magnetism, that pull on her senses he exerted effortlessly, came on a silent tread without warning until her flesh and pulse and nerves were captured by hard, sinewy muscles, by soft, stroking touches. Finally she pushed away, afraid of her reactions, of his assertiveness. "I bet a kiss, not a seduction!" His solemn features devastated her further. Her breath all but stopped. "I think I lost," he whispered, "and you won." "It's been fun." She drew a deep breath as if she'd been isolated on the moon with no oxygen supply. "Now, may I change rooms?" "Sure," he answered casually in his captivating, raspy voice. "Don't rush off. Let's have a nightcap." How could there be any harm in that? What a question! She knew her heart was playing tricks on her mind, but mind went along with heart. "All right." "Such enthusiasm," he said dryly. "Warms the cockles of my heart. Let me guess—Coke, orange juice, warm milk?" His needling struck a vein, irritating her. Trying to sound casual, she said, "Scotch on the rocks, please." "Scotch coming right up," he said with amusement. Why had she let him goad her into a drink? She didn't drink. Just because he tagged her as a nondrinker shouldn't have been any reason to get in a huff. Everything he did seemed to get her into a huff.

She noticed that the soft light caught the burnished glints in his black hair as his strong hands moved competently over the bottles, ice, and glasses. Locks of hair fell over his forehead until he shook his head and they shifted away from his face. He placed her drink in front of her, lifted his glass of red wine, and said, "Here's to the second-best pool player this side of Detroit." She clinked her glass against his. "Great, who are we drinking to?" "To you. Miss Obtuse." "That's only one game. You can't tell much with the first game." "You can tell a lot with the first game." His voice lowered to a seductive, caressing huskiness that played over her nerves like heat lightning across the sky on a June evening. "The first game, the first kiss, the first—" "I believe you," she interrupted hastily, and was rewarded with such a knowing grin, it made her blush. Trying to maintain a steady tone, she said, "As far as pool is concerned, it should really be the best two out of three." "Fine! Want to start now?" "Wait a minute." "Scared?" A dark brow quirked upward. "No." She played with her drink, turning the glass, watching a crystal ice cube swirl in the amber liquid. "Why do I let you goad me into things?" "I goad you into what things?" "Playing pool, drinking Scotch, sitting here at this hour with you, kisses ..." "I think you like a challenge. God knows I do." "Ah, the world-weary cynic."

"Perhaps I am." He shot her a glance that was shuttered, remote, then toyed with his wineglass. Without thinking, reacting as she would to any of her brother's friends, Maggie reached up to trail her finger down his cheek, feeling tiny bristles along his jaw, the faint indentation of the scar. "Maybe it's time to come home." She regretted her actions instantly. His head rose and she became anchored in a sea of gray. He reached lazily across the narrow space between them, his hand sliding behind her neck, pulling her across the bar to meet his lips. He took her mouth in a gentle, delicate kiss, the barest breath. "Ahh, Maggie," he said softly, "the girl I caught in the forsythia. You're so sweet..." She didn't want to be sweet. All her life she had been described as nice, sweet, reliable; from Nick Brannon, it rankled. So, throwing wisdom to the winds, she slipped her arm around his neck, pulling his mouth closer in a reckless move. She placed her lips firmly on his, thrusting her tongue against his, tasting, stroking, trying in some indefinable, instinctive feminine way to make Nick Brannon take her seriously. She put heart and soul and all her dislike of "sweet" into her kiss. Finally, she pulled away. His lashes were lacy, dark above his prominent cheekbones, and lay still for seconds before they rose to reveal a smoldering gaze. His lips were pink from her kisses, and a burning, hungry expression played over his features. "This bar would be between us." He straightened and walked around it. She recognized the determination in his gait and felt like a rabbit stalked by a leopard. Why hadn't she left well enough alone, let sweet be sufficient? Panicky, she asked, "Ready to play?" She had slipped off the barstool and was starting toward the pool table when he reached out to catch her, to pull her close, settling her against his solid chest. "Oh, yes, I'm ready to play," he said in his seductive baritone.

"I take it all back," she whispered hastily. "Oh, hon, you can't take back a kiss. A kiss bestowed is a gift given forever," he explained as he brushed her cheeks with his lips. His warm breath fanned over her cheek, carrying a faint hint of wine. "Some kisses are baubles like shiny tinsel, meaningless, but others have ribbons attached that last and bind giver and receiver." "Then take care, Nick Brannon, that ribbons don't bind a heart craving freedom," she murmured, and met his solemn gaze. Why had she said that to him? She could no more bind this man to her than a spider's web could catch a star. "Maggie." The way he said her name coursed through her veins and heart. "I'm afraid," she whispered. "I don't believe it," he whispered back, and lowered his mouth to brush hers. Maggie wriggled out of his grasp, hating the breathless tone of her voice. "Nick, you go too fast." She moved around the table and picked up a cue. When she looked up, her heart stopped, then started again with a thud. Nick, his fists resting on his hips, was looking at her with a tantalizing mixture of wry amusement and smoldering desire. "I'll get that kiss, Maggie." She felt as if she might melt. She struggled to catch her breath and sound normal. "Want to have another game?" "Sure, hon, only we ought to up the ante, make the prize bigger." "No, I'd still like a seashell." "You'll get a seashell, Maggie. You'll get what you want." "And you intend to get what you want."

"I hope so." The scorching implication in his words heated the room until she felt on fire. "Rack the balls. I'll play you for another kiss." She tilted her head at him. "I thought you wanted to up the ante." The minute she said it she wished she could take back her words. Why didn't she leave well enough alone with Nick? What constantly goaded her to challenge him? A lazy smile played over his features and his white teeth showed. "The prize will be bigger next time." She blushed and racked the balls. And played as if her life were at stake. She had a suspicion he was playing hard too. Something else became disturbing. As they moved around the table playing silently, concentrating on each shot, she became increasingly aware of Nick. When he moved past her he would lightly brush her shoulder with his. He'd pat her arm when she made a good shot, constant touches that were like feathers brushing her, yet leaving a scalding trace behind. She watched Nick lean over the table, his shirt molding to muscles in his broad shoulders as he played. On her turn she lined up a shot, played, and watched the green ball drop into a pocket. "Maggie, I haven't seen anyone fight so hard to avoid my kisses since I was in the third grade and chased girls at recess." he said drvlv. "Imagine that!" She arched her brows. "I just don't like to lose." "My kisses—you lose?" "Oh, Nick, I didn't mean to be impolite." She shot top quickly and missed. "You don't have to be polite about my kisses." He grinned. "If only Glory could hear this conversation. She warned me to be nice to you, not to hurt you. Little did she know you'd trample my ego into the dust."

"Hardly. It's your shot." "You've taken yours with deadly aim, Maggie love." But he smiled when he said it, and Maggie's heart hummed with excitement. As Nick stretched out a long arm, Maggie could imagine what it would be like to be held by that arm, to feel his lean body press against her. He shifted slightly and started to play when a high whine stabbed the silence. The roar of an engine driven at full horsepower could be heard with a jarring dissonance. They both paused, listening to the noise increase until it sounded as if a car were headed straight for the game room.

Four Nick burst into action, racing from the room and sprinting down the hall. Tires squealed, shrieking a protest against the paving. A crash of metal and breaking glass followed; a siren flared, then died abruptly. Maggie ran behind Nick. He dashed up a short flight of stairs, down a hallway, and outside. The back lights were on, shedding daytime brilliance on the driveway and garage, sparkling in a thousand bits of broken glass scattered on the concrete. Maggie hesitated for an instant. A brown Thunderbird was smashed against the garage in a tangle of metal. Curling tendrils of smoke escaped from beneath the hood, orange flames licking out where the metal had buckled on impact. Steam hissed: a faint odor of gasoline fumes tainted the night air. Nick whirled around, stopping her with his hands on her shoulders. "Get back, it may be ugly." Startled, she halted. He ran to the car, yanked on the jammed door, hurried to the other door to jerk unsuccessfully on it. He looked around and ran into the garage. In seconds he returned with a crowbar. Muscles strained along his shoulders and arms as he pried open the jammed door. Tongues of flame shot higher in the air, leaping into the darkness. She called, "Do you have a fire extinguisher?" "In the garage on the wall." Maggie ran inside and grabbed the red container, then hurried outside. She opened the car's hood, yanking her hand away when she burned her fingers on hot metal. As she sprayed the flames with chemical foam, Nick pried the door open and pulled out Quentin, who staggered to his feet and belched. "Hi, Uncle Nick!" He ambled toward the house.

"Quentin!" Nick snapped the name, his voice cutting through the night, stopping Quentin instantly. Quentin's lanky frame swayed in a circle, defying gravity, as he turned owlish eyes in their direction. "Whooops!" Nick swore and caught up with Quentin. "Are you hurt?" "Who me?" "Dammit, Quentin!" "Hey, Uncle Nick ..." "Get in the house." Nick's cold fury penetrated Quentin's drunken fog. His face paled and he took a step back. Nick took Quentin's arm, marching him toward the house. Maggie followed them inside, blowing on her burnt fingers. Nick glanced at her over his shoulder. "I'll be back, Maggie," he said tersely. It wasn't until Maggie reached her room that she remembered she had asked Nick for another bedroom and nothing had been done. She gazed around the room and set her jaw grimly. She wasn't sleeping in this booby-trap another night. She sat at the foot of the stairs, waiting until Nick finished with Quentin. What a humor he'd be in by then! And while she waited, memories of the past hour flitted through her mind, disturbing her senses. She had known Nick Brannon only two days, yet his mocking smile, his breathtaking kisses were etched deeply in her memory. Finally, she heard a commotion and a white-faced Quentin appeared at the door of the library, Nick close behind. Nick's eyes narrowed when he saw Maggie. "I need to talk to you about a room," she said.

"Oh, yes." Nick turned, wrapping his fist in Quentin's shirt, lifting the boy to his toes, even though Quentin was fully as tall as Nick. Nick's voice was low and intense as he asked, "Quentin, how many hidden microphones are in her room?" "I think three, sir," he whispered. Nick shook his head. "Come on." He let him down and, holding his arm, propelled Quentin up the steps. "If you'll wait down here or in the game room," Nick said to Maggie, "I'll be right back." "I'll be in the game room." In the quiet room she began to play pool. She was lining up a difficult shot and didn't hear a sound, but felt compelled to look over her shoulder. Nick was lounging in the doorway, gazing at her intently, his hip thrust against the jamb, his arms crossed. His presence renewed a tempest of emotions, some that frightened her, some that puzzled her. He looked so sexy and, at the same time, threatening. The hard, powerful body was relaxed, yet how swiftly he could change and unleash his control. Realizing she was staring, she turned to put away the cue. "Ready to find me a new room?" She didn't hear him make a sound, but suddenly his arms were closing around her waist, turning her and pulling her close. Black locks of hair fell above his smoldering eyes as he gazed at her. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to raise her lips to his, but there was a dangerous quality to Nick Brannon, something beyond her element that made her cautious. "Nick, I'm not sure what I want." She slipped out of his arms. His expression was impossible to read, making her lick her lips nervously. "Will you get me another room?"

"I seem to remember something about never being afraid of me. ..." "I don't think it's you I'm afraid of," she whispered. "I'm not so sure about myself." He gazed at her so long that her pulse fluttered crazily. He reached out to take her hand, but she yanked it away. When a quizzical, cynical smile lifted one corner of his mouth, she explained hastily, "I burned my hand on the car." And my heart on you. Why had that thought popped into mind? Nick Brannon and she had had only fleeting encounters, a few kisses. They were worlds apart, destiny crossing their paths as briefly as leaves tossed together in a windstorm. She clung to the thought while he picked up her hand. "I have something upstairs you can put on your burn. Come on, Maggie." She walked down the hall beside him, through the quiet house, their footsteps muffled by thick carpet. "Didn't anyone else hear the crash?" "No. They're in the wing of the house away from the garage and all of them sleep dead to the world." "Did you get Quentin to bed?" "Yeah. Kid should be behind bars." "He wasn't hurt?" "He was anesthetized. Alcohol. He wouldn't have felt it if the whole garage had fallen on him," Nick said bitterly. "He ruined a car that's worth thousands. The burglar alarm is broken now—not that any burglar in his right mind would break in here!" She glanced at him, at the unruly black hair, the jaw set in a stubborn thrust. "You seem to be able to handle them."

"Oh, yeah! I arrived yesterday. I'll clean up their act, then when I go, they're at it again. I'm just discovering what they're really like. I was with them for a month after the funeral and everything was peaches and cream. When I left, all hell broke loose. I knew Gerald had trouble with them, but I didn't know the extent of it." They climbed the stairs, retrieved her things, and went down the hall to the opposite wing. He opened a door, switching on the lights to a room decorated in pale blue, with a thick rug, a blue bedspread on the kind-size bed, and blue velvet chairs. He set down her suitcase, closed the door, and slipped the lock. "Thanks," she said dryly, ignoring her heartbeat, "but you don't come with the room." A brief smile curved his mouth. "No, but I don't have to leave by that door anyway. I wrung a confession out of Quentin. Your room was the only one wired for sound." "You believe him?" "He knows he better not lie to me." Nick reached out to smooth her collar. "My conscience is getting to me. Do you know how many teachers they've had?" "Fourteen?" "Someone told you. Maggie, you're sweet. Go home. It wouldn't hurt these kids if they missed the rest of the semester. They've attended some of the finest schools in the world. They're smart and bored. But their emotional growth has been neglected." — "Have you tried a counselor?" He laughed cynically. "The last one was terrified of them by the fourth week. I can't put them in public schools because they've been expelled and told not to return. Enough about them for one night. Look, tomorrow, pack

and go home. Resign. I'm going to hate myself in the morning for doing this, but in the interests of your own safety and peace of mind, just go" "We'll see. They're only kids." He stroked her red-gold hair, his touch so faint, a brush like an evening breeze, yet it created an instant tingling response. His fingers lingered on her cheek. He said softly, "Oh, hon, are you the proverbial optimist, looking at a stinking world through rose- colored glasses? Just don't step out into it—you might get run over." She didn't mention that it was the second time that night someone had warned her about getting run over. She asked, "How can you say the world is terrible when you have everything?" He glanced around the room. "Our wealth is insulation, but I don't live here all the time. I'm a reporter and I've been all over the world. Believe me, it can stink. And those four, they're not full of harmless pranks. They're dangerous. They burned down the lake house Gerald owned at Eufaula. Quentin's no child. I had to pay one teacher an enormous sum to keep her from pressing charges against him. You're self-reliant, Maggie, but you're also trusting and sweet. Go home, baby." Baby. She wondered if he really saw her or if he had cataloged her and dropped her neatly into a mental file—Miss Maggie Linden, young, sweet, a baby, a nondrinker, teacher, college grad. Pat her on the head and send her home. A curl of obstinacy unfolded; why did people assume she couldn't take care of herself when in reality she had taken care of herself completely for several years now. Why did men always treat her like a buddy? While her thoughts seethed over his careless remark, he took her arm and led her across the room. "Here's my room," he said, and opened a door. Surprised that she had an adjoining room and aware of his shoulder lightly touching hers, she glanced over an enormous bedroom—sitting-room combination with large pots of green plants, heavy mahogany furniture, bookshelves, a broad desk littered with papers, and a king-size bed covered in a brown spread.

"We have connecting rooms? Did Glory just vacate my room?" "No, she didn't vacate it," he answered sardonically. "She was in my room." "Oh." He went on as if it were of no consequence. "This way, if you need help, I'm only a call away. Or if you get lonesome ..." "That, my friend, is as likely as—" Laughing, he interrupted her. "I know, as likely as a burning snowman, but I thought I'd make the offer." "Offer received and declined." And she would never tell him what the offer did to her heartbeat. "Of course, I may get lonesome." "Get Freddy to keep you company." The low ring of a white telephone on his desk interrupted their conversation. Nick crossed the room to answer and Maggie closed the connecting door behind her. She looked around her new quarters at the crystal lamps, a vase filled with red silk poppies, a large watercolor seascape. She checked for hidden mikes, found none, and opened her suitcase to get her robe. Something wriggled beneath the green cotton. Maggie set her jaw and flipped back the robe. A small white mouse winked up at her and scampered to the corner of the suitcase to burrow beneath her slippers. Maggie picked it up, found a crystal bowl that would hold the mouse, and plunked him inside. After bathing in a sunken blue tub, she dressed in a short, white cotton nightie with thin straps and a low, rounded neck. She

started to climb into bed and realized she had forgotten to pack her alarm clock. She slipped into her pale green cotton robe and picked up the bowl with the mouse. She knocked lightly on the connecting door. "Come in," Nick called. When she opened the door, she forgot momentarily what she intended to ask, because Nick looked so distraught, running his fingers through his black hair, the short, thick strands springing away as his hand moved across his head. His face was flushed, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. "I forgot to pack my clock," she said. "And I found this in my suitcase." "Morton. Sorry. You're not afraid of mice?" "My mice were named Ali and Baba." "I should've guessed," he said with a smile that vanished as swiftly as it had come. "Morton was the final straw that sent Glory on her way. I'll put him back in his cage. You can have my radio." He set the bowl with the mouse on his dresser, then leaned over to reach behind the headboard of his bed to unplug the radio. He changed his mind and straightened. "Come here. I'll show you how it works." He held the radio in his blunt, brown fingers while he explained the various dials. "Now, set it and I'll see if you have it right." She punched the proper button, watching numbers flicker past while all she could think of was Nick's nearness, his enticing scent. She straightened. "There, all set. Six-thirty." His arm slipped around her waist. His voice was low as he turned her to him. "Before you go . . ."

She wanted to raise her lips to his, but she knew better. Nick Brannon was playing a game. Glory was absent; Maggie was present. Two weeks from now it would be someone else. She slipped out of his grasp. "Thanks for the clock, Nick." He caught her before she had taken two steps, his arms banding around her waist. "Maggie, wait." Her heart thumped violently against her rib cage, but she placed her hands on his chest. "No, Nick. That's not what I want." "Oh? Then what's wrong with your pulse, love?" he asked, his gaze resting on a throbbing vein in her throat. "Look here—" "Where?" He grinned. "Nick—" The ringing of the phone interrupted them. Holding her with one arm, Nick reached behind him with the other hand and picked up the receiver. When he turned his head to talk she started to go, but his arm tightened. She drew a deep breath and stopped her struggles, relishing for a moment the warmth of his body, his strong arm around her, his hip pressed against her. She was startled when he swore softly. "Yeah, they called. The plane's here, but I can't get away." His voice was deep and harsh, grating with raw emotion. He was silent, his face flushing darkly as his brow furrowed. She studied him, the fine-grained copper skin, his thin nose, his thick black lashes. Yielding to an urge, she slipped her fingers through the dark hair at the back of his head, letting strands slide sensuously between her fingers. He turned his head to look at her.

Her gaze drifted to his hand on the receiver, the injured fifth finger, and she was startled to see his knuckles were white. He swore again. "I want to," he said in a raspy voice. "God knows I want to, but I can't walk off and leave them." He shifted impatiently. "Oh, hell, Chad, I just can't do it." He listened and she could feel the tenseness in his body, the muscles, tight and hard, pressed against her. After a few seconds he said, "Yeah, I'll think it over. I want to. I'll call you—by ten o'clock tomorrow. Yes." He replaced the phone and looked off into space. She wondered if he had forgotten he was holding her. "Trouble? You have an assignment?" she asked softly. "Yes, dammit!" He dropped his arm and moved to the dresser to pick up a pack of cigars. He glanced at her. "You don't smoke, do you?" She shook her head. "Do you mind?" "No. You can't go because of the boys?" He clamped his jaw shut, a remote, guarded expression coming down over his features, and she realized he might think she was prying. This was a man who spent long intervals of his life alone; he was as solitary as a leopard."I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry." She started for her room. "Maggie, you don't need to apologize. You're right." He spoke quietly, yet with such ice that the room chilled. "There's a story in Central America. They want me to cover it. There's a new mountaintop radar station in southern Honduras manned by U.S. Air Force personnel to control the increasing U.S. military air traffic. They watch for any airdrops of weapons to the Salvadoran guerrillas. My wire service wants a report on this and the arms smuggling through Honduras. I want to go, but I can't leave the delinquents!"

He moved away with restless energy, walking to the window, talking while he gazed outside. "My life used to be my own. Now I'm suddenly the father of four incorrigibles." She stared at his broad, implacable back. He had won a Pulitzer prize for reporting. He was talented. Too talented to let it go to waste. "Surely you don't have to give up your life for them. Can't you—" "What?" The word was a whiplash. He turned angrily. "Rush forward to scoop up a major story? And leave them to run loose? That's what their parents did! Well, by God, I'm not going to!" He took a deep breath, violently stubbing out the cigar. "But I don't want to give up my career either. I've risked my life, worked damned hard—too hard to toss it aside because they won't behave if I'm gone a month." He turned back to the window, jamming his hands into his pockets as he stared into the black night. She looked at his broad shoulders, his tangled hair, and felt a strange stir of compassion for this tough, hard man. She wanted to touch him. She crossed the room. "Nick, my brother played football. I give a good massage and you look like you need one." He turned, predatory panther eyes blinking as if he'd forgotten her. Then a fleeting half-smile crossed his features. "Just what I need," he drawled, his voice dropping to a low, sensuous tone, and she realized he had misinterpreted her offer. A blush crept up her 'cheeks. "I offered a back massage, nothing more." She weathered a speculative stare before he said, "That's a disappointment. I thought maybe after our kisses ..." "Forget the rubdown." She turned to go, but he caught her arm, laughing. "Come here, Maggie. My head aches abominably." He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his back to her. Noticing how the thick black hair lay softly against his tanned neck, she touched his shoulders and discovered easing Nick Brannon's tension was vastly different from giving her brother a back massage. Her fingertips became

conductors for a fluid, searing current that flowed from his hard muscles to her body to center in her nerves. Tentatively, then more firmly, chiding herself for the hesitation, she began to knead his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his white cotton shirt. "Something bothering you, hon?" His voice was tinged with amusement. "No." Pressing her lips together, she squeezed his shoulders violently and heard him chuckle. "I haven't noticed Letty or Thelma having any difficulty with the boys," she said. "What makes them immune?" "There's no sport to it. It would be like a big game hunter using his elephant rifle to knock off the family cat. No, you're fair game. Letty and Thelma aren't. Letty and Thelma and I control the money. They're not dumb, just mean as hell." She felt hard shoulder blades, the smooth musculature along his spine. And every few seconds her gaze returned to the back of his head, to the thick hair, dark as ravens' wings, so silky that she longed to brush her fingers through the short strands. "How did their parents cope with them?" "They didn't. Gerald bought their way out of trouble. They practically needed an introduction to their mother. She avoided them at all costs. Can't say that I blame her. I don't know." His voice softened. "It's a hell of a mess." He leaned his head back, his long sooty lashes feathering over his sharp cheekbones as he closed his eyes. "I can handle taking care of Thelma and Letty. " His voice deepened, a rough, slow baritone that caressed her senses with velvet strokes. "Hire a housekeeper they like, a companion. Their financial affairs are taken care of, Tyler oversees that—no problem there." He was quiet for a few moments, then he drawled, "It's a good thing I'm not the marrying kind. No one would have me with those four thrown into the deal. I might as well have the bubonic plague." He twisted to frown at her. "Did I hear a snicker?" "No, sir," she said in mock solemnity.

"Why do I doubt you?" She looked down at his back as he turned away. As she squeezed and pressed his muscles, she said, "It wouldn't matter, Nick. With your forceful personality, your wealth, your sexy charm, there would be some woman willing to put up with them to have you." His Voice lowered, sounding as if he were on the verge of sleep. "I can't think of anyone I've dated who would last two days. Not even four hours. Look at Glory. They destroyed her when they entered the room. Quentin shattered her nerves, the twins almost gave her heart failure. If you hadn't scooped up the caterpillar ..." She glared at the back of his head. Here was Nick Brannon doing exactly what every other male she'd ever known had done, confiding in her about the women in his life. She didn't care to hear about Glory or the delicate women he dated. To her relief he asked, "Aren't you getting tired of standing? Sit down." She sat on the bed behind him, rubbing the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. He drew himself up straight, tugging his shirt out of his belt. "It'll feel better without this. " He peeled off his shirt and tossed it into a chair. And the red lights started blinking, wooden arms lowered, bells clanged, warning her of an Amtrak arrival, the Midnight Special, charging through the night straight for Maggie Linden's heart. Through the fine, expensive cotton she had felt his muscles, but nothing had prepared her for the shock of seeing his body only inches away. He was tempered steel, brawny, muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, fit and vital with flesh that was sun- kissed, gilded like burnished copper. Two long white scars trailed over his back, tiny rough lines cutting across the bronze skin. Another jagged round scar was high on his shoulder, mute evidence of his dangerous lifestyle, but none of the scars could detract from the perfect symmetry of his shoulders and waist or the healthy vitality of muscle and flesh and bone. And the massage she gave changed drastically.

She touched the warm, enticing flesh and felt a shock radiate through her nerves. As if he guessed the direction of her thoughts, he said, "The scars are from close scrapes in the line of duty." "You don't have to do that kind of work." She hoped he didn't notice the drop in the tone of her voice. "I love it. It's the only time I really feel useful. I like the excitement, the high I get from the risk," he stated forcefully, and she believed him. He was a panther who loved the hunt. She couldn't understand it, but she heard the sincerity in his voice. "Routine bores me beyond words. I can't sit in an office day after day." His voice was hard, defensive, and she wondered if it was an old argument. "I can hire good men who'll run everything for me," he added. "A little of the boys' wildness runs in the family." "I'm not like them! Mine's constructive." His voice was low. "My hand doesn't bother you, I noticed. Either that, or you hid it well." "Your finger?" she asked lightly. "No, it doesn't. Most people have scars." He turned, his gray eyes capturing hers. "Where are your scars, Maggie?" She felt the blush that flooded her cheeks. "Never mind! Turn around." "Now I'm curious as hell." She wrinkled her nose. "Forget it. You'll never know, Mr. Brannon." His eyebrows rose. "Ahh, Maggie, what a challenge that is!" His gaze drifted down and she felt on fire. His searching look halted on the fullness of her breasts and she felt them tingle. Slowly, he looked lower down to her shapely legs, then up again. "Are you finished?"

"I don't see any scars." "No, you don't. And you won't." "Do they show if you wear a swimsuit?" "None of your business, mister, but no, they don't." "Wow. curiosity overwhelms me! Want to bet again?" He raised an eyebrow in a teasing expression. His question was another challenge. "Or are you afraid to bet with me?" "Never, but it may be a long, long time before we know the outcome of this one." "I won't forget. Want another shell? I'd settle for the same old prize." She laughed. "Done! When I'm seventy-five, Nick, I'll Come around for my shell." He grinned. "Let's set a different limit. By the end of May." Her pulse quickened. "Agreed," she answered in a thick tone of voice. His mocking gaze held hers and her heart tightened. He stroked her cheek lightly. "The end of May, love ..." "Turn your back again." By the end of May. He might as well have said all he implied in his bet. By the end of May he thought he would get her in his bed. She rubbed his broad shoulders, squeezing the powerful muscles, working down his back that rippled with firmness beneath the tawny skin. A faint odor of talcum, a clean male scent, reached her as she kneaded, stroking the tenseness out of his body. His voice was softer, less harassed. "You'd think I could sit the boys down, reason with them, just say, 'Kids, your old uncle's going to lose his career, everything I've worked for if you don't cool it. Put a lid on it for a month and let me have a life of my own.' I'd give them ten minutes after I left town to commit the first atrocity. If I ever

got married, I hope I have the sense to get a signed agreement there'll be no children." "All children aren't like those four." As she kneaded his shoulders again she realized how strong he was. And it was impossible to forget his kisses, to stop the rising hot tide of memories of standing in Nick Brannon's arms. "You're easy to talk to, Maggie." "So I've been told." She glared at the back of his head while her hands relished each touch. She thought about his problems. He had too much talent to let a story be lost. An idea came. She massaged his shoulders while she thought it over. Then she asked softly, "Why don't you take them with you?"

Five He turned to look at her with cynical amusement. "Thanks, honey. It's not your problem." "No, I'm serious," she answered quietly, trying to breathe normally again, to keep her mind on the conversation. He sat half-facing her, his broad, masculine chest inches away, riveting her attention. His bronzed skin was lightly sprinkled with short black hairs, gathering in whorls of denser growth down the center of his chest, disappearing beneath his belt and slacks. Her fingers seemed to develop a life of their own, wanting to reach out and touch the soft mat of hair, the solid expanse of his chest. What on earth were they talking about? She remembered and said, "Take them with you." "Oh, sure," he answered mockingly. "Down into a jungle filled with guerrillas ..." "Isn't there a place before your destination, the last outpost of civilization, where you could leave them?" It was difficult to talk; her mouth felt dry. She was too aware of his broad bare chest, but there was nowhere else to look. His knees pressed lightly against hers. She didn't want to continue to stare at his chest, at the tight coils of muscle under the smooth golden flesh. She brushed imaginary lint off her robe. "And what would happen when I leave them?" he asked too sweetly. "They'd get eaten by wild animals, killed by natives, or lost in the river. They can't stay without me." "Take someone to supervise them while you go ahead." "Oh, sure. I hate to sound ungrateful when you're trying so hard, but who the hell would go to supervise those four?" "I would if you'd pay my expenses." Why had she volunteered? She brushed her robe some more, smoothing it over her knees. How could she control the monsters in wild surroundings when no one could control them in civilization?

"You'd go with me?" The tone of his voice made her realize that she had committed the wildest folly of her life. "It was just a suggestion." "Why would you go?" he asked curiously. "I don't mind a challenge." "Your proposition interests me." "Don't put it that way, Nick!" She blushed. "I already regret my offer." He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, lightly touching her, and she drew a deep breath. "You'd go with me to a jungle." "Don't sound so satisfied. You have a problem; I offered a solution." "You did at that." He smiled. "They'd sell your nubile body to the local pimp the first hour my back was turned." "I don't think so," she answered quietly. Did she want to be with Nick Brannon so badly? Or was it a chance for real excitement in her ordinary life? She couldn't reason anything. Her mind was busy trying to avoid thinking about Nick's superb body. No wonder he could live such a dangerous life; he was physically fit, his muscles honed to perfection. "You're going to wear your robe out, brushing it that way, kitten." Startled, she looked up, feeling the waves of heat wash upward. His voice was soft. "You're a green-eyed kitten, Maggie." Every nerve quivered. His gaze lowered to her breasts and they seemed to swell with anticipation. She drew in her breath, unintentionally pushing her breasts against the flimsy nightgown and robe. "Let me finish this massage." "You'd go with me?" he asked huskily.

"Turn around." Was relief tempered with disappointment as he turned and she continued to rub his back? She wondered how he could exert such an influence on her by doing so little, by voice and glance. "How can you control them?" he asked, and the lazy, relaxed drawl returned. She rubbed the base of his neck, massaging the strong, corded column, touching soft black hairs along his nape. She tried to think about the question. "Perhaps if they were completely out of their element, they might change. They've never seen the real world. All they know is wealth and having their way." He dropped his head forward. "Too bad the United States Army won't lend me a drill sergeant. You'd have to get a battery of shots." "I have all my shots—remember, I'm a teacher. I needed innoculations to teach." "Typhoid?" "No, but I have everything else, measles, mumps, whooping cough. The whole bit." She used the sides of her palms to pound lightly down his back along his spine, then began to massage with her fingers working upward over resilient skin. His black leather belt and dark slacks hugged his trim hips below his bare waist, gaping only a fraction in the middle of his back as he sat with his knees spread, his elbows on his knees. He rolled his head from side to side. "That does feel good. Measles and mumps aren't the vaccinations you'd need." "I can get the shots." "So you'd go with me to Central America," he said softly. "It's not the Hilton at Miami Beach."

"I'm not delicate." His head tilted back; his eyes closed. "Mmm, what a touch you have, Maggie. Maggie and her magic fingers." He paused. "It's primitive, raw, ugly, and dangerous." "So's Tulsa sometimes." He chuckled. "No, really. You said you've never seen the ocean. You don't have any idea what you're letting yourself in for." He sounded as if he'd already decided to take her, and her pulse hummed with the possibility. "I can manage," she answered in a hoarse whisper, wondering how he could miss the note of excitement. He dropped his head again and his voice was muffled. "It would risk their lives. And yours. I can't do that." "You think Quentin didn't jeopardize his life tonight when he was drunk, driving the car into the garage at a high speed?" Suddenly he straightened, turned, and swung her down on the bed. His strong, straight arms were on either side of her, his fists doubled on the bed pinning her close to his hard, broad chest while he gazed down at her. "My sexy charm?" Startled by his actions, by his question, it took a few seconds before she remembered saying something about his sexy charm. "Nick," she said softly, trying to hide a wildly beating heart, trying to avoid touching his chest, "I take it back." "Like kisses, you can't take spoken words back. They're said and done and the consequences have to be faced." His breath came light, wine-sweet, from lips that made her ache simply by looking at them. "Ahh, Maggie, you're like a fresh spring rose."

"So help me, Nick Brannon, if you tell me again I'm sweet..." His eyes danced with challenging laughter. "You'll what? You're a bristly one, you know? Always ready for a spat. You'll what?" he repeated. "Kiss me like you did downstairs. Oh, kitten, you are sweet, the sweetest young..." "I warned you, Nick. Fair and square." Knowing she was tempting fate, she wrapped a slender arm around his neck and pulled his head down. Their lips brushed in a teasing kiss. Her heart began to thrill with excitement as she tasted his lips. Tongues met, his arms slipped beneath her and his weight came down on top of her momentarily until he rolled and turned her, fitting her against his length. They had kissed in the garden amid sweet yellow flowers and the intensity had shocked her. Her eyes flew open again in shock because somewhere deep inside she knew this was a kiss given as he had said, with ribbons that bound giver and receiver. Unless she stopped soon, part of her would be irrevocably bound to Nick Brannon. Only Nick's fetters would be silk ribbons; hers would be golden chains that could not be cut or broken. Her thighs pressed against his; her soft breasts were crushed to his chest. He kissed her cheek, his lips trailing to her ear. "Maggie, you always challenge me . . . I'm going to meet that challenge, babe." Her throat tightened at the forcefulness of his words, the delicious threat that ran beneath them. It wouldn't do for the man to get his way at the crook of his finger. "No." It was a flat, positive statement. She pulled away and stood up. " 'Night, Nick." He lay back, his head propped on his elbow, gazing at her with such heat she almost trembled. He looked so inviting stretched on the bed, his chest bare, his eyes revealing his hungry desire. Every inch of Maggie ached to move back into his arms, but all her logic told her she would lose the war to win a battle.

"It doesn't have to be good night, Maggie. I don't want you to go." If she went back into his arms now, it would be at the subtlest gesture, the slightest invitation. She would never hand her heart over to Nick Brannon so carelessly. She blew him a kiss and walked to her room, aware that he was watching her, knowing she longed to return to his arms. Maggie closed the door behind her and leaned against it limply. She'd had a very narrow escape. How close she had come to getting run down by the Midnight Special! She turned out the light, slipped into bed, and lay awake, achingly recalling Nick Brannon stretched out in bed in the room next door, remembering in exact detail how Nick's back and shoulders felt to touch.

Wednesday morning Maggie rose and gazed out the window at a typical March day in Oklahoma. Gray clouds scuttled across the sky, wind whipped about the yard, battering jonquils and tulips and snatching off red and yellow petals to set them whirling in the fierce air above a greening Bermuda grass lawn. Had she flung her heart to the wind as carelessly last night? She dressed in a tan skirt and matching long- sleeved cotton blouse and started downstairs for breakfast. Not once did it occur to her to resign, as Nick had urged her to do the night before. At the foot of the stairs she found Letty, Thelma, and Hubert. Letty was crying, holding a white linen handkerchief to her nose while Thelma held one hand over the phone and Hubert looked ready to chew wood.

Six "Hubert, you've got to find Nicky," Thelma said. "This terrible man said if Nicky doesn't appear in ten minutes, he's calling the police." Maggie looked down at the address scratched in shaky penmanship on a scrap of paper. It wasn't far away. She whispered, "Can I help?" Thelma shook her head and lifted the receiver to her mouth to say in a quivering voice, "He'll be right there, Mr. Wilson, if you'll just wait. He'll pay for everything." The boys. Thelma hung up the phone. "Hubert, you must find him quickly. Tell him to get to this address, to see a Mr. Wilson. The twins threw a bowling ball through his store window." "Would you like me to go until Nick gets there?" Maggie offered. All three turned. Hubert's scowl deepened, but the ladies sighed with relief. "Oh, my dear," Letty said. "That would be so nice. Hubert,-copy the address for Maggie." He did as instructed and handed it to her. "Ill try to find Mr. Brannon as quickly as possible, miss," he said stiffly, disapproval written all over his features. Maggie hurried upstairs to get her purse, then drove to the small shopping center. It wasn't difficult to spot the shop. A crowd had gathered on the walk. Bobby sat on the roof of the building while a man stood below, waving his fist. Maggie parked and climbed out. Wind caught her hair, swirling auburn strands across her cheek, tangling the shiny tresses as dry winter leaves blew against her stockinged legs. Pushing hair away from her face, Maggie scanned the crowd. No feathered thick black hair in sight. Nick hadn't arrived, or he'd be in the center of the fracas and tall enough to see.

She braced her shoulders and worked her way through the crowd to the center. Glass glittered on the sidewalk. Only jagged edges remained of the front window of the candy shop. A red-faced man held Billy's arm while he shouted at Bobby. "Kid, get down off my roof!" Bobby stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise, causing aggravated snarls from some in the crowd, snickers from others. Maggie felt like walking away, waiting for Nick to get there, but Mr. Wilson had threatened to get the police and she had promised Letty and Thelma. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Mr. Wilson." Along with faces in the crowd, black eyes full of fire turned on her. "Yes?" "I've come to get the boys. We'll make full restitution to you." "Who're you?" The voice was filled with fury. She knew he wouldn't settle for anyone except a Brannon. She lifted her chin. "I'm their mother." His eyes widened, Billy's jaw dropped open, and Bobby stared at her. "Get down off the roof this minute, young man!" she snapped. For an instant wide hazel eyes gazed blankly down, then Bobby defiantly ignored her. Maggie felt her temper flare. Her jaw clenched. If Bobby didn't move, she would go up and yank him off the roof if it took her last breath to do so. Bobby stared at Maggie, then started climbing down. Mr. Wilson's eyes narrowed. "Are you their stepmother?" She was caught in it now. "No. I'm Mrs. Brannon." Why hadn't she said aunt instead of mother? Why had she claimed any relation? "You don't look much older than they are!"

Someone in the crowd asked, "Hey, Mom, were you ten years old when you had those boys?" Her glance shot toward the crowd and her heart jolted violently as she met laughing gray eyes. Nick Brannon was watching her with a lopsided smile. He was standing on the fringe of the crowd, not making an effort to come forward to help. "Well," Mr. Wilson said, "you can see what your boys have done to my store! Maybe you should give a little more time and attention to your children, Mrs. Brannon!" "I'll remember that." Why didn't Nick move? From the look of his smile, he relished her predicament. She knew where the boys inherited their cussedness. He wasn't going to get away with it. "Here's their father, Mr. Wilson." Heads turned, including Nick's, as he looked around. Her heartbeat quickened again. Was Nick going to leave her in the lurch with her whopper and the boys and their prank? The boys looked around as if they had never seen Nick Brannon in their lives. Maggie shook with rage. Darn the Brannons! "Where's their father?" Mr. Wilson asked in a threatening tone. "Don't try and pull a fast one!" "I wouldn't think of it." She marched through the crowd, which parted before her like the Red Sea for the children of Israel. Before she reached him Nick relented and came forward. He slipped an arm across her shoulders and gave her a hug, kissing her cheek. '"Morning, Mom." "It took you long enough!" She wanted to shake his arm off, to get into her car and drive away.

"Now, Mama, don't get mad at me. Save it for our boys." Nick extended his free hand to Mr. Wilson. "Nick Brannon." "How do you do, Mr. Brannon. If you and Mrs. Brannon will follow me." "Right." She smiled grimly. Nearby someone whispered, "She's really their mother!" "Looks too young to me." Maggie felt like gnashing her teeth. Why had she gone to the twins' aid? "If you and Mrs. Brannon"—Mr. Wilson glared and his voice dropped menacingly—"and the boys will step to my office, we'll settle this matter." They followed him into the shop, the boys avoiding looking at Nick, casting curious, solemn glances at her. "Mama, I tried to get here as fast as possible. I knew how hard this would be on you," Nick said, squeezing her shoulder again. Both boys turned curious eyes on him. Maggie was suffering from two opposing emotions. She wanted to give Nick a swift poke in the ribs. Or tell him what she thought of his appreciation of her efforts. At the same time she was intensely aware of his arm around her shoulders, his hip brushing hers, or how right it felt to be close beside him. She clamped her jaw shut while they marched through the chaos of glass and candy to the office in the back. It took fifteen minutes for Nick to soothe Mr. Wilson, get him to agree to forget the police, and make a settlement that brought a smile to the man's face. In twenty minutes they stood on the sidewalk again. Nick looked at Bobby and Billy. "You two, my car's at the end of the block. Get in." No one would argue with his tone. They started to turn away when he stopped them. "Hey, fellas. You owe Miss Linden something."

"Thank you." "Thanks," Billy added, then they turned and scurried toward the car. "Some help you were," she said. "Their mother?" "He didn't look as if he'd settle for less. But, you know, you can be just about as ornery as they are. Why didn't you come forward?" "Mom, come give ol' Dad a kiss." "You want a swift punch?" Laughing, he touched her chin lightly. "I like to see those big green eyes flash." "You make me regret every good intention." He laughed. "I couldn't resist. Thanks for coming to our rescue. You know, I think we've hired our last teacher." She basked in his remarks, watching him run his hand through his hair. He idly scratched his arm. "Now I have to figure out what I'll do with them." "Want a suggestion?" He grinned. "I can guess. Save your breath. My sentiments run along the same line. They won't be able to sit down for dinner." "I have an idea it'll be a novel experience for them." "You're right. Gerald and Alexandra didn't bother or know how to discipline a child. See you at the house." He sauntered away in his easy long-legged stride and Maggie returned to her car.

At the Brannon house Letty and Thelma met her at the back door. Right behind her Nick arrived with the boys and they all stood together in the kitchen. "My dear," Letty said, "you were so sweet to go to the twins' rescue. Wasn't she sweet, Nick?" "Like sugar candy," he said, and grinned while Maggie felt a blush tint her cheeks. Bobby looked at Letty. "Miss Linden said she was our mother and she told Mr. Wilson that Uncle Nick was our dad." Thelma and Letty stared at Maggie, making her blush deepen. "I thought it would take a relative to calm the man." "Oh, Mama, that's all right," Nick said. "You can claim us as your family any day." He dropped his arm over her shoulders casually and the aunts' eyes widened. "I need to go." Maggie wriggled away from him, giving Nick a glare that only widened his grin. His smile vanished as he looked at the twins. "Boys, let's go to my room." "It's past time for our class," Maggie said. "Oh, my dear," Letty said. "Quentin said to tell you that he and Freddy waited, but you didn't appear. I explained to him where you had gone. He said to tell you they'd see you tomorrow." "Where's Quentin now?" Nick asked. "I don't know. He said he was leaving. Freddy's sick and he's gone to bed." "Freddy, sick in bed? That I'll have to see." Nick sounded weary. His gaze shifted to Maggie. "Ill try to find Quentin after I've had a talk with the twins. Come on, boys."

Trying to calm her nerves, to forget Nick's touch, his devilish grin, Maggie went to the library to work on some lessons until almost noon, when she looked up to see Quentin enter the room. "Hi, teach." "Sorry I wasn't here this morning, Quentin, but we can make up the time this afternoon." "Sure. Aunt Letty said you went to get Bobby and Billy." "That's right." He leaned against the library door and folded his arms over his chest. In a sleeveless knit shirt, his muscles bulged. A smile hovered on his full mouth, his eyelids drooped as he gazed at her, and she had an uneasy feeling. "Uncle Nick wants to see you before lunch. He sent me in to get you." "Oh?" "Yeah. He wants to show you his new boat. He's in the back. Come on and I'll show you where." Suspicious of Quentin, Maggie stood and walked with him through a back door. The Brannon grounds covered acres and the backyard was filled with gardens, blooming bushes, statues, trees, and fountains, hiding most of the yard from view from the house. Suddenly Maggie didn't want to wander away with Quentin. "I'll look at his boat later, Quentin. I just remembered something I want to do before lunch." "Scared, teach?" Startled, she looked into his hazel eyes. Strands of dark hair hung over his brows, partially hiding his eyes, but not sufficiently to cover the amusement.

"No, I'm not scared." He grinned. "Sure 'nuff. Don't worry, teach. Aunt Letty wants me to pry open a window for her. Uncle Nick is behind the garage." Maggie glanced in the direction of the garage. It wasn't far from the house and Quentin had turned to step back inside without waiting to see what she did. There was no way Quentin could get through the house, out the side door, and to the garage before her if she hurried. The twins should be subdued after their morning episode and Freddy was sick. She should be completely safe. Maggie started briskly toward the garage, all her senses alert. "Nick!" she called. A mockingbird's clear call was heard above the splash of a fountain. If Nick Brannon didn't answer the next call, she was going to turn around and go back to the house. She glanced over her shoulder. The downstairs of the house was hidden from view by a bank of tall lilacs and the upper floors were partially hidden by blooming redbuds. Her suspicion deepened. Her neck felt cold. "Nick!" No answer. Nick could come get her if he wanted her to see a boat. She started back to the house. She wished she hadn't left the library with Quentin. Her mind began to spin with possibilities and she quickened her steps. She remembered Nick's confession that a teacher had started to press charges against Quentin. Why had she left the house? She walked faster, glancing over her shoulder at the empty yard. Suddenly the ground opened up beneath her feet and she tumbled forward.

Seven Along with leaves, branches, and grass, Maggie pitched into a hole. She screamed, flinging her hands in front of her. When she hit bottom, it was cushioned. For an instant she lay stunned, sprawled on her face. As she scrambled up, she heard deep laughter. "Quentin!" Bushes rustled, then the yard became quiet. Glancing around, she saw she was in a large hole. It was hidden by branches laid across the opening, leaves and brush flung over them. It was deep, with a mattress in the bottom. She probably would have noticed it if she had not been so occupied looking over the yard and behind bushes. From above, the only sounds again were water splashing and birds chirping. Maggie wasn't hurt, but she thought of how easily Letty or Thelma could have come outside and fallen, and blind rage surged in her. The younger boys might have helped, but only Quentin could have carved out such a sizable hole. Maggie stood up, brushing herself off, barely aware of her actions. She looked helplessly at the smooth, steep sides and knew she could yell until she was hoarse and, unless Nick came outside, no one would hear her. The Brannon house was old, built like a fortress, and she was sure the sound of her yells wouldn't carry. "Damn you, Quentin Brannon," she mumbled, looking around. She rolled up the mattress, struggling with it. The mattress sprang back, knocking her down, coming down on top of her, but finally Maggie had it propped against a side. She climbed on top of it, clutching at the ground as she pulled herself out of the hole. She marched to the house, her fury mounting with each step. She found the family entering the dining room for lunch. Billy and Bobby's eyes were red, their cheeks pink. Nick and Quentin saw her at the same time.

"Maggie! What happened?" Nick asked while Quentin started to back away. He turned to run, but Maggie caught his arm, spinning him around. "Quentin Brannon, you pea-brained nincompoop!" "Hey!" Maggie grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently, letting her anger pour out. "You haven't got the brains of a snail! Do you know what you could've done?" His eyes opened wide, then narrowed and his face flushed. "Hey, stop!" Maggie shook harder and his dark hair flew. "Do you know what would've happened if Letty or Thelma had gone out to pick lilacs?" Quentin blinked. "I didn't think—" "No, you didn't! When was the last time you did think?" Maggie persisted, releasing his shoulders to poke his chest with her forefinger. "What if Letty had fallen into that hole?" Nick folded his arms across his chest and waited silently. Quentin paled. "I—she doesn't go out there." "Never?" "Quentin, have you done something naughty?" Letty asked. "You have the brains of a flea. I imagine all you're capable of thinking about is yourself!" Maggie said, poking his chest again. "Well, next time try, Quentin, really try to think what might happen. You could've hurt your aunts very badly. Was that what you wanted?" Quentin's face flushed a dark red. "No, but they—" "But nothing, mister!" She looked at Letty. "If you'll excuse me, I won't eat now."

"Miss Linden, did Quentin do something to hurt you?" "No, I'm fine." Nick stepped forward to take her arm. "Quentin, did you dig that hole?" "Yes, sir." "Did the boys help?" "No." Quentin stared ahead. "Bobby, did you help dig?" "Yes, sir." "Billy?" "Yes, sir." "All right, all three of you get shovels and fill it in." "Fill it—" Quentin started to say, but Nick's gaze leveled on him and he clamped his mouth shut. "When you finish, come see me. Thelma, you and Letty go ahead with your lunch. I want to talk to Maggie." The aunts went into the dining room. Nick took Maggie's arm and led her into the library. He closed the door behind them. "What happened this time?" "I fell into a hole." "I thought they'd filled it in." "You knew about it!" "Hey, don't light into me. Are you hurt?"

"No. I can't believe you knew about it and didn't do anything." "I thought it was filled. They buried Mrs. Zelinsky's Volkswagen in it." "Oh, for heaven's sake." "She had something stronger to say. You're sure you're not hurt?" "No. There was a mattress in the bottom." "That's a damned big hole. Don't worry, I'll get Quentin where it hurts most, right in the pocket- book. How'd you get out?" "I managed." He tilted his head to one side. "You do manage pretty well, Maggie. If you could've seen Quentin's face." He pulled a twig out of her hair and brushed dirt off her arm. "I don't know about that. You're almost as guilty if you knew about that hole and didn't do anything." "I know. I thought it was filled. When I asked the gardener about it, he assured me it was filled. There may have been more than one." He pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe a smudge off her cheek, holding her chin with his fingers. "You don't need to do that. I'm going upstairs to bathe." "I like doing it. I'm sorry. At least you weren't hurt." "No, but Letty and Thelma wouldn't have fared so well. Do they ever go into the backyard?" she asked, aware of Nick's continuing scrutiny. His finger lightly holding her chin was a burning touch. "Sometimes. I think you gave Quentin as bad a shock as he gave you." "I really do hope so, Nick. Those boys are a menace."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "Don't let them mess up your life." His intense gaze took her breath away more than the fall had. "You care?" She smiled. "I care just like I care whether Letty drops into a hole in the ground. I don't want to see someone hurt needlessly." "I intend to change that nonchalant attitude, Maggie," he said huskily. He placed his hand on her throat and raised an eyebrow. "Your pulse rate isn't nonchalant." "I better go." "Scared?" "No, I'm dusty." "You look adorable. Why do you resist me?" "Thanks, Nick, for the compliment." She wanted to wind her arms around his neck and raise her lips to his. "Hands down, Nick, you're the biggest hazard in the Brannon household." His eyes darkened and a smile creased his face. "Now my pulse is in flight." His voice became a rasp. "Why the resistance, Maggie?" "I resist you because your life and mine are worlds apart. You're amusing yourself while you're stuck here with the boys. I can't take some things lightly, and I know it. Ill see you later." "What can't you take lightly?" he asked softly. "Relationships. An affair. I couldn't pack and go without a care like Glory did." "I'd never ask you to."

"That's easy to say, Nick, but that's the way you live." Her skin tingled eagerly, but her brain clicked along its logical path. She hurried out, aware that she was constantly walking away, leaving Nick behind to watch her. When Maggie stepped into the hall, Hubert appeared with a phone in his hand. "Phone. Miss Linden." "Thank you, Hubert." She took the phone and stopped beside a small table. "Maggie?" Jesse's voice sounded worried. "Hi, Jesse." Nick stepped into the hall, looking thoughtfully at her, and she wished she had taken the call in her room. "Maggie, I called and some kid said you were in a hole." "I was." Her anger began to return. Why didn't Nick go away? She looked at him and met his curious gaze. "What happened?" "Jesse, I'll call you back." "Hey, wait. I'm not home. How'd you get into a hole?" "I fell. I'm all right, really, Jesse." "What about Nick Brannon?" Her voice lowered. "Has he kissed you again?" "Jesse, I'll call later." "Is he as handsome as his pictures?"

Maggie looked into Nick's long-lashed gray eyes. "Every bit." A dark eyebrow raised. "My knees are killing me." "I can understand why." "Oh, dear! That doesn't sound good. Call me later. Bye." Maggie replaced the receiver. "Listening?" "Might have been. Jesse? Male or female?" "My sister-in-law." "That's the best news I've had today. Why did you blame Quentin for the hole?" "Because he came to get me. He said you wanted to show me your boat." Nick frowned. "Hon, don't believe them about anything." "I know. I should've known better this time. See you later. Nick."

Maggie didn't see the boys or Nick again until the next day when she awoke to the sound of a man singing. Startled, she looked around, then realized the deep baritone came from Nick's room. She rolled onto her side and gazed at the door. Nick sang lustily for another few minutes, silence descended, then there was a knock at the door. Maggie sat up and pulled the sheet to her chin. "Come in." Nick opened the door, thrust his head into the room, and smiled. " 'Morning." He came into the room. "You look just as I'd imagined."

"Do I now?" She glanced over at his bare chest, his tight jeans, and bare feet. He looked sexy and incredibly appealing. "Trying to wake me?" "My singing?" He grinned. "I might've been." He sat down on the side of the bed as if he belonged there. Maggie clutched the sheet tighter beneath her chin. "How's the clock-radio work?" "Fine, I suppose. It should go off in fifteen minutes." His smile widened, revealing his white teeth. "Want to have breakfast with me?" "Sure thing. Why are you in my room?" "To ask you to breakfast with me." His fingers trailed to the nape of her neck while he propped himself on his other arm and leaned closer, his chest almost touching her. "To say good morning." His speech slowed. "To see you ..." Her breathing became difficult. She reacted to each word, each glance and touch. Her leg, beneath the covers, touched his hip. "To win your bet before May?" He smiled and leaned closer. "That's a possibility. Where can the scar be?" He looked down and she wriggled slightly. "You go back"—she gulped for air—"to your room and I'll dress." He leaned forward even more and touched her hair, his hand following the curls to her shoulder, then moving lightly over her bare back. Maggie felt on fire. "Nick, will you go?" "Sure, Maggie. You smell so sweet. You look tempting. Maggie ..." "No!"

He smiled and stood up easily. Maggie glared after him as he returned to his room and closed the door, trying to pull together her frazzled nerves. Each new confrontation was wearing down her resistance. At nine o'clock exactly, dressed in a white blouse and navy skirt, Maggie entered the library. The glares she got told her that Nick had inflicted punishment. According to Quentin, Freddy was still sick in bed. Quentin slouched in his chair, looking at her from beneath lowered lids while the twins glowered. Maggie blithely ignored the baleful looks while she gave them assignments. "Now, if you have questions, I'm here to help." She pulled out a book to work. The room was silent; not a paper rustled. Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up to meet steady, angry stares. All three sat without moving, pinning her with frowning looks while they ignored her assignment. Maggie bent her head over her work and tried to concentrate. "We told Uncle Nick to get a new teacher or we won't work," Quentin said. "You're on strike?" Maggie asked, laughing. Her laughter made Quentin's scowl deepen. "Damned right.""Don't swear, Quentin." His answer was crude and to the point. The twins' eyes grew round while Maggie felt her temper snap. She stood and started toward Quentin, who jumped up and sprinted for the door. "See you later, teach!" He ran from the room while the twins had a fit of laughter. She turned quickly. "All right, you two. Get to work!" Without Quentin they didn't argue. They pulled out notebooks and bent over their books while Maggie sat down again. She wondered how long she'd last. Bobby might yet win the bet. Finally, she told the boys they could go, because in thirty minutes it would be time for lunch. Maggie took a book to the sun-room to wait. Sitting amid

palms, ferns, and banana plants while she skimmed a book on trigonometry, she felt a sudden awareness of someone else. Her senses pulsed to life like the hidden eye in an automatic door opener. She raised her head to meet ash-silver eyes, their startling color pinning her, taking her breath with their intensity. Nick moved across the sun-room and sat down facing her. The storm of emotions in his eyes made her remain quiet, waiting for him to speak. "I get feelings, premonitions," he said. "Good heavens, do your knees ache?" His eyes narrowed, then a half-smile flitted over his face. "No, Maggie, my knees don't ache." She blushed and waited. "I'm taking the assignment in Honduras. I might take the boys along." The fluttering of her heart changed to a drumroll, a crescendo of sound that should have made the banana tree's leaves shake from the vibrations. She asked, "Who'll go along to stay with them?"

Eight "If I take the boys, will you go?" His eyes probed mercilessly. "Yes." It was difficult to answer, to think about anything except Nick. She looked at his mouth, the full sensuous lips. "Why, Maggie, will you go with me down into a jungle where it's dangerous?" "I'm not sure," She answered breathlessly. Why? She tried to think of excuses. "I've never gone anywhere outside the Midwest, I'll get paid well, it may help them, it may help you." They looked into each other's eyes in a silent study that made her realize there was more to her offer than she wanted to admit. "You're something new in my life, Maggie," he said finally, his voice hoarse and low. "Likewise, you're something new in mine," she whispered. He took the book out of her hands, his hands brushing hers lightly, his eyes never leaving hers. He lifted her onto his knees, his arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her down, settling her against his shoulder to kiss her. His lips opened hers, sealing hers with the warm imprint of his. He took her sweetness, he gave her fire. He raised his head a fraction to whisper, "You'll go?" To the ends of the earth, she thought, then shook herself. "Of course," she said. He smiled a crooked half-smile that tugged one corner of his mouth upward, pulling the scar slightly. "Of course. My brave Maggie, who faces the world through rose-colored glasses with eyes of green." His head dipped, and his lips settled firmly on hers, parting them; his kiss turned fiery, demanding her response. One arm circled her waist, the other

hand rested on her throat, then drifted down to unbutton the top button of her shirt. His hand slid beneath the soft cotton, beneath her lacy bra, to touch her flesh. A whimper sounded in her throat as her pounding heartbeat roared in her ears and an ache in her loins made her want to twist and thrust her hips against him. The lunch bell broke the spell, and Maggie pushed Nick away. "Nick, it's time for lunch." Their breathing was ragged as she rose and Nick stood up behind her, pulling her to him. "Lunch now," she said. "I know, damn it. This place is about as private as Grand Central Station." She straightened her clothing and buttoned her blouse, aware of his burning gaze following every movement. During lunch every contact with Nick's eyes fueled a blaze in hers, igniting an answering fire in his. Maggie ate quietly and left quickly when they were finished. She went to her room and called Jesse. "How's Trish?" "She's teething. How're you?" "I may go on a trip with the boys," Maggie said casually. "A trip? Where?" "South. I'll tutor them while they go along with Nick on an assignment." "He takes those kids with him to work?" "He might this time." "Why this time?" "He thinks they need him."

"Maggie, you sound peculiar. Where south?" Maggie took a deep breath. It had to come out sooner or later. "Near Honduras." She held the phone away from her ear, listening to Jesse's explosion. Finally, she heard Jesse call her name. "Yes?" "You can't do that!" "It isn't definite yet. You'd better break the news to Colin." "Maggie, are you in love with Nick Brannon?" "Of course not! That's ridiculous! It's impossible! I have to go now." "Call me tonight when you can talk longer. Will you?" "Sure." "Maggie, you may have to tell Colin. I'm not sure I want to." She laughed. "Okay, Jesse, I'm not scared of Colin." She replaced the receiver and stared into space. Why had she agreed to go with Nick? She was dancing around danger like a lamb frolicking around a wolf. Was she falling in love with Nick? She couldn't answer her own question. She rose and went downstairs for the afternoon session with the boys. That night at dinner, over dessert, Nick said casually, "I have an assignment and I may have to leave soon." Both aunts murmured their disappointment that he might go. Nick lowered his coffee cup and said quietly, "I'm thinking of taking the boys and Maggie with me."

"Where to, Uncle Nick?" Billy asked. "To a jungle." "I don't want to go to a jungle!" Quentin exclaimed. "Boy, oh, boy! Are there elephants?" Billy asked. "Why can't you leave any of us behind. Uncle Nick?" Quentin looked at Maggie and smiled knowingly. "I know why," Bobby said smugly. "I heard Miss Linden tell someone that Uncle Nick is sexy." "Bobby!" Letty said. "You'll embarrass Miss Linden." Maggie blushed and looked at Nick, who grinned. Bobby's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Yeah, and Miss Linden's kissed Uncle Nick too!" "Bobby, you have a big mouth," Nick said, but Maggie could hear the smothered laughter in his voice. "That's all right," she said, burning with embarrassment. "Oh, my!" Letty said, looking at Nick then Maggie. "But I thought Miss Wakefield . . . Oh, dear. I mean ..." Maggie laughed. "Letty, that's all right. Miss Wakefield will be back. Bobby's having a little fun at my expense." "Bobby, that's naughty!" "She did kiss him!" "Bobby, that's enough," Nick said, the corners of his mouth twitching in resistance to a grin. He sat back in his chair. His white shirt was open at the

throat, tucked neatly into dark slacks. His eyes rested on Maggie with amusement. "Well, if all of you are going with Nicky when he leaves," Thelma said, "I hope it's to a fun place." , "I'm going to Honduras." "How romantic." Thelma smiled and Nick coughed, grabbing for his water glass. "Aunt Thelma, they're having a war in Honduras. That's why they want me to go to cover a story." "You'd take Miss Linden and the boys to a war?" Letty peered through her bifocals at Nick. "Not right down where there's fighting. Somewhere close that's safe." "Why take us along, Uncle Nick?" Quentin asked, and leered at Maggie. "I haven't decided yet that I will, Quentin." "It sounds dangerous," Letty said. "I don't think the boys and Miss Linden should be in any danger." "Miss Linden's in danger here," Nick said. "My goodness, Nick, not really! The boys won't play any more naughty pranks, will you, boys?" Three heads turned and three pairs of wide, innocent eyes looked at Maggie". "Who, us?" Quentin asked. "We love Miss Linden." Nick said, "When dinner's over I'm calling Dr. Wirtly again about Freddy. He's still running a temperature." "The poor little thing has hardly eaten," Letty said. "Bobby," Nick said, "you're not eating either. Do you feel well?"

"Dunno. I'm not hungry." "I'll take your temperature after dinner too." After a few minutes everyone rose to leave the room. Maggie went to the library to get a book. As she turned on a light she heard the doorbell. Crossing to the desk, she heard Hubert open the door, then a familiar voice startled her. "Where's Nick Brannon?" Maggie recognized her brother Colin's belligerent voice. She started for the hall, hurrying faster with each step as Nick answered politely, "I'm Nick Brannon." She rounded the doorway in time to see Letty, Quentin, and Hubert looking at Nick and Colin. Red hair, as deeply auburn as hers, fell into Colin's eyes. Without warning he swung his fist, catching Nick by surprise. The blow sent Nick sprawling. "Oh, my goodness!" Letty gasped. "My God, Mr. Nick's been attacked!" Hubert said. "You hit my uncle!" Quentin stepped in front of Colin and raised his fists. Maggie ran, stepping over Nick to stand between Quentin and Colin. "Colin, dammit!" "Dammit's right! You aren't going to a jungle with Nick Brannon." "I will if I want. You'll be lucky if you aren't in jail for aggravated assault!" Nick rose, standing beside her, rubbing the red flesh over his cheekbone. "Mr. Linden?"

"Where are your things, Maggie?" "In my room," Nick drawled. Colin's green eyes flashed and he raised his fist, his rolled-up khaki sleeves revealing muscles as developed as Nick's. Maggie stepped between them. "They're not, Colin, he's just trying to rile you. Now, you apologize to Nick." "You're coming home, Maggie." "Go with him, hon. You're more trouble than the boys." She glared at Nick, then at her brother. "Colin," she prodded his chest with her finger. "I'm twenty- three. Old enough to live my own life. I don't tell you how to live yours; you don't tell me how to live mine." Her eyes narrowed. "Get your things, Maggie." "Colin Linden, you go home. Unless you want to lose me forever, you turn around and get out of here!" She placed her hands on her hips. "You go home." "Maggie ..." "Colin, you'll lose a sister if you interfere. I promise you will. Now go." He went. Maggie stepped to the door. "I'll write. I'll call when I get back." "Hey, wait a minute." Nick placed his hands on her shoulders and moved her aside. "Mr. Linden!" He hurried across the veranda to talk to her brother. She didn't want to listen to any of their masculine conversation. She could imagine every word. She turned back into the room and faced three startled faces. "I'm going up to my room. Quentin, that was nice to come to your uncle's defense."

His cheeks turned bright red as he looked down. "I didn't know he was your brother."

The phone rang and Hubert moved to answer it, then called to Nick. Maggie left them to go upstairs. As she went she heard Nick say, "Find out who it is, Hubert." "Mr. Chad Thompkins. He says it's urgent, sir." Maggie quickened her step and went to her room, closing the door behind her. Men! She sat down at the desk to work on assignments for the boys. Colin shouldn't interfere, but he was right. She shouldn't go with Nick. She shouldn't have offered in the first place. What was it about Nick Brannon that made her react so impetuously? What was the magical chemistry between them? Did he feel it to the extent she did? An hour later she heard a rap on the door and Nick entered her bedroom. In spite of darkened skin below his eye, he looked handsome enough to raise tingles along her spine. "I don't remember saying come in." "I don't remember hearing it. Your brother's very protective of you." "Somewhat. Thanks for not pressing charges. You're going to have a black eye." "Won't be the first time." "You don't look as if you feel well. Are you all right?" "I have indigestion. I have a black eye. Other than that, I'm fine. Your brother's right, you know. You should go home."

"I can take care of myself. I'm sorry Colin caused your indigestion and black eye." He reached out to pull her to her feet. "Maggie ..." Her heart clutched, but she stepped back. "Nick, let's keep our relationship a business one. We're worlds apart in our thinking." "I don't know about that." A mocking grin teased her. His gaze lowered leisurely, drifting down to her full breasts. His voice became husky. "I'd say we're thinking along the same lines right now." Her body reacted as if his hands had been caressing her. Her breasts throbbed. Her breathing became constricted and she wanted to walk into Nick Brannon's arms and forget everything else. Except she was too logical to do so. "I've already admitted that I respond to you, but that's physical. Emotionally, Nick, we don't have any common ground." "My, aren't you sensible." He paced both hands on her shoulders and the enticing danger heightened. "You don't know how to have fun, Maggie. Don't take life so earnestly." "That's easy for you to say; you're a vagabond." His eyes twinkled. "Relax, hon." His voice dropped lower, to that funny depth that made her erratic heartbeat become more frantic. "I see your pulse racing like crazy. You agreed to go out of the country with me. ..." "To teach the boys." "Sure thing, hon. But if Letty had been going down to a jungle, would you have made the same suggestion?" He bent his head and kissed her, and a warm, sweet ache began. Her lips parted and her eyes closed. "I probably would have," she answered, barely able to say the words. "Liar. Why do you sound breathless?"

"Why do you think?" She opened her eyes. "Nick, be sensible. I didn't suggest going with you to acquire a lover." "No, of course not," he whispered, and slipped his arm around her waist. "I don't want you to kiss me," she protested weakly. "I just want to hold you, Maggie, to touch you." Each word was a velvety rasp that rubbed her quivering nerves softly. "I talked to your brother. I told him I won't take you or the boys with me." "You let my brother make the decision!" Disappointment and anger rocked her. "No. I've been thinking about it. I can't be encumbered. And I have to go sooner than I'd planned. I had a phone call while your brother was here." "The only reason you asked me"—she paused for breath angrily—"was to see what I'd do!" "Well, not altogether. I gave it a little thought." "That is so low-down—" He laughed and pulled her close. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You suggested it, and I toyed with the idea of taking you and the boys." "How long did you toy with the idea?" "Okay, I wanted to see if you cared enough to go to a jungle with me." His voice lowered and his gaze rested on her mouth. "You cared enough, Maggie, and that's important. You're important." He leaned down to kiss her and Maggie's anger slipped away, forgotten as she closed her eyes and swayed toward him. "The boys will be disappointed," she murmured.

"They'll get over it when I tell them what it's like." "I don't want this." "Why don't I believe you?" Without waiting for her to answer, he said, "You offer to travel to a war in a jungle with me and then tell me to stop kissing you, that you don't want me." "I offered to help on a job. ..." "Sure, hon." "That's all it was, Nick," she whispered, yet the only thing she could think about was Nick's leaving. And his wild, sweet kisses that set her on fire. She realized she had brought trouble on herself, six feet of gray-eyed trouble that came in an irresistible package. "I won't be gone long. I leave day after tomorrow. I should be back in five or six weeks, and then I'll be here a long time." The intercom in the room came on. "Miss Linden?" Maggie straightened while Nick's eyes narrowed. Holding Maggie close, he crossed the room to punch the button on the intercom. "Yes?" "Mr. Brandon?" Hubert asked politely. "Yes, Hubert," Nick answered. "Sir, the doctor is on the phone about Freddy." "Thanks, Hubert." Nick made a face at Maggie, tightened his arm around her and picked up the phone. "Nick Brannon." Maggie wriggled slightly and his arm tightened more, pulling her against his chest while Nick described Freddy's condition. His deep voice rumbled in his chest as he said, "He probably has a cold. My aunts keep this house like a

hothouse and the boys run in and out all day. Yeah, last time I took it his temperature was up a degree." There was a pause and Nick leaned down, holding the phone away from his face to brush Maggie's temple with a light kiss. "Okay, I'll bring him in. We'll be there in about thirty minutes. Thanks." He replaced the receiver. "I'm taking Freddy to the emergency room. It's hot enough in this house now to make anyone's temperature rise." He grinned. "Or maybe it's something else that's sending mine up." She smiled. "I'm as cool as a cucumber." "Let me see." He slipped his hand against her throat, then leaned down to kiss her, to brush her lips lightly with his. Maggie tilted her head, turning as his lips trailed to her ear. The blood in her veins heated to boiling; her arms tightened around Nick. He kissed her ear, his tongue touching lightly, sending fiery tingles in its wake. Maggie placed her cheek against Nick's. Her eyes opened wide and she pushed away. "You're hot as fire." "Am I ever!" he murmured, attempting to pull her close. She wriggled away and placed her hand on his temple. "I mean it. You're hot." He frowned. "Come here. ..." "You have a temperature!"He straightened and focused intently on her. "You really do. You're burning. Do you feel well?" "No, but someone punched me out a little while back, remember?" His brow furrowed.

"You said you have indigestion." She leaned closer to study him. "That pie was too sweet, your brother slugged me, the temperature in the house is eighty-five degrees. Other than that, I'm all right." "Nick, you have a red spot on your cheek and one on your throat." "And a black eye. Come here. ..." "Oh, no! You may be coming down with something." "Dammit, I'm just hot!" "You have red spots." "I don't!" "Go look." Holding her hand, he walked to the mirror and leaned forward to gaze at himself. "Where?" He scratched his arm as he looked. "Do you itch?" "If you're trying to cool my ardor, you're succeeding. Will you stop talking about spots and itching!" "You're scratching your arm. Nick, roll up your sleeve." "Dr. Linden, for you I'll take off the whole shirt." He grinned and began to tug his shirttail out of his slacks. She snatched up his arm. "Just your sleeve, mister! Let me see." She peeled back his sleeve and held out his arm. Bright red spots dotted the inside of his elbow. "Oh my gosh, look!"

"It's probably an allergy. And it's not funny!" "I'm not laughing at your affliction, but somehow measles doesn't fit your image." "I don't have the damned measles!" "You've had typhoid shots, smallpox—have you had shots for measles?" "No, dammit, that's a child's disease." He frowned, rolled down his sleeve, and buttoned it. "Have you ever had measles?" she asked. "No, and I wish you'd stop talking about them." His brow was furrowed and lines bracketed his mouth while his dark hair had tumbled over his forehead. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I think you may have measles." "Look, you win. No kisses. I'll stop making passes, you stop talking about measles." "Okay, Nick." He squinted at her. "Have you had them?" "Yes. I'm immune." "Don't sound so smug." "What about Letty and Thelma? It might be serious if they come down with measles." "I'll ask the doctor and I'll ask what's causing my spots. See you later." He left. Maggie sank down in the chair and stared blankly outside. He wouldn't take her to Honduras. He'd leave day after tomorrow—unless he was in bed with the measles.

An hour later she heard voices downstairs and went to find out what Dr. Wirtly had told Nick. One look at his scowling red face and she knew. "Maggie, don't you say one word. Not one." Freddy and Bobby stood beside him, both flushed, and Freddy's face was splotched. "Upstairs to bed, boys." "Can I help?" "I'm sorry I snapped at you. This hasn't been a good day. You were right. I've got the measles. I had to call from the hospital and turn down my assignment." "You can't go?" "Dr. Wirtly said I might have trouble getting into foreign countries and I might get very sick. Measles! Of all things those damned kids have done—now they've given me the measles!" "It won't last long." "Just long enough to mess up a chance for a good story. We're quarantined. All of us, Maggie." "I've had the measles." "The doc said it didn't matter. You won't get them again, but you can carry the germs and pass them on. You're a menace to others." For the first time he grinned. "I can't go home or out?" "Not for a few days." "What about Letty and Thelma?"

"They can't go out. You should've heard Glory take the news. It's a wonder her scream didn't register on the Richter scale. I called everyone from the hospital. The servants have had the measles, Letty, Thelma, Hubert, and Jane, our cook. Tina, who cleans the house, hasn't and Dr. Wirtly talked to her. So, here we are. You better call your brother." "We've had measles, but I'll tell him." "Dr. Wirtly said if he's had measles, he shouldn't be concerned." He faced her and one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. "This is a first." "Sorry." "Not half so much as I am, babe. Who wants to kiss someone with a black eye and a rash? I feel like I just turned into a toad." "Cheer up, Nick. Toads lead happy lives." "Yeah, catching flies." He bent his knees slightly and leaned closer to whisper, "I'd rather catch a sexy redhead." She batted her eyelashes, drawling in a throaty voice, "Sir, whomever could you mean?" He grinned and scratched his arm. "Doc gave me some ointment. Can you put it on the spots on my back?" "Sure." "Maggie, you sound so smug." "I'm sorry you have measles." "Come on, let's go up to bed," he said, and her heartbeat skittered. Nick had only one spot on his cheek and one on his throat. The black eye gave him a rakish look. He was as appealing as ever and Maggie had to fight the absurd impulse to grin. He wasn't going to Honduras! He would be shut up in the Brannon house with her for the next week! And all her words of wisdom,

silently warning herself to take care, didn't keep her heart from thrumming along twice its normal speed. They entered Maggie's room and he set a tube of ointment down on a table. "This is a hell of a situation." He grinned and started to unbutton his shirt. "You'll recover." She tried to look somewhere besides at the chest he was baring. Nick tilted his head to one side while he watched her, and suddenly she felt as if she had developed a fever. The first button went and dark chest curls showed. Another button and more dark curls over bronze skin came into view. Another button and her pulse hammered in her ears. She flicked a glance at his face. His eyelids lowered a fraction, the corner of his mouth rose slightly, and his expression told her he knew exactly what was happening. Her gaze lowered again as another button went. Dark curls tapered, narrowing down over his flat stomach. He took a deep breath, expanding his chest to proportions that made her tremble. "Here, Maggie," he said in a deep rasp, picking up the ointment and handing it to her. His fingers were warm as they brushed hers, then Nick tugged his shirt out of his pants. She held her breath. The gesture seemed so intimate. Blushing, Maggie busied herself unscrewing the cap off the ointment and looking around for a suitable place to sit. Finally, she had to look at Nick. His shirt was open, the thick mat of dark curls narrowing in a line that vanished below his waistband. He gazed at her intently. "Maggie, I don't feel sick, and you're immune," he said softly. "Turnaround. . . ."Her voice sounded hoarse. She took a breath and tried again. "Turn around, Nick. You'll run your fever up if you overexert yourself." "Maybe not . . ."He pulled his shirt off his shoulders and dropped it casually over a chair. One eyebrow arched questioningly as he unbuckled his belt. "Nick!"

"Okay, hon." He smiled lazily. "We have a week together. I may like having the measles." "Wanna bet?" she asked softly. "Maggie, I can't keep my hands off you." He reached for her. "Oh, no! You'll send your temperature into orbit. Turn around, Nick, and let me put this on your back." "What a waste of energy. I can think of other things I'd rather have you do to me. I'd much rather feel your arms around me, I'd rather—" "Will you stop!" He chuckled softly and sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "This could get to be a habit." Maggie approached him as cautiously as she would a raging bonfire. She sat down behind him, aching to pitch the ointment and wrap her arms around him. Clamping her jaw closed tightly, she dabbed the cold white ointment on the few red spots on Nick's muscled back. One spot was on his neck; directly above it, his thick dark hair tempted Maggie. She longed to reach up and wind her fingers in it, to feel the soft silkiness against her hands. The minty odor of the ointment mixed with Nick's aftershave, another subtle enticement. "There, Nick. All done." He stood up, took the ointment from her hands, and pulled her up. "Wait until you're well, Nick," she whispered. "You're immune." "Only to measles," she answered before thinking. A slow grin spread across his features, lifting the corners of his mouth, causing creases in his cheeks. "Maggie, come here," he commanded huskily.

Every inch of flesh wanted to obey, but her mind functioned and she resisted. "No." "Why?" He moved closer, reaching out to slip his arm around her waist. His hands were hot through the layers of clothing. She rested her hands on his forearms while she gazed up at him. Nick Brannon had an inviting, sensual mouth. Lips finely delineated, slightly full, warm, so sexy. She yearned for Nick's wild, scorching kisses, but she would not get caught in the trap of loving a man like Nick Brannon. "Not in a million years," she whispered. "What's not in a million years?" he asked, his gaze on her mouth making her lips tingle. "I won't get involved with you during that time." "You don't say," he drawled in his lazy voice that added to his attraction. She leaned away from him, trying to think of something else besides Nick. "Maggie ..." "No!" His dark head dipped down, lips brushed so lightly before she moved away with a graceful step. Her heart hammered in her ears while she crossed the room to put space between them, to give herself time to think. He stood with his hands on his hips, his chest bare, the slacks low, hugging his narrow hips. His gaze smoldered and beckoned and declared as unmistakably as the bulge in his slacks that he desired her. "You're afraid of me and you said you wouldn't be." "It's still not you, Nick. I know myself too well. You and I are like oil and water. One would sink and one would rise to the top. You better go." "There's something I'd rather do," he said in a suggestive tone that beckoned like a magnetic force.

"No. I can be very firm. Out of self-preservation." With a searing appraisal that made her tremble, Nick faced her silently, then turned and closed the door. Maggie shook. She felt as if she had the highest fever in the Brannon house. And she'd had another close escape. How long could she hold out when a burning look from Nick made her shiver with longing? Did she want to hold out? Could she cope with an affair with Nick? There would never be marriage, not after all his declarations about marriage and children. Mentally wrestling with desire and logic, she took a bath, then climbed into bed. She fell asleep surprisingly easily, only to wake during the night. She gazed blankly into space, wondering what had disturbed her, when she heard a groan from Nick's room. She flung back the covers, snatched up her green robe, and knocked on the door. "Come in." When she opened the door she saw Nick sitting up in bed, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. Moonlight splashed across the bed, highlighting his muscles, his cheekbones, the curve of his shoulders. His chest was bare; a sheet and light blue blanket covered his hips and legs. "Nick, are you all right?" She turned on a small bedside lamp, which shed a soft glow on his dark skin. "I'm sick, Maggie." He opened his eyes. "Sorry if I woke you. I started to get a glass of water and I'm dizzy. I feel terrible. I'm burning up. It was more fun when I was shot in the back. This hurts all over." "I'll get you a drink." When she returned with the water, Nick was exactly as he had been when she'd left him. She handed him the glass. "Thanks."

"When was the last time you were really sick?" "Like this? When I was about five years old." "For heaven's sake. You'll live. This isn't as bad as a bullet." "You don't know," he muttered, handing the glass back to her and sliding down into bed. "This is ruining my image. I itch all over." "Roll over, Nick. I'll put ointment on your back again." "I'm sending the kids to Siberia. Express mail. I itch everywhere. I tell you, Maggie, I will never get married. No wife, no kids." "Lie still." She gazed at the back of his head, his dark hair touching his neck, and absorbed his declaration on marriage. "When were you shot?""When I was in Guatemala. I was in the jungle and didn't get the bullet removed until eleven hours later." "And that was better than this?" "Infinitely." "Men!" "Mmm, that feels better. What would I do without you?" "What did you do when you were shot?" "I was too busy to think about it. I was trying to avoid getting captured by rebels." He raised himself up on his elbow. "Did I hear a snicker?" "Lie down. It's ridiculous for you to let the measles get you down when you can handle all sorts of real calamities." "It's a good thing you're so pretty and sweet." He flopped down on his back. "Put some on my chest, will you?"

"My, you're getting helpless." He grinned. "It feels better when you do it." She laughed and he touched the corner of her mouth lightly. A delicious tickle radiated from the touch, but Maggie solemnly squeezed out some ointment. She looked at Nick's broad chest, his tanned skin, the dark mat of curls, the hard muscles beneath, and the battle was on again. Her breathing altered. Desire to caress Nick was stronger than before, buffeting her like a rising windstorm. "I like to see you smile," he said softly. His hand drifted to her throat. She squeezed out more ointment, dabbing it on a spot on his shoulder, concentrating intently. His fingers wound in her hair and he pulled his hand slowly through the silky tresses with gentle, sensuous tugs. "Your hair shimmers like sunshine on a lake." "Thank you." She hoped she didn't sound as if she were purring. "What's the matter? You look as if something's disturbing you." She shot him a quick glance, then focused on the white ointment. "I'm fine." "Sure enough. I see the pulse in your throat. It doesn't look so fine." "Do you want me to do this?" "Oh, yes, indeed. Ahh, that feels so much better when you do it. Your fingers know how to stroke. ..." "Nick! I don't see any other spots." "Wait, don't go. I've got them. Here." He pointed to his ribs and she saw a red blotch. She smeared ointment on it. "Here's one." He pushed the covers lower on his hips, revealing a strip of paler skin while he pointed to a red spot on his flat belly, and Maggie

realized Nick was nude. She dropped the tube on his stomach. "You can do the rest." "Chicken." He grinned at her. "Would you do something else for me?" "Sure." "You're mighty agreeable. When I called Glory, I forgot it was her birthday. Will you call her, tell her her present's on the way?" "Sure thing, Nick." He continued to wind his fingers through her hair. "Look in the drawer there. You'll see a list of phone numbers. I have her private number." She pulled open the drawer, picked up a notebook, and opened it. "Second page. I feel better when you're here." "Who sat with you in Guatemala?" she asked dryly. He chuckled. "Some grouchy Army man and a nurse who looked as If she could whip the rebels singlehandedly." "Ha. I can imagine that nurse." She looked at the list of names, glancing once briefly at Nick, who lay with his eyes closed while he fiddled with her hair. "Let's see, Nick, here's Ann, Milly, Cassandra, Stephanie ..." "Those are old numbers. ..." He took the book from her. "Here it is. Area code 213, 443—Dammit, I itch! Here." He handed the book to her, pointing to a number while he scratched. "Ahh, there it is, between Rose and Debbie." "You're jealous." Opening his eyes, he scratched his shoulder.

"No, it's the first time I've seen a bachelor's . . . well, it's not a little black book, but it's equivalent to one. I'm curious." "You can really deflate someone, you know?" She punched the phone buttons to call Glory, ignoring his remark. Nick ran his finger along her arm, up to her shoulder, and fizzy tingles followed. "Do you have a book like that, Maggie?" "Of course not!" "Who's the current man in your life?" "There isn't one." "I don't believe you. Who did you go out with last?" "A friend." "What's his name?" "Glory doesn't answer. My, you do a lot of traveling. Ginger lives in Ohio. ..." "Maggie, give that to me." He flung the book in the drawer, slamming it closed. He wriggled, scratching his back against the sheets. "Damn those kids. Measles!" He gazed at her intently. "How about another massage?" "I should know better, but all right." He sank down and rolled over, the covers slipping low on his hips, and Maggie looked down at his magnificent shoulders that framed a strong muscled back, his skin bronze except for his scars and the bright red spots. "'The ointment is gone. You must've rubbed it off on the sheets." "Just give me a massage and we'll worry about ointment later."

Maggie worked, her hair hanging over her shoulders as she kneaded gently until Nick's breathing became regular. He murmured, "You do have a magic touch. I feel better. Now I can think of things we can do that would make me feel even better." "Don't tell me about them. 'Night, Nick." Maggie rose swiftly, going to her room and back to bed. She lay in the dark unable to sleep. Her fingers recalled the feel of Nick's skin; her mind pictured clearly every muscle, the smooth dark skin, his slender waist, his flat belly. She groaned and rolled over. The windows held a silvery light from the moon. Suddenly a shadow wavered, then rose into view outside her window. A dark shadow with enormous shoulders. A man on a ladder. Maggie gasped and sat up, her eyes widening. She remembered Nick saying that the burglar alarm system had been broken by Quentin's car wreck. For a minute she stared blankly, then saw the shadow of a hand holding a knife. The hand reached out to cut the screen.

Nine Maggie threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, dashing across the room into Nick's room. "Nick!" Steady breathing was the only sound she heard. She rushed to the bed. "Nick!" His chest rose and fell with regularity. Maggie leaned down to touch his shoulder. "Nick!" "Maggie! Love ..." "Listen to me, there's—" Arms went around her swiftly and pulled her down. His mouth silenced her words as Nick Brannon kissed her. He shifted, pulling her beneath the covers. Maggie struggled wildly, her flesh singed by contact with his. Nick was nude, warm, and felt so marvelous! His legs tangled with hers; the short, crisp hairs were rough against her silken thighs. His arms held her tightly, crushing her soft breasts to his broad chest while his kiss drove every thought from her mind. She felt his swift arousal. His hand traced her hip. Desire exploded in her and for one brief moment Maggie stopped struggling, yielding to the stormy sensations that rocked her. Then she remembered her purpose and pushed with all her strength, twisting her mouth away. '"Nick for heaven's sake, stop!" "Hon, you're difficult as hell to understand." "Will you stop! There's a man breaking into my room."

"Oh, Lord, let him steal everything." He started to kiss her again. "Nick!" She twisted against him, every movement startingly erotic. She was aware of each inch of Nick's flesh, his virile body, his long legs. "Nick, will you listen! Someone's breaking into my room." Nick lay still. "You're not kidding?" "Of course not! Why would—" "I should've known. Damn. All right, Maggie." A thump sounded from the other room. Maggie felt Nick's muscles tense. "Maggie, you're costing me a helluva lot." He extricated himself and moved to the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out an automatic pistol. She watched him as he stood in the shadows, his trim body a perfection of muscle and bone. Moonlight splashed over his broad shoulders, giving a silvery sheen to his flesh. He was aroused, so male. Maggie felt on fire, yet she couldn't look away. She wanted to lie back in Nick's warm bed and wait for him, to feel his arms around her again. Her flesh still tingled from his and she could remember with total clarity how it had felt to lie in his arms against his muscled body. He pulled the safety on the automatic; the click was loud in the silence. He started toward her room. "Nick!" she whispered, standing up. "What now?" he whispered. Something scraped in the next room. The sound of a window being raised came faintly. "You're naked. Put something on." "Maggie ..." "Please."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." He carefully rested the gun on the dresser, pulled on his jeans, tugging the zipper up. Then he picked up the gun and stepped through the partially open door into her room. A shot blasted the night, deafening Maggie. She jumped, suddenly ice cold, terrified that Nick had killed the burglar. Nick's cold voice snapped, "Don't move!" "Jeez, Uncle Nick! It's me! Quentin. Don't shoot me!" "Quentin! Damnation!" Nick flipped the light switch and Maggie's room was flooded with light. Behind the door in Nick's room, Maggie closed her eyes. Quentin. "What the hell are you doing?" Nick asked in such murderous tones that Maggie moved closer. "I was just playing a joke. Honest. Look, I'm dressed as Frankenstein. I just wanted to scare Miss Linden." Quentin's voice changed. "I thought Miss Linden would be in her bed." Maggie wanted to shake her fist at both of them. Damn the Brannons anyway! "Miss Linden was in her bed," Nick answered coldly. "That's why she heard you and came to get me." "Honest, Uncle Nick, I was just kidding around." "I ought to call the sheriff and put you away." "I won't do it again." Maggie wanted to intervene, but she didn't have a robe, and in the light her white gown was too transparent to face them. "Let him go, Nick," she said quietly from behind the door.

"Okay, Quentin. Don't let me catch you doing one more thing to Miss Linden. Do you have that straight?" "Yes, sir." "Do you know how close you came to getting shot?" "Yes, sir!" "Go on, get to bed." Someone called from the hall, "Uncle Nick! I heard a gun." Nick crossed Maggie's room and opened the hall door. "I shot at Quentin." "Gee whiz!" one of the younger boys gasped. "Get back to bed, boys. Quentin can tell you about it tomorrow. I'm sick and I'm tired." "Yes, sir." "You too, Quentin. Ill talk to you tomorrow. You're not getting off the hook about this." "Aw, Uncle Nick, I was just playing." "I'm not. I'll see you in the library at nine in the morning." "I'm sorry." "Quentin, you need to grow up." "I didn't mean any harm." "Neither did Mrs. O'Grady's cow." "Whose cow?"

"Never mind, Quentin. Nine in the morning." The door to her room closed. Maggie wanted to go back to her room, but she would have to pass Nick to do so. She glanced around at Nick's rumpled bed, the soft lighting, the silent room. Nick stopped in the door and placed the gun on a small table. He turned to face her. She realized the small bedside lamp was glowing behind her, outlining her figure through the thin white nightgown. Nick's smoldering gaze drifted down like a caress, and she was torn with emotions. She wanted to throw her arms over her breasts. At the same time, they felt full and ached for Nick's touch. "Maggie," he whispered, and walked toward her. "Come here." "Never..." He took her into his arms and kissed her, silencing every objection. His strong fingers slipped through her hair, tugging so lightly, fanning delicate sensations from her scalp down her spine before his fingertips roamed lower. He shifted slightly and his fingers traced the low, rounded neckline of her nightgown, moving over responsive flesh that burned beneath his touch. His hand slipped beneath the gown, brushing across a quivering nipple to cup her trembling breast. Maggie gasped and twined her arms around his neck, her hips thrusting against his in a movement as natural as breathing. She wanted Nick more than she had ever wanted anyone or anything in her life. She loved him. It was that deep and that simple. She had craved him, fought her desire, fought him, but his hands, his kisses, and her love had become too great to battle. His lips brushed her throat, then drifted lower, his tongue a golden flame across her skin. His finger hooked a strap of her gown, tugging it off her shoulder. She whispered, "I'm going to get hurt. I'm going to get run over."

"No, Maggie," he whispered huskily. "If you knew how badly I want you, how much I need you ..." His mouth found her breast, his tongue touched the quivering peak, and she gasped while her mind flung out one last warning that Nick Brannon didn't need anyone else. Reason fled, replaced by sensation, by an all- consuming longing for Nick. She needed him just as she needed air to breathe. Her fingers rested on his broad chest, winding through the short curls, relishing the texture, the soft hair that ran thickly down the center of his chest. He pushed the other strap off her shoulder, letting the gown fall away. Unheeded, it dropped around her ankles. Nick's finger traced around the taut peak of her breast, circling so leisurely, so slowly, arousing her to an agony of need until she wanted to thrust the eager bud into his fingertips. Pressing his lips to her soft throat, Nick lifted Maggie into his arms and carried her to the bed. Together they sank down on it. He stretched out on his side, pulling her against him. His hand followed the curve of her spine, moving slowly downward. She felt his weight shift, then he was gone. With an effort she opened heavy-lidded eyes, unaware that she looked at him from beneath lowered lids. Through long, feathery lashes she watched him stand up and take a deep breath, then unfasten his tight jeans and slip them off. He stood before her, a magnificent male, his skin golden even where it paled about his hips, dark hair startling, black and bronze. Her gaze drifted lowered and her pulse soared to a storm's wild roar. She drank in the sight of his hard muscles, the flat planes of his stomach, his full and vital maleness. He knelt beside her, his fingers seeking the rosy tip of her breast. "Maggie, hon, how I want you!" he whispered. She touched his jaw, feeling tiny bristles. Her other hand rested on his hip, then brushed his thigh. He drew a deep breath, his ash-silver eyes darkening to slate before his lashes lowered.

He bent over her. His tongue traced a steaming path down over her stomach, making her writhe and moan. His hands drifted so lightly over her sensitive inner thighs, followed by his kisses. She locked her fingers in Nick's hair. This powerful man of muscle and raw strength could move with the utmost tenderness. His hand caressed away shyness; his virile body invited her gaze, her touch. Kneeling beside her, he paused, his fingers tracing the scar below her hip, a thin white line across her left buttock. "What happened, Maggie?" "I fell out of a tree onto a fence," she answered, and hoped the night wouldn't carve another scar on her heart. "My wild Maggie," he breathed. The words echoed in her mind over and over. "My wild Maggie . . . my Maggie ..." He let out his breath softly and soothed away her embarrassment over the disfiguration, trailing kisses over her ivory-colored, silken thighs. Nick's kisses drifted higher. His hot tongue sought and found her feminine warmth, causing her to gasp, her hips to surge upward convulsively, then shudder as he deliberately brought her to a peak, to a soft cry of release. Nick shifted to kiss her breast again, and Maggie sat up to touch and caress and give pleasure to Nick. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath as he lay back on the pillow. She sat astride him, her slender legs doubled against his hips, her fiery red-gold hair falling on his chest, drifting over his stomach as she moved to kiss lower, to give him pleasure as he had her. She gave with love, without holding back anything until Nick pulled her down beside him and rose over her. He spread her knees with his and moved between them, towering over her before he lowered himself. He paused, suddenly still as his hooded eyes probed her soul. "Maggie ..." His voice was hoarse, rough. "Has there been another?" She hesitated. In her heart she knew this was a man accustomed to women who were far more worldly than she. Innocence was often its own defense.

So, too, it could be a barrier. In that moment Maggie had to make one of the choices of her life, and her woman's heart made the decision. She lied. "Yes, but it was so very long, long ago." "Ahh, Maggie love." He sighed with satisfaction and need. His weight came down, his hot readiness apparent. She rained kisses on his throat, into the curve of his shoulder, her hands stroking his hard, vital body. "Maggie, Maggie." He whispered her name as he took her, then he stopped suddenly, going so still, his eyes widening in shock. She clung to him, her arms tightening. "Nick, please ..." She gasped and moved, raising her hips, as he reacted in the same instinctive, elemental way, thrusting to enter her softness, to make her his woman, to hold her in unison with his movements. One small cry of pain crossed her lips, then was followed by a gasp of pleasure. She clung to his powerful body as he whispered, "Move with me, baby. Do you like that?" She moaned softly, unable to form coherent words while sensation racked her, stunned her senses. Beneath it all she gloried in Nick, in the strong, marvelous man that she held against her heart. Together they loved in completeness, in a unity that felt so right, so perfect. She gave totally, body and soul, to Nick Brannon. Heated breaths mingled, hearts pounded as they built to a peak until ecstasy burst over them, until he shuddered with release. Maggie felt dreamy, floating in a state of euphoria, satiated by Nick's body. She drifted down like a feather gliding on a breeze, dropping through time and space, through layers of consciousness, unknowing, sailing and swooping gently in lazy arcs of satisfaction until Nick shifted away from her and the cool air on her hot skin brought her to reality and earth. Clear reality and very firm earth. Nick circled her waist with one muscled arm while he propped his head on his other hand and looked down at her from under a fringe of dark lashes. He

was long, lithe, and sleekly powerful. The wild strength in him idled and was held in check. Her heart quickened beneath his scrutiny. She felt as if he were a leopard with a careless paw thrown over her, holding her. The unwinking-cat gaze was unpredictable. "You conned me, Maggie," he said. His voice was a mixture of wry amusement and something she couldn't define. Anger? Uncertainty? Nick Brannon uncertain? She wasn't sure, but her heart raced while she gazed up at him unflinchingly. "So I did." She didn't deny it. Instead, she stroked his cheek and almost purred with satisfaction. His eyes glittered with interest. There was no mistaking curiosity now. And a bemused crooked smile tugged at his mouth. "You snowed me, deliberately, and I fell for it. I was wrong, Maggie. You're no kitten." He caught her hair, tugging golden strands through his fingers roughly. His voice was husky. "You're a she-leopard." Her green eyes flared under his glinting gaze. He asked, "What now?" "I won't tell you, Nick Brannon." And she wouldn't tell him that mentally she had likened him to a black leopard. It pleased her to know he'd stopped thinking of her as a kitten, that now he viewed her much in the same way she saw him. A leopard! "Are you protected, hon?" "Yes," she lied, and wondered if he believed her. Nick was experienced, worldly. She didn't want him to know how vulnerable she was. Vulnerable in every way because she loved Nick Brannon with all her heart. "I'll wring the reason for that smile out of you. Do you know how long it's been since someone conned me? Too damn long to remember, baby. I may take my revenge." Her pulse beat wildly at the look he gave her. It sent a threat of the most delicious type of revenge on earth. But his curiosity still tormented him. He

tilted his head to one side, winding a silken red curl around his finger, letting his hand stroke her pale throat. "Did I hurt you?" "Not too much." Maggie felt breathless remembering the past hour; a blush tinted her cheeks. He toyed with the curl, turning it in his fingers. His voice was full of speculation. "I'd think a twenty- three-year-old virgin would fight to defend her honor. Or simper and protest and tell me what a prize I'm getting. Or show some genuine fear." A strange note came into his voice as he said softly, "Or proclaim her love ..." He studied her. "Why did you lie to me, Maggie?"Let him wonder. It was high time in Nick's dealings with women that something puzzled him. She wasn't so sure about the answer herself. She had been on a merry-go-round of love that spun, whirling all her cool logic into oblivion. Wriggling away from Nick, she stood and scooped up her gown. "You think about it, Nick," she whispered over her shoulder without looking back, because she knew if she turned and saw him sprawled naked, virile, and golden on the bed, she might not have the will to go. " 'Night." He caught her before she had taken two more steps, without her hearing him make a sound. His scarred hand closed on her arm and he swung her around to wrap his unyielding arms around her waist. "Oh, no!" he said huskily. "I told you, baby. I don't get conned often. You aren't getting off that lightly." The duel began again. She wondered if it was as irresistible for him as it was for her as the tense challenge was flung forth, sailing between them to start the battle of wills, a battle she knew she would lose the minute his lips touched hers. "Look, Nick, I'm going." "Yeah, sure. When I'm damned ready for you to go." His dark head lowered and his lips brushed hers, parting them to commence another loving surge.

He paused. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "There are moments, Mr. Brannon, when you won't get everything you ask for. Small victory that it is, I won't tell you!" His eyes held a wicked gleam. "Another challenge, Maggie!" "You got what you wanted; let me go." "What I wanted," he said softly. "Did you get what you wanted?" "That's going unanswered too." "You're a she-leopard, Maggie, with all your secrets hidden behind your green cat eyes. Your saucy eyes that challenge me constantly." "You look on fire, Nick. How's your fever?" "Probably set a record tonight." She wriggled slightly to break free, but his arms pulled her close. "Oh, no, I intend to get an answer from you." "You won't." "Then I'll get what I can." He lowered his head to kiss her and his arms tightened. He was so careful, so deliberate. While his arms held her like steel his mouth was velvety soft, brushing over her lips, his tongue tracing the outline, tracing inside, exchanging its warmth with hers, their breaths mingling in the burning love song between them. Stepping closer, Maggie sighed, her hips molding to his slim, hard pelvis. How could she hold out against what she wanted more than anything else on earth? And she wanted Nick as surely as she needed breath, as surely as her heart required oxygen to pump. She knew the risk, yet she had to take it. She could no more walk out of Nick Brannon's arms, out of his bedroom, his life, than she could fly away home.

His kisses changed as she moved closer. His tongue thrust deeply, demanding, hot and relentless, as he bent over her, leaning her backward until she clung to him and her gown dropped from her fingers. He raised his head to look at her. "This time will be slower and even better for you, babe." He kept his promise. He took more time, with gentle caresses, long, slow kisses, stroking and teasing. They sank to the soft carpet while he held her in his arms, his hands seeking to give her pleasure, her hands drifting over his skin, memorizing his texture and shape. She wound her fingers in his thick black hair. Suddenly Nick raised his head and his gray eyes were hard as flint. "Maggie, I don't understand you, but understand me—I'm not the settling-down kind. I lead a solitary life." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "So you said." He wound his fingers roughly in her hair and tilted her head back, his eyes searching her face. "You don't care? My sweet, virginal Maggie. You don't care that I'll say good-bye and go to Central America? Or to Beirut? To Africa? That I might not come back into your life. You don't care?" For the third time that night she lied blatantly. She, who was scrupulously honest to the point of bluntness, to the extent her brother groaned when she was asked personal family questions, she faced Nick Brannon, touching his jaw with her forefinger, and answered, "No. Go to the ends of the earth, Nick. I knew about you when I came into this room. What's important is what we find in each other when we're together." She leaned forward to kiss him, to brush her mouth over unresponsive lips. Surprised, she glanced up to see his dark brows pulled together. His fingers were still wound in her hair. "Maggie, my little she-leopard, you bother me. I get the feeling you're toying with me." She hoped she could keep her exhilaration from surfacing. A sun rose inside her and glowed with noonday brightness, and she kissed him quickly before he could see her satisfaction!

He opened his mouth and responded until she was in a frenzy of longing, until he had flung her hair back and pressed her to the carpet. She held to Nick's shoulders as she watched him move between her legs, lowering himself into her welcoming softness. When ecstasy burst over her it was more intense than before. She clung to him, crying out, feeling his hard body shudder in climax before settling on her. How long they lay still, she didn't know, but finally Nick shifted to his side to hold her. She turned to find the same quizzical gray stare. If anything, he looked more curious than before. Her actions bothered him; he couldn't catalogue them or explain them, and it gave her satisfaction. "Maggie ..." "Yes?" "Why?" "Sometimes you talk too much, you know? Are we going to sleep on the floor?" "I don't have the energy to get up." He pulled a blanket off the bed and yanked it over them, then settled her against him again. "You don't care if I go to Honduras?" "I'd rather have you right here," she answered lightly, and he frowned. "Maggie . . ."He became silent. "What's wrong?" "I can't figure you out." She fought a smile. If only she could claim this round, but she had a suspicion hers was a minor victory, that she had lost her heart.

She nestled in his arms for a moment, relishing his warm length, not wanting to think. For an instant she wondered if she had simply stepped in where Glory had left. The thought hurt and she didn't want any intrusion on the bliss she felt. She squeezed closer to him, smiling, opening her eyes once more before her dark auburn lashes closed. The last thing she remembered were dark brows drawn together over puzzled ash-silver eyes. Maggie opened her eyes in the morning sunlight and stretched, touching a solid warm body. She rolled over in Nick's bed and looked at his broad smile. Her heart threatened to burst. How good it felt to wake up beside him! She smiled in return. "Hi, measles," she whispered, and touched his cheek. "Hi, my sexy redhead," he said softly, and her heart ran wild. She placed her palm on his forehead. "What a shiner! But no fever." "That's what you think!" His chest was bare, the sheet and blanket lay casually over his hips and her waist. His gaze drifted down to her bare breasts and she felt them grow taut. He exhaled a full breath and his finger traced her curves, dipping down in the valley between them. His dark head lowered and he kissed her so lightly, yet his warm breath fanned banked fires into a blaze. "Nick ..." she murmured, and locked her arms around his neck, slipping down to kiss him.

An hour later she rolled over to look at him. "Morning, measles." "I think I heard that before." He stroked her damp hair away from her temple. "When did we get into bed?"

"Somewhere between love on the floor and love in the bed," he said lazily. "I have a present for you." She laughed. "You've been out shopping?" He grinned and twisted to reach down to the floor on his side of the bed. He brought up something wrapped in white tissue paper. "What on earth? When did you get a present? What is it?" "Maggie, people drive me crazy who hold sealed letters and ask, 'I wonder who sent. . .' Open it and see. It's second-hand. It was mine and now it's yours. I guess it's third-hand." Curious, she sat up, aware of his gaze following her movements and resting on her bare breasts again. She tugged the sheet up and smiled at him. He pushed it down around her waist. "That's a habit you'll get over soon, babe." She unfolded more of the tissue and gasped with pleasure as she withdrew a pink and white triton shell. "Nick! It's beautiful!" He lay back, pleased. She leaned down to kiss him, then settled in the crook of his arm, fitting herself to his side while she held up the shell and looked at it. "It's beautiful. I love it!" "Well, I wish I could hear as much enthusiasm about me," he said dryly. Smiling, she rose on her elbow and brushed his cheek, pouring feeling into her voice. "Nick, you're beautiful. I love you!" "It's handsome with men, love. And I love you too." He said it so easily. Too easily. How much did he mean it? She lay back down, sobering, turning the shell in her hands while she wondered if she had committed the worst folly of her life. Nick Brannon was so worldly, so

accustomed to loving and leaving. Could she cope with it when he vanished from her life? He told her he would; why was it so difficult to make her brain accept the fact? Because it was impossible to imagine life without Nick. It would be the world without the sun. Nick reached up to touch the edge of the shell, his fingers large and dark next to her pale slender ones. "I found that off the coast of Mexico." He rolled over to look down at her. "And found you in the forsythia." "You aren't going to let me forget, are you?" "I hope never. Give me that kiss I won." "You won?" His hand slipped down to stroke her buttock. "Your lovely little scar, Miss Maggie." "Oh, that!" She squinted at him. "You didn't seduce me to win your bet, did you?" "I didn't think you'd guess!" he teased. "Give me that kiss." "It sure didn't take you until May," she said dryly, and he chuckled. "I couldn't wait." Maggie wound her arm around Nick's neck and kissed him with all the enthusiasm possible. When she raised her head his arms tightened around her. "Come back here," he said huskily. She frowned. "What time is it?" "Who cares." "You better. Quentin is supposed to meet you in the library at nine."

Nick looked at the clock on the bedside table and groaned. "You would spoil paradise. Why didn't that kid wait to get the measles now, so he could be sick in bed this morning. Let him cool his heels." Nick reached for the phone. "What're you doing?" "I'm going to call Hubert and ask him kindly to tell Quentin that I'm too sick to see him. You and I'll spend today in bed—" "Wait a minute." She sat up and pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. Nick jerked it down quickly and smiled. "None of that maidenly modesty. It's only skin-deep anyway." She blushed. "Forget bed. I teach at nine-thirty." Nick said a rude word. Maggie laughed and got up, reaching quickly for her gown. Nick snatched it away, his gaze traveling down over her bare flesh. She felt her skin flame beneath his gaze. "Nick, stop! Give me that gown." "Here, I'll get it back tonight." She stepped into it and pulled it into place swiftly. "Why, you're sure of yourself." "Not really, Maggie," he said so solemnly that she paused to look at him. "I can't put you in a category, love. You give some things so easily and other things you won't part with. Other things you keep hidden." "What other things, Nick?" "What you're really thinking, what you feel. I don't know where I stand with you."

She wanted to tell him it was mutual, but wisdom whispered to keep quiet and be thankful she had Nick Brannon puzzled and interested. She smiled and winked. "See you later, Nick." "Hey, Maggie, how about some ointment on my back before you go?" She paused at the door and answered in a sultry voice, "You're a big boy now, Nick. You can do it yourself." Dodging a pillow, she closed the door behind her and hurried to bathe and dress while all the fears and qualms she had kept at bay during the night came rushing to assail her.

Later, when Maggie looked back on the week that followed, it seemed a dream. The door stayed open between their rooms and Nick came and went as if both rooms were his. At night she was in his room, in his bed, in his arms. Nick recovered from the measles, and they could have gone out again, yet the nights were spent together in each other's arms. She knew it couldn't last, but she pushed away worry and fear, reveling in the blissful moments with Nick when she could. The end of March neared. The boys had spring fever and were restless. On Thursday morning she told them they could stop for lunch and closed her notebook. The boys filed out and Maggie looked up to meet Nick's solemn gaze. Standing in the door wearing a white knit shirt and tight jeans, the sight of him made her heart slam against her ribs. How long, she wondered, would she react merely to seeing him? As she smiled, he straightened, but didn't smile back. Maggie's pulse skipped and suddenly she felt cold.

Nick closed the door and crossed the room, the smoldering hunger in his eyes pulling her to her feet, compelling her to stand. He came around the desk without stopping and drew her into his arms to kiss her. He bent over her, molding her to his hard length, his arms tightening until her breath was gone. One hand slipped down her back, over the soft curve of her derriere, a gentle pressure to fit her hips closely to his. Finally he raised his head. "Maggie, I'm leaving."

Ten His eyes were dark, like rain-washed slate, their silvery glitter hard. Her heart flipped and she wanted to tighten her grip, to hold Nick Brannon to her heart and never let go. "I won't be gone long." "Where are you going?" "Near El Salvador." "When do you leave?" Her mouth felt dry. The thought of Nick facing bullets, guerrillas, the dangers of a jungle war, made her tremble violently. "Sooner than I want. Tomorrow morning at ten. We have tonight," he said huskily. He kissed her again, then raised his head to look at her. She stroked his cheek, memorizing each detail of his features. She wanted to know when he was coming back, yet she knew there was nothing to bind Nick Brannon to her. Not one tangible thing. So she didn't ask. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him with all her heart and soul. He lifted her into his arms and moved to the sofa. "Nick, someone may come. The boys ..." He set her down and grabbed her hand. "Come on, Maggie." They went upstairs to his room. He bolted the door then pulled her into his arms. "I may not get out of bed until nine-thirty." "Don't you have to pack?" "Don't talk so much, Maggie. I'm going to miss you terribly."

And she would miss him far more. He didn't have to go. And yet she had known from the first how things would end, what would happen between them. He held her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. "Maggie, I love you." Her heart thudded and she returned his gaze intently. "I love you, Nick. I always will." She wanted to cry out to him not to go, to stay where it was safe, but she couldn't. The part of Nick that made him want to go to a war-torn country and report on it made Nick the man she had fallen in love with. She held back her words and kissed him with all the love she felt. "Nick, when you go . . . just go. I don't like goodbyes. " "It isn't good-bye for long, baby. I'll be back before you know it." The words hung in the air, and she shivered. "Hey, you're trembling." "You do that to me," she whispered. Nick's eyes darkened and he leaned down to kiss her again. "Maggie, don't let the boys get you down. Tyler will be around. He'll take care of any problems." "Okay, Nick. I'll remember that." It wasn't going to be the boys who worried her. It never had been. "I'll be home the second week of May. When you're on your last week with the boys. Oh, Maggie, how I love you." He kissed her hungrily and she returned his embrace, clinging to him as if she could stop time, hold Nick forever, etch the moment on her heart. Nick pulled away. "Maggie, will you be all right?" "Sure," she said lightly.

He frowned and brushed her hair away from her face. "For the first time in my career I'm having second thoughts about taking an assignment." Something hurt deep inside, but she forced a smile and touched his cheek. "Go, Nick. You have a career to follow. You have your life, I have mine." "Don't sound as if we're through," he said. "I love you." He sounded fierce, as if he had to convince himself. "Nick, will you stop talking and kiss me." "I can't figure you. You're not the type to say goodbye so blithely." "I'm not. I keep trying to get you to kiss me." "Stop joking." She sighed, stood on tiptoe, and placed her lips on Nick's to end the conversation.

That night as she lay in his arms Nick rose up on one elbow to look at her. "Maggie, I've been thinking--" "I can hear the wheels grinding from here." "Listen to me, dammit. I love you. Maggie, what—" He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair. She held her breath. More than anything she wanted to hear that he wasn't going, but she didn't want him to change his life because of her. Not yet. There were too many obstacles. Four enormous ones. She placed her fingers over his lips. "Shhh, Nick. Wait until you come home to say it." He looked at her solemnly while minutes ticked by and she wondered what he was fighting in his mind. Finally, he lay down beside her and pulled her to him, holding her until they both fell asleep.

He kept his word and left without telling her goodbye. After Nick had gone, the house seemed empty and hollow. Maggie had to make an effort to keep her attention on her work. The boys' spirits drooped and their pranks were mild for a few weeks. Gradually, though, they worsened, until Tyler had to be on hand constantly, trying to keep the boys out of jail, trying to smooth things over with their victims. Maggie's patience grew short and she was exhausted after each session with the boys. Then she began to feel unwell, and finally she made an appointment with her family doctor, Dr. Pendleton. As Maggie sat across from Dr. Pendleton, the news she heard was a shock and not a shock. Her period had come late and spotty; then there had been steady bleeding. Grimly, she clenched her fists as Dr. Pendleton talked to her gently. "Maggie, I know you're not married. Do you plan to get married soon?" "I don't know. He's out of the country right now." "You're going to need him. Or go home to Jesse and Colin. Your brother and sister-in-law will take care of you. You may not carry this baby full-term," he said quietly. She gripped the arms of the chair and stared at him. "What's wrong?" "I don't know, I wish I could give you a concrete answer, but your body is trying to miscarry. I've seen cases like this before." She felt cold, yet beads of perspiration dotted her brow and she brushed her hand across her forehead. "I want this baby. I want it so badly." "We'll try, but you need to know what you're up against. You'll have to be strong to face what's ahead, because you're going to have to be very, very careful. You're anemic, and that doesn't help. We can fight anemia, but you need someone to take care of you."

Maggie's throat felt tight and she had to fight tears. H*er baby and Nick's! She wanted it as badly as she wanted Nick. "I'll manage." "You ought to quit work. Can you?" "I have a week to go." He mulled it over. "Is it important?" "Yes, I think it would be difficult for someone else to step in now and give the boys their tests next week. "All right, if you work another week, take care of yourself. If you get tired, rest. If you hurt, get off your feet. Take your vitamins, the pills for nausea, get enough rest. I'm going to give you a hormone shot. Above all, don't overexert. This will be touch and go. If you have any bleeding, get in bed." "I will." "Maggie, I've taken care of you and your family a long time now. As soon as the father returns, get married and let him help you." "Thank you." Dr. Pendleton squinted over his glasses at her. "Will he be home soon?" "Next week." "Are you in love with him?" "Yes." "Then he must be a good man. Take my advice." "Thanks."

Twenty minutes later Maggie stepped out into the sunshine feeling lightheaded as she walked to the car. Nick's baby. How she wanted it! She envisioned a dark-haired little boy with big gray eyes just like Nick's. And Dr. Pendleton had told her to marry Nick, who already had a family that hated her. Nick, who came with four dreadful boys in his charge. Nick, who had said he'd be crazy to have children, who said if he married, he wanted a contract that there wouldn't be children. The words swirled in her head. She could hear him clearly. "I will never get married. No wife. No kids." And she knew what she had to do. In her purse was Nick's cable saying that he would be back next Thursday. By Friday she would be through at the Brannon mansion. There seemed to be only one solution to her dilemma, and it didn't include Nick Brannon.

Maggie planned to meet him at the airport. After the visit with Dr. Pendleton, she had skipped teaching Monday while she lay in bed. Today she felt better than she had in a month and she wondered if it was excitement over seeing Nick. As she dressed, she halted in front of the mirror to critically inspect her figure beneath the green cotton dress. Her bust was fuller, but other than that she didn't show the slightest sign of pregnancy. Far from it. She had lost weight and her hip bones thrust out sharply. Her pulse raced at the thought of seeing Nick. And beneath her excitement ran a deep, sad current of longing. Her heart was on a seesaw between despair and joy. She felt pure bliss over Nick's baby. She wanted this child with all her heart. In the depths of her soul she knew her love for Nick was forever. She had waited all her life for him. Maggie waited eagerly at the gate. She opened her purse and studied Nick's worn cable as if she could conjure him up. The familiar words were memorized: "How's your apartment? I want to be alone with you."

She folded it carefully and replaced it in her purse, biting her lip with indecision, remembering Dr. Pendleton's words of caution. Yet she had felt better the past two days than anytime since the first week of April. The big jet taxied up to the gate, the doors opened, and passengers began to emerge. Maggie's heart raced as she locked her fingers together. She wanted to run down the portable corridor to hunt for him. She fought the urge to stand on tiptoe. And finally she saw a dark head of hair above the crowd. Nick came walking jauntily off the plane. Her heart slammed against her ribs. He was darker than ever, with a short black beard and mustache. His gray eyes sparkled and his long stride lengthened. Dressed in a khaki shirt and slacks, he looked thinner, fit, and tough. And adorable. She moved toward him in a daze. He walked up to her, dropped his flight bag, and picked her up, crushing her to him to kiss her until she thought she would faint, his bushy beard tickling her face. "Nick! Let me get my breath." "I could eat you up!" His voice lowered. "Come on, Maggie. Let's go home." He tucked her beneath his arm, clinging tightly, their steps moving in unison as they hurried to the car. Maggie got in, then watched Nick as he walked around the big blue Lincoln. Hot sunshine caught burnished glints in his dark hair and the wind tugged locks from his forehead. Her heart skipped with love. How handsome he looked! She wanted to hold him and never let go. He tossed his things in the back, sat down behind the wheel, and reached for her. "Come here, my green-eyed woman." He kissed her again, a hungry, passionate kiss that made the moments spent apart vanish. He leaned back against the window, stretching out his legs, pulling her into his arms. She felt his arousal, his hard body beneath her, and a burning hunger raced through her. She ached for him; his every touch was a scorching brand. With an effort she said, "Nick, stop! We're in the airport lot."

"Who cares?" he murmured. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to pour out her love. She pulled away. "Nick, come on . . . wait until we get home. Well get arrested." "It's okay if we can share the cell. I can't wait." He grinned and she wanted to fling her arms around him again, but she scooted away to watch him drive, his tanned fingers holding the wheel with competent ease, the khaki pants molding to his muscular thighs. And how well she remembered every inch of him! An ache commenced again, a building warmth that started low in her feminine core and fanned through her bloodstream. She had dreamed of him so long, it seemed unreal to have him beside her. He looked marvelous; she couldn't keep her hands off him and brushed her fingers over his shoulder. She wanted Nick to hold her; she wanted desperately to touch and look at him. He winked at her, turning his face quickly to drop a light kiss on her fingers. "Tell me how to get to your apartment, Maggie." She gave directions and he said, "Let's hear what the demons have been doing while I was gone." "First, you tell me what you did." She moved closer, shifting her hand higher on his strong thigh, feeling his warm flesh through the material. His hand covered hers instantly. Each caress made her need more intense. "How I've missed you!" he said huskily. "Tell me about El Salvador," she whispered, her mind on Nick. He looked so sexy, so vital. She refused to face what lay ahead. It would come soon enough. Talking about Central America, he navigated through the traffic in the lot, then onto the highway to Sapulpa.

Maggie asked questions and kept him on the subject of Honduras until they slowed in front of her apartment. She watched him step into the sunshine. When he held the door she took a deep breath. She felt as if she were walking off the deck of a ship, dropping into a deep, deep sea. Inside the apartment Nick put down his things and walked into the center of the living room to look around. "It isn't the Brannon mansion," she said. "It's yours. That makes it better." To Maggie, it was clean, comfortable, and homey, but not anything like Nick was accustomed to. The furniture had been collected from second-hand stores. She had painted the chairs white and they held bright lime green and pale blue cushions. A pale blue carpet on the floor and bright prints hung on the walls. Through the door she could see her double bed with its blue-and-white checked gingham spread, the fuzzy blue carpet, and plants hanging in the windows. She gave it a cursory glance. All her attention was elsewhere. She quivered with a need so profound, her knees felt weak and she ached for Nick. He looked around, his hands on his hips as he surveyed her apartment. "It's nice, Maggie. Really home." He turned and held his arms out wide, his voice becoming a rasp. "Come here, love. Welcome me home." Maggie went to him and put her arms around the man she loved.

Maggie pulled her new blue robe around her as she faced Nick across the tiny round glass kitchen table. He sat in his khaki pants, his shirt on but open, the shirttail hanging over his narrow hips, a strip of his chest revealed. His jaw was clean-shaven.

Nick's plate was empty, hers held a half-eaten hamburger that Nick had prepared. He smoked a cigar, exhaling away from her before he turned to look at her. "You didn't like my hamburger." "I liked it. I'm not hungry." "You look as if you've lost weight." "I might have." "Kids been giving you a hard time?" "No more than when you were here." "There's only tomorrow left, then you're through. I've enrolled them in a school in Minnesota this summer." She took a deep breath, looked at his solemn expression, and saw a quizzical arch to his brows. "Nick, I want you to promise me something." "Sure." He squinted at her through a haze of smoke. "I don't want you to give up on the boys. Don't leave them." "I'm not giving my life to them, Maggie." "Give them a certain amount of time. If none of them have come around by then, do something else and go on with your life." He thought it over, gazing at her silently. "They must've really done something gruesome while I was gone." "They're children. If I had a child and something happened to me, I'd want someone to care." "All right, hon. I'll give them time."

"How much time?" His eyes narrowed and he stretched out his long legs, his calf touching hers casually. She smoothed her robe over her knees, aware that she wore nothing underneath it. "You're pale, you've lost weight, and you're taking up for them. Are they in jail?" "No. How much time will you promise to give them?" His chest expanded with his deep breath. "Why do I have a feeling disaster is about to strike?" "Promise. Give me your word and mean it. No matter what they did or what they do or what I tell you, you'll stick by them for a while longer." "Quentin didn't hurt you, did he?" "No," she answered with a fleeting smile. "Okay, love, I'll give those rascals a year. Until the end of next May." A year. She drew a breath. "That's only right. I've thought and thought about it. I'd want that for my child. There's something else you need to do right away." "Yeah." He patted his lap. "Come here and I'll do it." She smiled. "I ought to wring a promise out of you about this. Will you leave town soon? Take the boys and go on a vacation?" "If you'll go." He stubbed out the cigar and leaned across the table to touch her cheek with his hand. Maggie kissed his palm. "How about a honeymoon?" he asked huskily.

She drew a breath. The room spun for a minute and she clung to the table. He frowned and reached out to hold her shoulders. "Hey, I expected a reaction, but don't faint!" "I won't." "Marry me, honey. I love you." She looked at him intently and he said quietly, "I need you, Maggie." For a moment she was tempted to say yes and throw logic out, forget his promise, forget the boys. To take Nick and his strength and his love and battle for their baby. And while she contemplated it, all the problems she had fought with during the past weeks returned. Four boys who would hate her child. Four boys that Nick couldn't ignore. Nick, who lived a wild, dangerous life . . . "Nick, I love you, but we can't rush into something." "We're not," he said gruffly. "I almost asked you before I went to Honduras." "You did?" She was shocked. "Then we would've been rushing things, but not now. I've had too damned long to think. I know what I want." "When do the boys go to Minnesota?" "They're supposed to be there June fourteenth and they come home July thirtieth." "Take them up a few days earlier and have a vacation with them." "No thanks. Everything I want is here. Why leave?" he asked, smiling at her. The time had come. She said, "If you stay, Colin will beat you to a pulp. Or worse."

Nick frowned and Maggie took a deep breath. "Why would he be mad. ..." His voice trailed away and his gaze drifted down over her. He stood up and pulled her to her feet, his hand resting lightly on her stomach, his voice full of wonder. "Maggie! Oh, hon, you're mine now. Forever. When's our baby due?" Her heart thudded over his words. Without waiting for her answer, Nick enveloped her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Maggie's pulse jumped and throbbed and she clung to him, but she couldn't rejoice with him. She leaned back to look up at him, pushing locks of hair off his forehead. "I am pregnant, Nick. But we're not getting married right now."

Eleven "To hell with that promise. That was dirty politics." "I'm holding you to it. I won't marry you." "You'd make me give up the woman I love and my baby for those four hellions!" "You promised! You have to stick by your word. I've thought about it while you were gone. I don't want this baby to grow up with the boys, and I don't want you to leave the boys for us." "You can't say no. I won't let you." "I'll be here in Tulsa. When the boys are a little older ..." "To hell with that! I love you. I want my own life." "So you'll just give up on Quentin and the twins and Freddy?" "My own child comes first." He released her, reached into his pocket for another cigar, and walked to the counter to get a match and light it. He exhaled a plume of smoke and turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. His eyes flashed with fire. "Nick, I don't want you trapped into marriage." "Dammit, I love you." "Then a certificate shouldn't matter." "That's my line." "I remember clearly, 'I'll never marry. No wife, no kids...' " "I didn't mean that! I was angry with the boys. Oh, Maggie, you can't think I don't want our baby. We're getting married."

"It's a matter of time. If we love each other—We'll be together part of the time, but I don't want our baby around the boys. They're too mean." Suddenly she felt tired and sat down. She ran her finger along the cool glass tabletop. "I've thought over all the arguments, and there are too many against getting married now." "So when do we marry?" She could feel his anger bubbling up. "I don't know, but not now." "You and your logic. I won't take no for an answer." "You won't have time to argue about it. When my brother finds out—and I can't hide a baby—you better be far, far away." "I'm not afraid of your brother, but I don't want to hurt him." "Then go, Nick. I can take care of myself and our baby," she said, determined that she wouldn't burden Nick and just as set against staying near the boys. "You're too damned independent." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "I told your family we'd be in at noon. It's two. They'll think we've had a car wreck." He stood with his long legs crossed, a cloud of smoke rising above him. Dark hair tumbled on his forehead and his brooding eyes had darkened. He straightened, stubbed out the cigar, and crossed the narrow space between them. Maggie's pulse jumped as she stood up. "We should go-" He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom to sit down on the side of the bed with Maggie on his lap. He wound his fingers in her hair while his other arm held her around the waist. "Maggie, I love you. I won't give you up. You have to marry me."

"You have to keep your promise," she whispered breathlessly, her body responding to him. "Uh-huh! Not all the logic from here to the North Pole will make me keep that promise." "I can't live with them. They're too mean. And you can't leave them. You'd hate yourself." "Miss Logical Maggie, soon—very soon—to be Mrs. Nicholas Brannon, baloney!" "You're not going to have a choice this time, Nick." "We'll go to the house now. Tomorrow you finish teaching. I have a meeting in the morning with the officials of Brannon Drilling. They fly in here tonight and I want to get that out of the way. I'll be with them all day, Tyler the next day. Then, Miss Maggie, we'll settle this. You might as well think about a wedding dress." "You promised." He tilted her chin up and his eyes were dark. "If you think I'll let that promise stop our marriage, you don't know me very well." "I can be stubborn too. You can't force me to marry you now." "Sweet, logical, independent Maggie with the saucy green eyes. Green eyes that are too solemn." His voice lowered to a husky rasp and she felt her nerves become taut as a bowstring. She loved Nick and wanted to throw logic and caution and the boys to the wind. "I'll bring the laughter back to your eyes, love." "I know." "I mean soon." He smiled. "Want to bet on it?"

"We better go." She started to rise. Nick swooped her down on the bed and enfolded her in his arms to kiss her. His lips parted hers, his seeking tongue fiery, and she wound her arms around him, feeling safe and loved for the moment. Finally, he raised his head and asked, "Have you been sick?" "A little." "Is everything all right?" "It's fine," she said with a determined thrust to her chin. If she told Nick the truth, they would be married by sundown. "There is no way you're going to escape me, love. No way on this earth." Her heart jumped. She clenched her fists and said, "I'm not sure I want to marry someone who'll be away in a jungle half the time." He shifted onto his side. "There, my love, I'm way ahead of you. It was pure hell to be away from you. Why do you think I came home and proposed?" "You proposed because you're about to become a father," she said dryly. "Oh, no, Maggie. I asked first and I started to ask before I left." His voice deepened, a husky rasp entering it, and she trembled. "Maggie, I need you. Desperately. All the time. I don't want to wait. I don't want to be separated. I've already talked to someone about working for a paper in Houston. Do you like Houston?" Her heart pounded and she fought a constriction in her throat, but she wouldn't give in. All she had to do was think about her baby around Quentin, the twins, and Freddy."Houston Js nice." She snatched up her clothes, stepped into the tiny bathroom, and locked the door. When she came out, the bed was neatly made. Nick was dressed in his khaki clothes, seated in her rocker, looking through her album of old pictures. He closed the book and surveyed her from head to toe.

His gaze drifted down over her blue sundress, her white sandals. He stood up and her pulse drummed. He walked to her and took her into his arms. "We'll be back. Together." He picked up a box on a table and handed it to her. "I brought this for you and forgot to give it to you." She untied the blue ribbon and opened the box to find a brown-and-white striped seashell. A note lay inside. "I brought a shell to give you each day until we're married. Here's the first one. Love, Nick." Startled, she looked up. "How many did you bring home?" "Fourteen, but I can give them all to you today." Suddenly hot tears stung her eyes. She looked down quickly, turning the shell in her hands, fighting to maintain control of her emotions. "It's beautiful, Nick," she said. She tried to think about something else. "Hey! I didn't give it to you to make you sad! No long faces today. This is a marvelous day, Maggie! By the fourteenth shell, Maggie, you'll be Mrs. Nick Brannon. That's a promise I'll keep." "Nick ..." He placed his finger on her lips. "Shh. We're going to cure you of that horrible logic. Let me do the worrying for the three of us. You just take care of little Maggie." She smiled and he knelt down to peer into her eyes intently. "Ah-ha, I'm winning!" "Nick, you're so damned arrogant."

"Good thing, love. Now, I have to see a big smile before we go. What would make you smile?" She laughed. "I'm happy as a lark. Let's go." "That's pretty good. Maybe I should try for a rib- tickler. ..." "Nick!" He grinned and scooped her into his arms. "Hey, put me down." "You have to take it easy." He headed for the door. "You can't carry me for the next seven months!" She laughed and held his shoulders. "Ill bet on that too! Open the door for me." He bent his knees. Maggie opened the door, then wound her arms around his neck. "Somehow, Nick, the problems don't seem quite so big now." She smiled as she rested her head against him. Friday Maggie canceled the morning tests for the boys so she could be with Nick. After Nick had gone to his meeting, she returned to bed. Finally, she dressed in a pale blue shirtwaist dress and low-heeled sandals and went downstairs to lunch with the aunts and the boys. Afterward, as she went to the library, she saw Letty headed for the back door with scissors in hand. "Have you seen the roses, Maggie?" "They're beautiful." "We have a Don Juan that's gorgeous. And the pink ones are so pretty. The Peace are as big as saucers. I'm going to pick a bouquet."

Maggie went into the library and Letty disappeared down the hall. Quentin was slouched in his chair, chewing gum, giving Maggie the eye."Hey, teach. Let's call it a day. It's too pretty to sit inside." "Two more days, Quentin, and you'll be through. I have a quiz for you." "C'mon, teach. Let's go for a ride in that little car of yours." "You have a test in a few minutes." "Miss Linden," Hubert said as he knocked lightly on the open door. "Yes, Hubert?" "You have a phone call." "Thanks. Ill be right back. Look over your notes while I'm gone." She went into the hall to pick up the phone. Nick's voice came over the line. "Hi. I couldn't wait until tonight to talk to you. How do you feel?" She smiled. "Fine," she lied. She felt tired and her back hurt, but she didn't want to tell him. "I'm teaching." "Sony, I just got out of a meeting. We're taking a lunch break, then I go back. I can't wait to get home." "I'm glad you called." "Miss you." "That's sweet." "What I'm thinking isn't." She laughed. "We'll talk about it later." "We're going to talk about a lot of things. I've seen your doctor."

She gripped the phone tightly. "Meddling in my life." "It's my baby too, love. And the woman I love," he added in a deep voice that made her tremble. "I better go before my students skip school." "You get off your feet. Let the hellions run loose." "Sure." "I love you, Maggie." "I'm not alone." "I hope that's what's keeping you from saying what I want to hear." "It is." "Gotta run. See you tonight." She hung up the phone and returned to the library to find only Freddy, Bobby, and Billy. "Where's Quentin?" "We don't know. He left," Bobby said, his hazel eyes wide and innocent while Freddy and Billy fought grins. She stepped into the hall and looked around, her hands on her hips, when the front doorbell rang. She heard Hubert, another voice, then Hubert reappeared with a huge basket of red roses in his arms and a small white box under his arm. "These are for you, Miss Linden." Maggie smiled and crossed to take the roses. She inhaled deeply, relishing the deep crimson color and sweet smell. She opened the envelope and pulled out a card to read Nick's scrawling hand, WILL YOU MARRY ME IN MAY?

Hubert handed her the white box. "I'll take the flowers, miss. How nice." Maggie raised the lid of the small box to find a chambered-nautilus shell and another card in Nick's writing: THAT KISS HAD RIBBONS, LOVE, MARRY ME. NICK. She felt a warm glow and looked through the open door. Letty passed the house with roses in hand, heading across the front lawn to an oval bed of flowers. Suddenly Quentin yelled from upstairs, "Aunt Letty, stop! Hey, Aunt Letty!" Maggie turned to ice. She could guess what prompted Quentin's frantic call. She remembered the hole she had dropped into, and rushed outside. Maggie hurried across the porch, down the steps,and after Letty, who couldn't hear the yelling. "Letty, wait!" At that moment Letty pitched forward and fell on her face. Maggie started running, her heart pounding as Letty lay inert on the lawn. Too late, Maggie saw why Letty had fallen and Quentin had yelled. Something struck her ankles and she fell.

Twelve A burning pain shot through her side and she gasped, doubling up and drawing her knees up to her chin. Hubert was right behind her. "Watch out for the wire," she cautioned as she sat up. A wire was stretched tautly across the front yard from an elm tree to a pine about six inches above the ground and had tripped Letty. At an angle to it was another wire that had tripped Maggie. "Are you hurt?" Hubert asked. "No, not badly. See about Letty." Maggie rose and went to Letty, who blinked and grimaced. "Oh! I hurt!" "We'll get help, Letty. Just a minute. Hubert, stay with her, don't move her. I'll call an ambulance." Quentin sprinted across the lawn, his face pale. "I didn't mean ... we thought the postman ..." "Get a blanket quickly to cover your aunt. I'll call an ambulance." He turned and ran to the house. Maggie ran behind him, a searing pain shooting up her side. She clutched her side and slowed to a walk, meeting the boys as they rushed across the porch. She grasped Bobby's shoulder. "Bobby, get Thelma and tell her to come downstairs. Billy, you go down and sit with Hubert and Aunt Letty. Freddy, you come with me." She rushed up the steps and to the phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed and gave the address, then placed a call to Nick, who was still out to lunch. Quentin came down the steps two at a time with blankets in his arms. "Tell them an ambulance is on the way," Maggie said. He nodded and rushed out the door. Maggie felt a wave of dizziness and clutched the table. Freddy looked up at her.

"You all right?" "I'm fine." "You don't look fine. You look pale." She sat down and waited. Within minutes a siren's faint wail could be heard and Bobby appeared with Thelma. "What's happened, Miss Linden?" Thelma asked. "Bobby said Letty's hurt." "Yes, she fell. She needs to get to a hospital. The ambulance is coming and I thought you'd like to ride with her. I'll try to get in touch with Nick and come in the car." Maggie stood up and had to fight a surge of nausea. She sat down and dialed Nick again while the ambulance stopped on the drive and the attendants loaded Letty inside. Thelma and Bobby climbed in to ride with her while Billy, Hubert, and Quentin returned to the house. The wail commenced, a jarring dissonance that grated on Maggie's nerves. She clutched the table as a pain struck her, and suddenly she wondered if she ought to be in the ambulance with Letty. The siren faded as the ambulance roared down the drive. "I'm going to lie down, Freddy. Let me know if Nick calls." "You're hurt, aren't you?" Maggie stood up to go and another sharp pain made her double over. Faintness made her lean against the table. She looked down at her skirt at a spreading stain of red across the front. "No! Nick ..." Her eyes closed and unconsciousness swamped her. She woke to feel arms lift her. "Nick," she whispered.

"Hold the blanket, Billy," Quentin snapped. The arms holding her tightened and she looked up to see Quentin's face inches away. "You don't have to carry me," she said weakly. "You're light as a feather, Maggie. I'll get you to the hospital. Who's your doctor?" "Dr. Pendleton." "Billy, call Information and get Dr. Pendleton's number. Call him and tell him I'm taking Maggie to the hospital. Then call the number on the pad and tell them it's an emergency. You have to talk to Nick." Maggie heard Quentin's voice recede and fade to oblivion. She came to, disoriented, looking at blue sky, then she realized she was lying on a car seat. She tried to sit up and felt sick. Quentin sat behind the wheel, his hand on the horn. She glimpsed cars moving out of his way and they skidded around a corner. "Quentin, you'll wreck us.""Lie down, Maggie. Don't move. I'll get you to the hospital. Hey! There's Uncle Nick!" Brakes slammed, tires screeched, and Maggie was thrown against the seat. A blinding light exploded and she fainted again. The next time she came to, she lay beneath a bright light. Dr. Pendleton stood beside her. "Hang on, Maggie." "I've lost the baby, haven't I?" "We're doing everything we can for you, honey." She gritted her teeth and prayed, closing her eyes as if she could will her body to do as she wanted. She wanted Nick's baby. Her baby. She clenched her fists as agony racked her. Nurses moved around her.

Another wave of pain hit Maggie. Something warm and wet seemed to burst inside. She gasped, then blackness engulfed her. She became conscious of a green ceiling in a dimly lit, silent room. She stared at the ceiling. Her gaze lowered to a window, the blinds raised enough to reveal the darkness outside. Like a leaden weight coming down on top of her, her chest constricted. She turned her head and saw Nick. Dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks, he sat in a chair by the bed. His eyes were red, his expression solemn. In one swift movement he was beside her, pulling her into his arms. He buried his head in her hair and crushed her to him. "Oh, Maggie!" A shudder went through him. Maggie's eyes opened wide as she felt hot tears touch her shoulder. And for the first time she realized the depth of Nick's desire for their baby. They clung to each other desperately. She kept her mind blank, clenching her fists. Finally, she squeezed her eyes closed and felt a hot tear slowly course down her cheek, then another, as Nick's arms tightened around her. She had no idea how long they held each other. Her tears stopped, her head ached, her body hurt, but Nick's arms comforted and she no longer felt so alone. "I'm sorry." "God, Maggie, don't apologize! If I could change places with you, I would. I was so scared I'd lose you too!" She buried her face against his chest. He held her close, his hand stroking her head, smoothing the long red-gold hair. Finally, he said softly, "You should've told me, honey, that it was a risky pregnancy."

"I didn't want you to worry. Two more days and I would've gone home to bed." "Dr. Pendleton said he told you to get someone to take care of you. Why didn't you?" "I thought I'd be all right, and I knew how you felt about children. ..." "Oh, Lord, Maggie." He pulled away to look at her. "Me and my mouth! I wasn't talking about our child," he said hoarsely. Suddenly the loss became real, with such clarity that it was like a blow. She locked her arms around his neck. "Oh, Nick, it hurts! I wanted part of you! I wanted our baby!" She shook, and words vanished as he held her closer and stroked her back. Her tears came until there were no more. It seemed an eternity before she could control her emotions and get quiet. Nick's voice was a rumble as he said, "I would've put Quentin in the hospital and then in jail if Dr. Pendleton hadn't told me that he didn't expect you to carry the baby full-term, and that Quentin may have saved your life by getting you here when you were hemorrhaging." He leaned back to look at her. "Those boys have cost me. You can't make me put them first now." "I can't think or talk about it.""I want you so badly, I can't think of anything else." Finally, she became aware of dull aches and pushed gently out of his arms to lie down again. He looked at her and smiled, propping the pillows behind her. "I love you, Maggie." She didn't trust herself to answer, so she locked her fingers in his and kissed his hand lightly. Silence settled on the room while Nick stroked her hair and sat beside her. "How's Letty?" she finally asked.

"She's all right. She broke her hip, but they've set it and she's doing well as can be expected. I'm not keeping that damned promise. As soon as you have the strength to stand in front of a minister, I want to get married." He leaned forward to frame her face with his hands and she suspected her eyes were as red as his. He smoothed her hair away from her face. A light rap sounded and a nurse came into the room, her soft-soled shoes silent, only her crisp nylon uniform making a swishing noise as she moved. Her voice was low as she said, "Miss Linden, here's a little pill. It'll help you sleep." "I don't know what time it is." "About eight o'clock." Maggie swallowed the pill. The nurse quietly left the room. Nick still rested his arm on her hip, his other hand on the sheet over her thigh. "Does my family know?" "Jesse and Colin are out of town. I called Colin's office. He had to go to Ardmore on business and Jesse and the baby went with him. I left a message to call and I'll try them again before long. Dr. Pendleton said he'd see you about five in the morning." "Five!" For the first time Nick smiled and it warmed her, yet it brought home again what had just happened. She felt the tears well up and gritted her teeth. Nick reached out swiftly and pulled her into his embrace. "Don't hold back. My brave Maggie, go ahead and cry." "I can't stop, Nick. I never cry, but I can't stop this time." "I can't either, honey."

They clung tightly together. Maggie let the tears come until she was exhausted. She leaned against Nick, her head on his shoulder while her eyelids grew heavy. "I'm sleepy, Nick. I've had a pill, but you haven't." "Don't worry about me." "Are you going home?" "I'll be right here." She sighed and locked her arms around his neck. "You don't need to." "Ladylove, you're not getting rid of me again." She felt secure, loved by Nick. She tried to close her mind to everything else, to hold Nick, to listen to his heartbeat and to let sleep come.

"Maggie." The voice stirred her and she opened her eyes to find Dr. Pendleton gently touching her shoulder. He smiled at her. "How's my patient this morning?" "Morning? It's dark." She looked around to see Nick seated beside her on the opposite side of the bed from Dr. Pendleton. The physician picked up her wrist to take her pulse. After a moment he lowered her arm to the bed. "How do you feel?" She shrugged, feeling her throat constrict. Nick reached out to hold her hand. Dr. Pendleton patted her hand. "You have a pretty good guy there." "I know," she whispered.

"You're going to be fine. And you can have more babies. Now, you rest and get your strength back and count your blessings." "I will." "That's a good girl." He looked at Nick. "You get your rest too. I don't want two patients here." "Sure thing." Nick rose to follow the doctor into the hall and Maggie heard a low rumble of voices, but she couldn't distinguish the words. Sleep tugged at her and she closed her eyes. In a few minutes she felt warm fingers close around her hand, but it was too much effort to wake and look at Nick. The next time she opened her eyes it was light in the room. Nick sat in the chair beside her, his stockinged feet propped on the bed, his hand still holding hers. She gazed at him while he slept, his dark lashes feathered on his cheeks. The heavy beard was gone, but a stubble darkened his chin. Lines were etched in his cheeks. She looked down at his dark fingers laced with hers. She felt better, but she still couldn't bear to think about the future or the past. She wanted to stay in a vacuum, to lie still and let her body heal, to keep her mind blank because it hurt too much to remember. Nick opened his eyes and shifted to look at her. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. " 'Morning, love." A nurse pushed open the door and brought a tray with breakfast. Nick slowly unfolded and stood up. "Good morning," the nurse said cheerfully. She placed a tray with covered dishes in front of Maggie and left. "Want some help?" "No, thanks. I don't want breakfast." "Oh, no! None of that or you go across my knee."

Maggie laughed and he leaned down to peer at her. "That smile looks mighty good." "I'm really not hungry." "You eat or else ..." "Then you eat half." He made a face. "Okay, doll, anything to get a bite into you." She handed the fork to him, picked up the spoon, and ate a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Maggie..." "You eat or I don't. You need breakfast too." "Okay." He matched her to the last bite, then fell back into his chair. "Ugh, what a price to pay!" She smiled at him. "It wasn't that bad. I need a comb." "Ahh, the lady is better." He disappeared behind a partition to reappear with a bag. "Ta-da!" With a flourish he placed the bag beside her and opened it to reveal two cotton nightgowns, a new robe, slippers, a hairbrush, and toilet articles. "Oh, Nick, thank you! Now I'm getting up." He slipped an arm around her waist to help her, but as soon as Maggie stood a moment, she pushed away his hand. "Thanks, I can manage now." In a half hour she emerged from the bathroom with her skin glowing and her hair combed. She wore the new blue robe and a matching blue nightgown under it. "Wow!"

"Don't get that look in your eye!" "You look scrumptious. Far more yummy than breakfast." "Oh, gee, what a compliment." He laughed and helped her into bed. They looked into each other's eyes and Nick rested his hands on her waist. "We'll make it. You're not alone, honey." Her throat hurt, but she smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He held her face in his hands and his voice was hoarse. "I love you. I. . ." "Don't rush things, Nick. I don't want to think." "You don't have to think. Just know that I love you." A knock came. Maggie glanced at the door. "Come in." Quentin thrust his head into the room. His cheek was skinned, his lip was puffy, and he had a black eye. " 'Morning, Maggie. May I see you?" Nick straightened. Quentin looked at his uncle and suddenly Maggie knew Nick had caused Quentin's injuries. She blinked and drew a breath. "Sure, come in." "Uncle Nick, may I talk to Maggie alone?" "All right. I'll wait in the hall, Maggie." Quentin stepped into the room, stiffly avoiding Nick. He was dressed in a brown suit, his hair was neatly combed, and in his hands he held a large basket of white and yellow daisies. He approached the bed and set the flowers on the dresser. "These are for you from the boys and me." "Thank you. And thanks for getting me to the hospital."

He turned and his face flushed. "Maggie, I'm sorry. Damn, I'm sorry." "That's all right." It was hard to talk to him and she looked out the window at a clear blue sky. "No telling what would have happened to me if you hadn't rushed me to the hospital." Silence stretched between them and she looked around. Shock coursed through her like an electric current. Quentin sat in the chair, his knees spread, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, dark locks of hair falling over his hands. "Quentin?" He didn't move and his voice was muffled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you and Uncle Nick to lose your baby. . . and I shouldn't upset you now, but I feel so damned awful!" He jumped up and started toward the door. Maggie blinked and called after him. "Quentin, wait a minute." He stopped, his back to her. He brushed his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Come here." He turned around and came back to stand at the foot of the bed. "What happened to your face?" He flushed and raised his chin. "Uncle Nick was mad, but I had it coming." "Quentin, let's start fresh." "That's generous of you. I wouldn't blame you for hating me." She looked out the window again, suddenly feeling forlorn. She was too tired to deal with Quentin and his guilty conscience. She closed her eyes. After a time she heard a rustle and a hand reached out to take hers.

Turning her head, she looked into Nick's worried eyes as he sat down beside her. Quentin was gone. "He apologized," she said. "Yeah, I know. Only time will tell." "For a while I feel all right, then I don't." "I know." Another rap came and Dr. Pendleton looked in. "Here I am again. How's my patient? Ahh, you look much better." He came in and a nurse followed with a chart in her hand. He glanced at Nick. "Do you mind if we're alone for a minute?" "Sure." Nick rose and left the room, closing the door behind him. Dr. Pendleton moved around the bed while a blond nurse smiled at Maggie. In the hall a deep male voice carried loudly. "There he is! You bastard!" A woman's cry cut across his words and Maggie sat up. "That's my brother. He's after Nick." She threw back the covers as she heard Jesse yell, "Colin, don't!" Colin swore. "I'll show you, Mr. Brannon. ..." Someone yelled, voices mixed, and Maggie heard Quentin shout, "Hey, you, stop!" Dr. Pendleton punched the intercom. "Get security here fast. There's a fight." Maggie stood up. "That's Colin. I can stop them."

"Get back in bed." Dr. Pendleton moved toward the door. The racket in the hall was growing louder, shouts were heard, and Jesse was screeching at Colin. Colin yelled, "Get out of here, kid." Maggie followed Dr. Pendleton into the hall, leaning against the wall and looking at the fracas. Nick lay on the floor, Colin was standing over him, fists raised, while Jesse pulled on Colin's shirttail. A big basket of pink carnations stood on the floor nearby. A policeman rushed toward them as Quentin swung his fists and Colin ducked. Colin yelled at Nick, "Get up, you bastard!" Nick saw Maggie and grinned. She stormed into the middle of the commotion and everyone stopped. Nick jumped to his feet while all of them started talking at once. "Maggie, what're you doing out of bed?" Colin asked. "Oh, honey, we came as fast as we could," Jesse said quickly. As the policeman stepped into the center, Nick picked Maggie up. "You go back to bed." "All right, break it up. Get back. What's going on?" "Your brother can explain what happened," Nick said as he carried Maggie to bed. "Why are you grinning from ear to ear? Your mouth is bleeding." "Am I going to have to go through life fighting off your brother?" "You might," she answered, but a smile surfaced. "He's going to have to turn you over to me, babe. I need to make that clear to him." "You might wait awhile before you try."

Nick helped her into bed and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Here, let me get the blood off your chin." She dabbed at it with a tissue. "Thanks. See you in a minute." "Where are you going?" "To talk to your family." "You'll start another fight." He grinned and winked. "Not with my future relatives." He went out the door and closed it behind him. And no one came in. Maggie waited and waited. Time passed and any second she expected somebody to appear. She'd begun to wonder if the policeman had hauled all of them off to jail when Nick finally opened the door and smiled. "Ready for company?" "Yes." He held the door while Jesse and Colin filed into the room. Jesse hurried to the bed to hug Maggie and Maggie had to fight to control her emotions. Colin had a bruise on his jaw and a puffy lip. Nick remained close and they talked as if he were already a member of the family. As soon as Jesse and Colin filed out, Maggie leveled her gaze at Nick and asked, "All right. What did you say to win them over?" "Who me?" "Nick..." "I just told them the facts, hon." He moved across the room. "May I come in?" Dr. Pendleton pushed open the door. "We'll try again. I need to check on you."

"See you in a while," Nick said airily, and left. Maggie settled back against the pillow and wondered what Nick had done to charm her family into accepting him.

Weeks later Maggie stood in the hall in front of her apartment, sticking a note on her door with cellophane tape. She had promised to have lunch with Nick, then after she had hung up the phone she had remembered a dental appointment made months earlier. When she called, Nick was out, so she left the note and hurried to her car. Spring had been replaced by summer. Hot sunshine bathed her, splashing warm rays over her bare shoulders. She wore a lime green sundress trimmed in white piping and white sandals on her feet. Wishing she had pinned her hair up, she shook her head, and red-golden locks swirled across her shoulders. She drove downtown to the dentist she had been going to for years. And while she drove she thought about her life. Nick had been over to see her every day and night. Their talk was light, inconsequential. They walked together and gradually, as the days had passed, the walks had become longer. Nick had given her only perfunctory good night kisses and she knew he was biding his time. The past week they had started playing tennis, and her strength was returning. During all that time Nick hadn't mentioned marriage, nor had she. She hadn't seen any other Brannons, but Nick had told her Letty was recuperating nicely at home. Maggie parked in an underground lot, rode the elevator up to ground level, and walked a block in the sunshine, looking into the windows of a dress shop, a department store, and a bank before she reached the building housing the dentist's office. When she was finished she stepped outside and her heart jumped. Nick's big blue Continental was parked in a No Parking zone and Nick was heading toward her with a purposeful stride, but it was his appearance that made her heart skip. Nick Brannon took her breath away. He was dressed in

a gray suit with a white shirt and gray tie that made him look so handsome, she thought she might melt. "There you are! You threw me a curve." "I tried to find you. Right after we hung up the phone I remembered I had a dentist appointment. Are we going to lunch now?" He grinned and her pulse speeded up. "I'm going to a friend's wedding." "After lunch?" "No, before. You know, I thought I'd pick you up at your apartment." He looked at her intensely and suddenly Maggie's blood became molten fire in her veins. She stepped back. "No! Nick ..." He took her hand. "Marry me, Maggie. I've waited long enough." "Oh, Nick, for heaven's sake, not now! Not here!" "I don't have time to wait. We both have relatives and they're waiting at the church." "At the church! Oh. boy. Here comes your arrogance. Nick, I'm not well." "Ha. I knew last week when you tried to beat the socks off me at tennis that you'd recovered." "I can't get married now!" "Don't know why not. I love you. Do you love me?" "Yes, but I don't love the boys," she added quickly. Her heart pounded, and she became aware of curious glances from people walking past them. Two women slowed down and pretended to look at a potted tree at the curb. "You don't have to love the boys."

"She doesn't want their children," someone behind her whispered. "Nick, let's get into your car to talk." She glanced at the car to see a motorcycle policeman standing beside it. "Nick ..." "No." He grinned and added softly, "Not if we have to stand here until the sun goes down." And she remembered her similar threat when they had confronted each other in the flower bed at the Brannon house. "Come on, Nick. You can't force me into a wedding!" she snapped, but she was biting back a smile. He went down on one knee, and his fingers tightened on her hand. Nick raised his voice. "Maggie Linden, will you marry me?" "If you don't get up, I might not!" She tried to yank her hand away. People stopped to stare openly. Two bank employees stood at the plate-glass window, watching. "Nick, you're getting a ticket." "So what? My future's at stake. Maggie darling, I love you. Will you marry me? You don't have to live with the boys." "She won't marry him because of their children!" someone said. "Probably his children. Don't, blame her." Maggie struggled to pull her hand away, but laughter threatened to bubble up. More people paused to look at them. "Nick, your car will be towed." "I won't give up! You know how stubborn I can be." "Do I ever!" And the laughter that had been threatening popped out. "Come on, Nick, relent." "No, we're here until sundown, sunup, next week. . . . Will you many me, Maggie?"

"Hey, Maggie, marry him!" a woman called. "This is better than General Hospital," someone else said. Maggie chewed at her lip, trying to remain solemn. "Nick, are you getting married in an elegant suit while I wear a simple sundress?" "I've taken care of everything." "I can imagine." She tugged on her hand, but he continued to hold it tightly. Suddenly she felt as if the air had become rarified. For the first time since leaving the hospital she felt alive. "My brother will—" "Oh, no, he won't," he interrupted. "Colin and Jesse are on my side now. They want me to make an honest woman out of you." "Nick! So help me . . ." "They're at the church, waiting," he continued blithely. "I wouldn't want them to miss our wedding. Will you marry me, Maggie?" "No, you're not going to rush me. ..." "Lady, you're crazy!" "Make an honest woman of her! I wonder how many boys they have?" "Ask him, Cora." "Hey, that's Nick Brannon!" "All right," another deep voice said, "what do we have here? What're you doing, buddy?" The policeman who had written a ticket for Nick's car stopped beside them. The crowd had increased, standing in a ring around them. From bended knee Nick offered the policeman his free hand.

"Nick Brannon, Officer. As you can see, I'm proposing." "Well, do it somewhere else." Several people laughed while others protested. "Leave them alone!" a woman called. "Now, look here. You're causing a disturbance." Nick smiled his most charming smile. "Sir, look at my Maggie. Now, can't you see why I'm down here on my knee?" "Nick, so help me ..." Maggie looked into the policeman's dark eyes and shook her head. The policeman looked from her to Nick. "C'mon, Officer. Let me propose." The man threw up his hands. "Hurry up about it," he said gruffly while the crowd briefly applauded. The minute Nick opened his mouth, the noise died. "Maggie, time's running out." "It sure is. If it takes until sundown ..." His eyes narrowed a fraction and a wicked glint showed. Maggie drew her breath. She had seen that gleam before. Nick stood up, towering over her. "All right, Maggie. We've been through this before and I know just what it takes. Come here." "Nick!" His arms wrapped around her and he crushed her to his chest, his head swooping down to kiss her. Laughter finally came, bubbling into Nick's kiss. He raised his head a fraction. "Will you?" "Yes." Onlookers applauded and cheered.

Ignoring them, never taking his eyes from Maggie, Nick asked, "Now?" "Yes." "That's my girl." He grinned broadly. "C'mon, honey, let's go." He took her hand and hurried to the car, which had a ticket beneath the windshield wiper. Nick held the door for her, slammed it, and climbed in while the crowd watched. In the backseat was a long brown box and a bouquet of pink rosebuds, baby's breath, and yellow forsythia. Maggie reached back to get it. "Where did you find forsythia?" "It wasn't easy, but I had to have some. The sexy lady who almost fell into the forsythia over our first kiss must have a bouquet of it." "You didn't call me a 'sexy lady' that day. You said I was stubborn, sweet..." "You were sexy, babe, or I wouldn't have wasted my valuable time." Smiling, she asked, "What's in the box?" "Your engagement ring." Maggie laughed and looked at the huge box that filled the seat. Nick's voice was deep. "Go ahead, open it." She raised the lid and gazed at a white silk suit and blouse, white pumps and stockings, a neatly folded slip and a spray of forsythia to pin in her hair. A small box was nestled in the center. Nick's strong tanned fingers picked up the box and he opened it. The glittering diamond caught the light as he slipped it onto Maggie's finger. "Jesse picked out the dress," he said huskily, and raised his head to gaze solemnly at her. "I couldn't wait any longer."

She felt breathless and her heart pounded. It took an effort but she said, "I still feel the same about the boys. I can't take them, Nick." "Remember what you said about saving one would be worth the effort?" "Yes." "Well, we might have saved one. I don't know because it's too early to tell, but I'm letting them go, Maggie. I can check on them and we'll see them when, if, and how often you want to, but there are no strings. I've given enough and it may be better for them if I step out now." "Which one?" "Quentin. He's taken responsibility for the younger boys and I'm going to let him have it. Tyler will keep an eye on the money and I'll keep in touch, but Quentin has come around beyond anything you'd have dreamt possible. Well give him his chance. He's become the role model for the younger boys that he should have been all along. They'll come back from Minnesota to live with the aunts. I think they are going to be just fine!" She looked down and rubbed her finger over the bright diamond. "Of course," she murmured, "we'll keep a close eye on them." Nick nodded. "I told you I was thinking about taking a job on the paper in Houston. Brannon Enterprises just bought a television station there. I'm interested in the paper and the television station." He raised her chin with his finger. "How would you like to live in Houston, Mrs. Brannon?" "I'd love it," she whispered. "After a month-long honeymoon on an island where it's very sunny and very private." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging as if she'd never let go.

Epilogue Maggie stood in front of the full-length mirror in the dusky light of the bedroom. Nick lay on the bed, his chest bare, a sheet up to his hips, as he watched her. She was nude, standing flat-footed, holding her hair on her head as she turned to study herself. "Maggie, you're starting something again," he said. "Oh, I'm just looking at myself in the mirror." "Don't blame you." "I don't look a bit different, do I, Nick?" She turned to smile at him. Nick's eyes widened, then narrowed. He rose from the bed, the sheet falling away from his virile body. Smooth musculature rippled as he crossed the room. He wrapped his arms around her. "When?" "When what?" she asked with great innocence. "When are you due?" "Due where?" "Maggie, I'm going to shake you in a minute. ..." "Now, that just goes to show what years of marriage will do! I can remember when you threatened to kiss me to get me to tell you something. ..." "Damn it!" He leaned down to kiss her, crushing her to him and squeezing all the breath out of her lungs. He bent over Maggie until she felt as if they would topple to the floor. She locked her arms around his neck and struggled while he kissed her deeply, passionately, and with a vengeance. She felt his

arousal, she felt her laughter fade and transform into passion, and she returned his kiss, momentarily forgetting the reason for it. Suddenly Nick swung her up and stepped back. Maggie swayed and blinked. "When?" Dazed, she answered, "In November." A big grin crossed his face. "That's more like it! Oh, Maggie, I'm so glad. How do you feel?" "Fine. Now Barry and Molly will have a little brother or sister." "Maybe it'll be twins again." She laughed. "If so, mister, you have to help change diapers." "Anything you say, love. Right now I have something more urgent on my mind. That was a pretty nice kiss." "Nice enough to fall into the forsythia!" She looked around. "Only there isn't a forsythia bush in here." "How about a bed?" Nick scooped her up and Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck, twining her fingers into his thick black hair, her heart humming with happiness.