As if waking from a dream, Reggie turned to look at Leighanna. "What?"

  Leighanna let out a huff of breath. "For God's sake, Reggie! Mary Claire says she's moving to Temptation. You've got to try to talk some sense into her! She won't listen to me. You heard the reporter. There's nothing there! The economy has all but dried up."

  Slowly Reggie turned to look at Mary Claire. "You want to move to Temptation?" she asked, her face and voice completely stripped of emotion.

  "Yes. If I have to take in laundry to support myself and my children, I'll do it. Anything to get us out of Houston and to a safe place."

  Though she would have chosen anywhere else in the world for her friend to move, Reggie, unlike Leighanna, understood Mary Claire's need to put as much distance as possible between herself and bad memories. She leaned over to cover Mary Claire's hand with her own. "Then go," she said, giving her friend's hand a hard squeeze. "And know that if you ever need anything, whether it's a shoulder to cry on or a loan to get you by until you've found a way to support yourself, all you have to do is call."

  Shocked, Leighanna nearly fell out of her chair.

  Mary Claire curled her fingers around Reggie's hand and squeezed back, tears budding in her eyes. "Thank you, Reggie." She shifted her gaze to Leigh­anna, needing and wanting her approval, as well.

  Leighanna hesitated only slightly before shifting to add her hand to the two already joined. "Personally I think you're crazy," she muttered. "But, like Reggie, I'm here if you need me."

  Temptation, Texas

  Harley threw the last feed sack onto the back of his truck, then stripped off his gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans. Dragging his fore­arm across his brow, he narrowed an eye at the June sun blazing overhead. It had to be a hundred degrees in the shade and it wasn't even noon. With a sigh, he caught the shoulder seams of his shirt between thick callused fingers and lifted in an attempt to peel the sweat-soaked fabric off his back. The day was going to be a scorcher, and although he'd been at it since well before six, his work was long from being com­pleted. He still had the feed to unload once he reached his ranch and calves to move from one pasture to another.

  On another sigh, he reached for the tailgate and started to lift, but stopped when he heard a whimper­ing sound coming from somewhere behind him. He turned slowly and let the tailgate fall back open when he saw a little girl, no more than five years old, limping barefoot and sniffling down the sidewalk toward him. He didn't recognize her, but that didn't surprise him. Ever since his old buddy, Cody Fipes, had pro­posed that Temptation advertise for women, the town had been overrun with strangers. He looked left and right but didn't see another soul in sight to help the child.

  In the way of small-town chivalry, he hopped up the step that led to the feed store and met her on the sidewalk, prepared to offer a helping hand. "Hey, there, sweetheart," he said, dropping to one knee in front of her. "What's wrong?"

  She hiccuped once, then lifted her face, tears drip­ping off her chin. "I got a sticker in my foot," she sobbed.

  "Well, here, let's have a look-see,' Harley said gently.

  She laid her hand on his sleeve for balance, her touch as light as a butterfly, then lifted her knee. Though he strained, Harley's size prevented him from being able to stoop over far enough to see the bottom of her foot. Needing a better vantage point, he caught her up under the arms and carried her toward his pickup. "Let's set you up here, sweetheart, so I can have a better look." He plopped her down on the tailgate and squatted down in front of her, lifting her foot. And there it was, tucked into the tender arch of her foot, a green-and-yellow sticker as big as a tick.

  He frowned, knowing it was going to hurt like hell when he pulled the sticker out. "Can you count to three?" he asked.

  She sniffled, dragging a hand beneath her nose. "I can count all the way to ten," she said proudly through her tears.

  "Well, you start counting and by the time you get to three I'll have this old sticker out of your foot."

  "Okay," she said, then hiccuped again. "One... two..."

  Harley gave a quick yank and the sticker came out, along with a startled cry of pain from the little girl.

  At that moment and out of nowhere, about sixty pounds of clawing anger slammed into Harley's back. Startled, he stumbled to his feet, twisting around as he tried to grab ahold of what had hit him. An arm, no thicker than the branch of a willow tree, wound around his neck from behind and clung while a po­tato-sized fist pummeled his head. He made a grab behind him and within seconds had his hands on the shoulders and was looking into the eyes of a red-faced, redheaded boy who was fighting mad. That he was outsized didn't seem to matter to the kid. Fists flying, tennis shoes kicking at Harley's shins, he fought Harley as he screamed, "You let my sister go!"

  "Now wait a minute," Harley said in frustration as he tried to keep an arm's-length hold on the kid while he angled him up against the side of his truck. "I'm not hurting your sister. I'm only—"

  Before he could explain himself, Harley was hit again from behind, but this time the body that jumped him was a little heavier than the boy he'd just peeled from his back.

  "What the hell—?" As he stumbled backward, a pair of legs wrapped themselves around his waist and a pair of arms locked around his neck, cutting off his air supply. A woman screamed at his ear, "Get your sister and run, Jimmy!"

  Momentarily blinded by a mane of wild red hair, Harley gasped for breath as he struggled to wedge his fingers between the arms that circled his neck and his collar. When he'd won enough space to give himself some breathing room, he glanced down to see that the boy hadn't moved an inch but was standing there bug-eyed,'his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, staring at Harley as if he'd grown horns.

  Harley had grown something all right, but it sure as hell wasn't horns! It was on his back and who­ever—or whatever—it was, was going to turn him into a damn eunuch if she didn't quit kicking.

  Having had enough of this craziness, Harley grabbed hold of the arms around his neck and twisted his body around, heaving at the same time, and sent the woman flying over his shoulder to land with a thump on the sidewalk in front of him. He followed her down, pinning her wrists on either side of her head while he straddled her. Startled green eyes stared at him through a tangle of red hair while her mouth moved ineffectively, sucking at air.

  He gave her a minute to catch her breath, then re­gretted the courtesy when she started twisting and thrashing beneath him, still wanting to fight. He stilled her like he would a calf he'd just thrown to brand, squeezing his knees tighter around her chest and strengthening his hold on her wrists. He watched her face redden, her mouth open, felt her chest inflate...and knew she was fixing to let go a scream that would draw half the town.

  "Don't even think it," he warned as he increased the pressure with his knees.

  She clamped her mouth shut but glared at him through narrowed eyes. Her eyes suddenly shifted to something behind him and higher up. "Help me,

  Sheriff!" she cried desperately. "This man is trying to kill me!"

  Harley half turned and muttered a curse when he saw Cody standing behind him. He turned back around, dropping his chin to his chest. He knew he was going to have a hell of a time explaining all this.

  Cody hunkered down beside them. "What's going on here?" he asked in a lazy drawl that was as much a part of him as the star he wore on his chest.

  "I wasn't trying to kill her," Harley muttered mis­erably. "I was only trying to protect myself."

  Cody bit back a smile. "Protect yourself, huh?" He shook his head, clearly finding it hard not to laugh as he looked at the slip of a woman Harley held pinned to the sidewalk. "Maybe you'd better let her up, Harley," Cody suggested reasonably. "I think you're safe now."

  Harley loosened his grip on the woman's hands, shifted his weight to his feet and slowly rose, careful not to let go of her until he was clear of danger.

  With Harley out of the way, Cody offered the woman a hand and helped her to her feet.

  Indignant, she dusted her palms across the seat of a pair of baggy jeans before she pointed a damning finger at Harley. "Sheriff, arrest this man," she de­manded.

  "Now wait just a damn minute," Harley said in growing frustration. "I haven't committed any crime."

  The woman wheeled on the sheriff, her green eyes blazing. "He tried to abduct my children. He—"

  Harley's temper, slow to rise, suddenly boiled over. "I didn't try to abduct anybody," he yelled. "I—"

  She spun, bracing her hands at her hips, thrusting her chin at him. "Then why is my daughter in your truck and why did you have my son pinned against its side?"

  Harley pressed his lips together, knowing full well how all this must look. And he'd only been trying to do a good deed. He glanced at Cody for help.

  But Cody just shrugged. "Maybe you'd better ex­plain, Harley."

  Harley fought back the anger and heaved a deep breath. "I was loading feed on my truck when this little girl here," he said, gesturing to the child who still sat on his tailgate, "limped by crying. Since there wasn't anyone around to help her—" he paused long enough to shoot a damning look at the woman who continued to eye him accusingly "—I perched her up there on my tailgate to pull a sticker out of her foot. Before I knew what hit me, this boy here jumped me from the back. I'd no more than pulled him off when this crazy woman jumped me from behind, screaming for the boy to grab his sister and run."

  Cody listened, pursing his lips thoughtfully. The woman, to Harley's immense pleasure, had paled and was already racing to the back of his pickup. Mur­muring softly, she cupped a hand to the little girl's cheek, thumbed away a lingering tear, then tenderly tipped up her foot.

  "It's okay now, Mama," the child said cheerfully. "That nice man pulled the sticker out."

  At the tag "nice man," the woman's gaze shot to Harley. He drew a great deal of satisfaction in push­ing a broad smile across his face as hers turned a deeper shade of red. She let her daughter's foot down slowly, then picked the child up and shifted her to one hip. She motioned her son to her side. "I'm sorry, Sheriff," she said, trying valiantly to keep her chin up and her pride in place. "It seems there's been a mistake."

  Cody looked at her askance. "You don't want me to arrest him, then?'' he asked innocently.

  The woman frowned at the laughter in Cody's eyes. "No. That won't be necessary."

  She shifted her gaze reluctantly to Harley's, "Thank you for helping Stephie." He watched as she struggled to form the apology they both knew was his due. "And I—I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." He could see that the words had left a sour taste on her tongue, because once she'd offered them, her lips puckered up like she'd taken a bite of an unripened persimmon. She spun around and marched away, still balancing the girl on her hip and holding the boy cinched tight to her side.

  Standing alongside Cody, Harley watched the three of them as they crossed the street to a minivan parked in front of Carter's Mercantile.

  "Well," he said, releasing a pent-up breath, "so much for the role of Good Samaritan."

  Cody chuckled and slapped his old friend on the back. "Helluva way to greet your new neighbors."

  Harley cocked his head to look at Cody in puzzle­ment. "Neighbors?" he repeated stupidly. "What new neighbors?"

  Cody nodded at the woman loading her kids into her van. "That, my friend, is the new resident of the old Beacham place."

  Harley scowled, sure that Cody was pulling his leg. "You know damn good and well that J. C. Vickers leases that place and has ever since Miss Harriet passed on." Harley knew this better than anyone because he'd been trying to sublease the land surround­ing the house from J.C. for more than five years. But J.C. was a stubborn old cuss, and even though he didn't use the land, he refused to sublease it to Harley. Said he liked his privacy and didn't want a bunch of bawling cows disturbing his peace and quiet.

  Cody nodded sagely, trying hard not to grin. "He did until a couple of weeks ago when Mary Claire Reynolds, Miss Harriet's niece, gave him notice to pack up and move out." He chuckled, obviously de­lighted with the stricken look on Harley's face. He knew his townspeople's business as well as he knew his own, and he knew how badly Harley wanted that land.

  "You might pay her a visit later on," Cody sug­gested, thoughtfully pulling at his chin. "I hear she's a divorcee from Houston. She might be a bit more reasonable than J.C. was about leasing you that land. Probably would have more use for the money than she would for the pastures." With a chuckle he slapped his friend on the back. ''But you leave those kids of hers alone, you hear? I'd hate to haul you in on kidnapping charges."

  He strode off laughing, leaving Harley standing on the sidewalk in front of the feed store looking as sick as a dog who'd just lost a fight with a skunk.

  "You did the right thing, Jimmy," Mary Claire said as she leaned across the console to give her son a comforting pat on the knee. "You were just trying to protect your little sister. And you did a good job of it, I might add."

  At the praise, Jimmy's chest swelled with pride. He cut a teasing grin at his mother. "You didn't do so bad yourself."

  Mary Claire shuddered, remembering the weight and strength of the man who'd held her pinned to the ground. "He was big, wasn't he?" she asked weakly.

  "Bigger than a grizzly bear and twice as mean," Jimmy confirmed, unaware of the shiver that chased down his mother's spine.

  "I thought he was nice," Stephie piped in from the back seat.

  Mary Claire glanced at her daughter in the rearview mirror. Nice? Not so that Mary Claire had noticed. She was sure she'd be sporting a bruise where her backside had hit the sidewalk when he'd tossed her over his head. But it wouldn't do to frighten her daughter. She wanted her to feel safe in their new home in Temptation. She smiled weakly at Stephie's reflection while she struggled to think of something favorable to say about the man. "It was kind of him to take the sticker out of your foot," she finally said.

  "Wouldn't have had the darn thing if she'd kept her shoes on like I told her," Jimmy muttered.

  Stephie swelled up in a pout. "Mama said she al­ways ran barefoot when she played here in the sum­mers and that it felt good to feel grass under her feet. I just wanted to see what it felt like."

  "Key word is grass," Jimmy returned dryly. "There wasn't nothin' but weeds and stickers on that playground."

  When Stephie would have continued the argument, Mary Claire interceded. "That's enough, you two." She strained to peer through the windshield against the glare of the sun. "Why don't y'all help me watch for Aunt Harriet's house?"

  "What's it look like?" Jimmy asked, already scan­ning ahead.

  "A big two-story white house set back from the road with a little white picket fence running around it."

  "Is that it?" Jimmy asked, pointing ahead.

  Mary Claire slowed and pulled to the shoulder. From the road, the house her son pointed to was barely visible through the snarl of twisted oaks and thick cedars that grew wild around it. If Jimmy hadn't spotted it, Mary Claire knew she would have driven right past without even noticing.

  But there it was, her aunt Harriet's house, sitting behind the huge live oak with a trunk so thick that as a child she hadn't been able to wrap her arms around it. She'd spent summers climbing that tree, playing hide-and-seek with her cousins and chasing fireflies at night around the two-story frame farmhouse shad­owed by the tree's massive branches.

  "I believe it is," she said, her voice almost a whis­per as her mind slowly registered the changes. When Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bert had been alive, the trees had been carefully pruned and the lawn carpeted with green saint augustine grass. The beds surrounding the wraparound front porch had been filled with a pro­fusion of flowers and shrubs, her aunt Harriet's pride and joy. The place was nothing at all like it looked now.

  Mary Claire made the turn onto the drive, emotion clotting in her throat, wondering what Aunt Harriet would say if she saw her home now and feeling guilty that she hadn't taken a more active role in managing her inheritance—the inheritance that had enabled her to make the move from Houston.

  "You've got to be kidding," Jimmy said, his wrinkled nose pressed against the side window as the house came into full view.

  Mary Claire forced a smile, pushing back her guilt and her own uncertainties as she parked the minivan beside the sagging gate of the white picket fence-"Yep! This is it. Our new home. Isn't it wonderful?"

  Jimmy twisted his head around to look at her, his lip curling in disgust. "If you say so," he muttered, and kicked open his door.

  A shy finger from the back seat tapped Mary Claire on the shoulder. "I think it's pretty, Mama," Stephie murmured encouragingly.

  Tears burning in her eyes, Mary Claire patted the tiny hand on her shoulder as she stared at peeling paint, broken windows and five years' worth of weeds. "Thanks, Stephie." She sniffed and lifted her chin. "It'll be even prettier when we get it cleaned up. You'll see." She took a fortifying breath. "Well, let's check out the inside."

  The key she carried in her purse wasn't needed, as the front door stood partially open. Hesitantly Mary Claire stepped across the threshold with her children pressed at her back. If possible, the inside of the house was worse than the outside. Trash littered the entry-hall floor, wallpaper sagged in faded strips from the wall running along the staircase, and the smell of mildew and weeks-old garbage nearly stole her breath. Silently cursing J. C. Vickers, her former ten­ant, for not taking better care of the place, she slowly wove her way to the kitchen.

  With each step, her spirits sagged lower and her excitement in moving her children to Temptation and the house her aunt Harriet had left her grew a little dimmer.

  It just needs a good cleaning, she told herself, and started rolling up her sleeves.

  "Okay, you two," she told her wary-eyed children.

  "Go out to the van and start hauling in all the cleaning supplies we bought in town." When they'd turned to do her bidding, she started throwing windows open.

  Once she had fresh air circulating, she twisted on the faucet at the kitchen sink and murmured a silent prayer of thanks when a spray of clean tap water hit the bottom of the chipped porcelain sink.

 

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