was still adjusting. In the city, he could go to the grocery store or bank without being hassled. Here, everyone stopped him to ask for a favor, or advice, or simply to inquire about what he was doing, as if they had a right to know.
Though Miss Harlow Glass had no idea, she’d already changed his life in more ways than one, and it had nothing to do with her visit today.
“I told you I wouldn’t admit to anything.” She shifted from one sandaled foot to the other. “I meant it.”
He admired her refusal to buckle under the pressure of his narrowed gaze. But every word she uttered was a stroke of sin and heartbreak, and he wasn’t quite prepared for the instant, intense effect she had on him.
“I don’t care what you told me, honey. You don’t make the rules. I do.”
“Rules were made to be broken?”
“Were they? You don’t sound very sure.”
She raised her chin, a pose he recognized.
He knew her, this black-haired beauty with features so feminine, so delicate, his deepest masculine instincts pawed at their cage, ready to be unleashed. She’d invaded his dreams for weeks.
When he, Jase and West had first moved into the Glass house—as everyone in town still called it—Beck had found an old box of photos left behind by the previous owner. In them, a girl ranged in age from infant to adult, every image fascinating him. As a child, Harlow Glass had been sad, haunted and haunting. She’d kept her chin down and her shoulders tucked in, a position he’d adopted far too many times at the same age. An involuntary way of making himself a smaller target.
As she’d grown into a teenager, the sadness had faded, overshadowed by calculated sharpness. A loss of innocence. As she’d blossomed into a woman, her eyes—the most beautiful ocean blue—had projected guilt, sorrow and pain. Emotions reflected back at him every time he looked into a mirror.
A sense of possessiveness had taken up residence inside him, and he’d kept the photos a secret. Not exactly a surprise. A former foster kid, he’d had his toys and clothes taken every six to eight months, causing him to develop a keen distaste for sharing.
In a way, this girl was his.
He’d watched her life unfold. He’d wondered about her, constantly playing host to curiosity and obsession, even scouring the town for her. Now here she was, a gift from heaven dropped straight into his lap, more luscious than he’d imagined.
“I hold your fate in my hands. You might want to give sugar, spice and everything nice a try, honey.”
Peeking at him through the thick shield of her lashes, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her, she nibbled on her plump bottom lip. “Are you going to call Sheriff Lintz?”
Beck crossed his arms over his chest, pretending he needed a minute to think things over, letting her fret. He didn’t like the thought of this girl in trouble with the law. And yeah, okay, he doubted Harlow would receive more than a slap on the wrist, maybe a little community service for what she’d done, but the stain on her record would follow her for the rest of her life.
“No,” he finally said, making sure to grumble. “I’m not calling the sheriff.”
Relief danced through her eyes, reminding him of cottonwood in the wind. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Honey, I’m sure I’m being as honest with you as you’ve been with me.” Let her stew on that. “I only want answers from you, not a pound of flesh.”
He might be a “cold, unfeeling bastard,” as some of the women he’d slept with had called him when he’d stuck to his word and refused to commit the morning after a one-night stand, but he wasn’t heartless. Harlow used to live in this home, and the foreclosure obviously hadn’t changed her sense of ownership. It wouldn’t have changed his, either. He’d been here only a few months, but he’d have to be pried out with a crane. The fifty-plus acres boasted pecan, cherry and sand plum trees, as well as wild strawberries, blackberry and blueberry patches. Everything Brook Lynn, Jase’s fiancée, needed for her pies.
There was a pool he and his friends had restored, two ponds, one loaded with crappie and bass, and a shed/safe house now fully equipped with weapons and food just in case the zombie apocalypse kicked off. Something Brook Lynn actually feared.
Also, there was the whole theft thing. Harlow didn’t strike him as the law-breaking type. Considering everyone in town hated her and no one would give her a job, she had to be broke and starved.
The thought drove him to the fridge, where he slapped together the ingredients for a turkey sandwich.
“Here,” he said.
“No, no. I couldn’t.” She backed away, though her gaze remained on the food, longing darkening in her eyes.
“You can steal my pie, but can’t accept my sandwich?”
“Allegedly stole. And maybe I learned a lesson about the perils of taking from others.”
“Maybe I don’t want to eat alone.” Though he’d had dinner with Tawny, he made a second sandwich. “Did you ever think of that?”
“Oh! In that case.” Harlow nabbed the offering so fast she probably had whiplash. At first, she tried to eat daintily, a nibble here and there, but she soon gave up the pretense and ripped into the bread with a savagery that broke his damn heart.
Why had she stuck around Strawberry Valley so long? True, the rolling hills and colorful Main Street could have come straight out of a Thomas Kinkade portrait, and the public barbecues, block parties, swim parties, festivals and celebrations for everything from a kid’s orthodontic work to a teenager’s first date were charming enough to seduce even someone like Beck. But Harlow couldn’t support herself here, so why hadn’t she moved to the city and started fresh?
Roots? Something he was only just beginning to understand.
As a young kid he’d lost his mother to cancer and, soon afterward, his father to plain ole selfishness. Daddy Dearest had dropped him off with an aunt and just never come back. After Aunt Millie got tired of him, she’d passed him on to another family member. Rinse and repeat five times over until there was no one left, the entire lot refusing to take him in permanently. He’d become a ward of the state, shuffled from one foster home to another. While some had been nice, others had been bona fide hellholes.
The back door opened, hinges creaking. Jase Hollister stepped into the kitchen with Brook Lynn in tow, the two pink-cheeked and breathless.
“Hey, man.” Jase bumped fists with Beck.
“Hey.”
Jase and West had been stuck in the system with him, and they’d understood him in a way he hadn’t understood himself. They’d bonded at meeting one, and they’d become each other’s only family, sticking together through good times and bad. He loved them. Hell, he would die for them.
Brook Lynn noticed Harlow and frowned. “What’s she doing here?”
Harlow must have endured her limit of insults for the day, because she flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “Beck saw me and chased me down.
