suspected Tucker Malone was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.
She heard his boots on the linoleum in the kitchen. She heard him walk through the dining room. When he appeared in the doorway to the living room, her heart skipped a beat.
He was at least six-two, with dark brown hair, enhanced by a bit of silver at the temples, that skimmed the collar of his tan sheriff’s shirt. His shoulders were broad, and the dark brown stripe that went down the sides of his trousers emphasized his long legs. Her gaze met his. As always, the strength and intensity she found in his dark brown eyes awed her, so much so that her mouth went dry. She’d learned he was a man of few words most of the time. He’d checked on her often when she’d been at Aunt Gertie’s. Although she’d been under his roof for three days, she still didn’t know much about him.
His brows arched up now, and she knew it was an inquiry asking why she was still up.
She motioned to the two glasses she’d set on a tray on the dark pine coffee table and managed to find her voice. “I thought you might like some cider.”
Leaning against the doorway, not making a move to come sit beside her on the tan-and-green plaid sofa, he asked, “Did many kids come to the door for tricks or treats?”
“I gave out all of the candy and popcorn balls. But I have a few cookies left.” She gestured to the dish sitting between the glasses.
Tucker crossed to her slowly, and she saw his gaze linger on her hair, then pass down the emerald green sweater and slacks that she wore. Everything inside of her seemed to race, and she felt heat stain her cheeks. She fingered the necklace around her neck, the only proof of who she was.
“Did you make these?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded.
When he’d invited her to stay with him, she’d accepted under the terms that she would cook and clean house in exchange for board.
Tucker picked up one of the cookies and ate it. “I haven’t tasted a peanut butter cookie in years. They’re good, Emma.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, studying his expression, wondering if the faint lines around his eyes had come from happy or sad times. His face was rugged rather than handsome, his jaw strong, his beard shadow evident now, adding to his masculine appeal.
Tucker broke eye contact and took the remote control from her hand. His fingers brushed her palm, and the heat from their contact infused her whole body. When his arm brushed hers as he lowered the volume on the TV, Emma’s heart pounded. As she glanced at Tucker, she saw he was gazing at her. Ever since the night she’d been mugged and he’d taken her to the hospital, this…electricity had crackled between them. Whenever she was close to him, she wanted to get closer. The golden sparks in his brown eyes now told her he might want that, too.
“Emma,” he said, his voice husky.
She was afraid to move, afraid to answer him, afraid he’d back away. So she just looked up at him, wanting something she couldn’t name, wanting to get to know him, wanting the man-woman connection she’d felt with him from the night they’d met.
When he bent his head slowly, she guessed he was waiting for her to lean away. But she wasn’t going anywhere. His arm came around her as his lips brushed hers. The brushing became a meeting, the meeting became a hunger, the hunger became a kiss that made bells ring and the earth move. Emma didn’t know if she’d ever been kissed before, or what to do next, but her lips parted and Tucker’s tongue became masterful and possessive and demanding. She gave herself up to all of it, reveling in his need as well as hers, in something she imagined was desire but seemed like so much more.
Lost in Tucker Malone, Emma was excited by every new sensation until abruptly he pulled away.
In a terse voice, he said, “That was a mistake, Emma. It won’t happen again.”
It took her a few moments to realize the magic was gone and Tucker regretted what had happened. Still trembling, she didn’t want him to notice. She didn’t want him to see how he’d affected her. Because he was right. The kiss had been a mistake.
She couldn’t get involved with anyone until she remembered who she was.
Chapter One
When the extension in Tucker’s office rang midafternoon on November first, he picked up his phone. “Malone here.”
“Tucker? It’s Roy Compton over in Omaha.”
Roy was a detective in the Omaha police department. He was the man Tucker had notified in August to discuss Emma’s situation. Tucker’s heart pounded faster. “Do you have something for me?”
“Possibly. There’s a man here in Omaha who filed a report that his daughter’s missing. Her name was Emma and your Emma fits the description. The file’s been non-active because the report came in about six months ago after the father and daughter had a terrific argument. The girl moved out all of her possessions while he was at work. He doesn’t have a current picture of his daughter and the one you faxed me isn’t exactly clear. He says the hair looks the same. He’s real anxious to make this identification, Tucker. Do you think you could drive her down here this afternoon?”
Tucker knew all about missing someone, about having hope and losing it. He was sure Emma would be as anxious as this father to find out if she was his daughter or not.
Looking quickly over the papers and forms on his desk, he decided everything there could wait. “I’ll go talk to Emma, then give you a call to let you know when we’ll arrive.” One way or another they were going to settle this today. Emma needed answers to the questions in her life. And after that kiss last night that had disconcerted him more thoroughly than a kiss ever had…
Tucker finally admitted to himself that he had his own reasons for wanting Emma to figure out her identity. Last night’s kiss had been a monumental mistake. He’d given into an urge that he’d denied since long before his divorce. Actually the urge hadn’t been that strong until he’d met Emma, and last night…he’d felt the full effects of not having a woman in his bed for the past few years.
And Emma?
The stars in her eyes right after the kiss had told him he’d better get her out of his house as soon as possible.
Grabbing his hat and jacket, he headed for the parking lot.
As she had most days for the past two months, Emma was volunteering at the new day-care center that had opened next door to Gertie. Shortly after Gertie had taken Emma in, Emma had gotten restless and needed something productive to do. She’d volunteered to help at BabyCare. Everyone she came in contact with at the center commented on how good she was with the children, but she’d especially taken to the abandoned twins Sammy and Steffie, who’d been left at BabyCare a few days before Emma had been mugged.
Five minutes later, Tucker parked along the curb in front of BabyCare, climbed out, and ducked his head against the cold wind as he approached the wraparound porch. Hannah Caldwell owned BabyCare, a sprawling three-story Victorian house that had answered a very necessary need in Storkville for working parents who wanted a safe haven where their children could be cared for.
After he opened the heavy wood door, he peered into the room on his right. There were playpens and playmats
