sorry about your truck,” she said, nervously. “Mac decided he was going to hate it here the minute I told him we were moving. I think he can get himself run out of town on a rail.”
“I guess if this town could survive me as a twelve-year-old, it’ll survive him.”
She realized she liked his voice, deep and faintly drawling, and something else.
“How did you know? Twelve?”
“Just a guess. Where are you coming from, ma’am?”
She realized what the “something else” was in his voice. It was just plain sexy. The way he said ma’am, soft and dragged out at the end, made her tingle down to her toes. She snuck a glance at him. It occurred to her he was younger than she. That should have made his raw masculine potency less threatening, somehow, but it didn’t.
“Vancouver,” she said. “We’re relocating from Vancouver.”
“That’s one hell of a relocate.”
“Yes, I know.” Though he didn’t ask, she felt, absurdly, that she had to defend herself. “The ad for the position at the Outpost said this was a great place to raise a family.”
He snorted at that.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, desperately.
“Ma’am, I’m the wrong person to ask about families.”
“Oh.” She snuck a glance over his broad shoulder at the house, and tried not to feel disappointed. It was very old, the whole thing covered in dreadful gray asphalt shingles. The porch looked droopy.
Feeling as if she was trying to convince herself she had not made a horrible mistake, she said, “Vancouver is starting to have incidents with gangs. There are problems in the schools. Children as young as Mac are becoming involved in alcohol and drugs.”
Of course she was not going to tell him the whole truth, her life story. That her boss, Howard, whom she’d once been engaged to, was going to marry someone else.
A little smile twisted his lips. “You don’t say?”
She bristled. “You’re not suggesting my nephew might be involved in such things just because of that incident with your truck, are you?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t know the first thing about your nephew, except he seems to have a talent for spelling. But I know I wasn’t much older than that when I first sampled a little home brew, right here in Hopkins Gulch.”
She stared at him, aghast.
“Kids as wild as I was find trouble no matter where they are,” he said, apparently by way of reassurance.
“And are you still wild, Mr. Atkins?” she asked. Too late, she realized she sounded as prissy as an old maid librarian.
He seemed to contemplate that for a moment, his eyes intent on her. “Life has tamed me some.”
There was something vaguely haunted in the way he said that, something that made him seem altogether too intriguing, as if the steel and ice in his eyes had been earned the hard way.
She reminded herself, sternly, that she was completely unavailable to solve the puzzle of mysterious men, no matter how compelling they might be. She had a boy to raise. When her sister had died, Kathleen had vowed she would give that job her whole heart and soul. Howard had broken their engagement over her decision, and after that she had decided that Mac didn’t need the emotional upheaval that seemed to be part and parcel of relationships.
It really wasn’t until Howard had announced his engagement a month ago at the office that she had realized she had held the hope that he would change his mind, or maybe even that he was waiting for Mac to grow up, that later would be their turn.
What had she thought? That he would wait until she was really old? And probably saggy, too?
Like this old house. She forced herself to look away from Atkins, to take note of the yard that was now hers. Behind it, through a hedge of more lilac, Kathleen could see the prairie, huge, undulating, without a tree or a shrub or a flower for as far as the eye could see. The yard itself was ringed with blooming lilac bushes. The flower beds had been long neglected and the grass was too high, but the yard was large and private and she could tell just a little bit of tender loving care could make it lovely. There was the garden space, at the side of the house. She took a deep breath of the lilac-scented air.
“What is that smell?” Mac asked, catapulting through the gate.
“Lilacs,” Kathleen told him.
“I think I’m allergic.”
“Mrs. Watkins told me there’s a pasture right on the other side of the hedge if you happen to decide you want a pony,” Kathleen said, hoping to find one thing he could like and look forward to.
“A pony?” he said, giving her a slightly distressed look, as if she had landed on earth after being hatched on a distant planet. “Is that, like, a brand of skateboard?”
She saw Evan duck his head, but not before she saw the quick grin. It changed his face, completely. Completely. He had beautiful teeth and deep dimples. He could look very boyishly attractive, after all.
“A pony,” she snapped. “Like a horse.”
“I’m allergic to horses, too,” Mac decided, and then added, sending Evan a sidelong look, “And also manure.”
Evan ignored him. “I’ll just take a quick look inside the house for you.”
“Why?”
“It’s been empty a spell, I think. You never know what might have taken up residence.”
She stared at him in horror. “Such as?”
“You never know,” he repeated, deliberately unforthcoming.
“Like a homeless tramp?” she asked unsteadily.
“No,” he said, his mouth quirking reluctantly upward at one corner. “Hopkins Gulch doesn’t have any homeless tramp problems.”
“Mice?” she pressed.
“Well, I was thinking of, uh, skunks, but sure, mice.”
She scanned his face, suspecting he wasn’t telling her the full truth.
“I’ll bet that place is full of mice,” Mac said, sensing a weakness. “I’ll bet they’ll be running over our faces at night when we try to sleep. I’ll bet we’ll find little paw prints in the butter. I’ll bet there are dinky round holes in the baseboards, just like in the cartoons. I’ll bet the only thing that keeps the mice under control are the skunks. I’ll bet—”
“I’d say that’s enough bets,” Evan said quietly, glancing at her face.
Mac looked mutinous. “It’s a very old house. Probably even older than you, Auntie Kathy.”
She felt Evan’s gaze on her face,
