wasn’t long before she’d stopped trying.
Shortly after her eleventh birthday, Hayley had gone looking for her birth certificate, convinced Marcus couldn’t really be her father. She had cried uncontrollably after discovering the document said otherwise.
How could a real father be so cold? He was a doctor, of all things. And not just any doctor, a gynecologist and obstetrician for a very select clientele. No one had ever been able to explain his indifference to his own family. Hayley and Leigh had learned to accept the situation. They’d lived with their parents and grandfather on the vast estate for most of their lives, but they often had gone days at a time without seeing Marcus.
Hayley knew Dennison Hart had shared their dislike of Marcus, though he’d never said a critical word in their hearing. He’d even had the front wing of the house remodeled into an office for his son-in-law, after Marcus complained about his long commute to work. Leigh surmised it was her grandfather’s way of keeping Marcus from moving his family away from Heartskeep. Hayley thought her sister probably had it right.
Everything had changed when their grandfather died without warning one night. The vast estate seemed to shrink. Teenagers by then, she and Leigh had frequently heard Marcus ranting at their mother. They’d worked harder than ever to stay out of his way, but they couldn’t help wishing their mother would toss him out and file for divorce.
Instead, it was Amy Thomas who’d gone away. A few months after her father’s death, their mother took a sudden, inexplicable trip to New York City and vanished without a trace. Hayley and Leigh knew something awful had happened when she didn’t call home to check in with them after the first night.
Valet parking at Amy’s hotel said they’d retrieved her car for her early the morning after she arrived. Neither she nor the car was ever seen again. Though she’d left her luggage at the hotel, Hayley and Leigh had both known their mother wasn’t ever coming back to claim it.
The depressing memory of that time accompanied Hayley to the kitchen door—a door now covered by another intricately detailed wrought-iron grill. The door was locked.
Trembling with anger, Hayley pressed the bell, holding it in place. There was no sound from within. Where were Mrs. Walsh and Kathy? The housekeeper and her daughter had rooms right off the kitchen. They rarely went out in the evening.
Puzzled, and more than a little uneasy, Hayley took a step back to survey the house in the rapidly fading twilight. Every ground floor window now sported wrought-iron grillwork. Outrage mingled with fear. What was going on? Bars on the doors and windows? Was Marcus preparing for a siege?
Hayley turned toward the converted garage, which had once been a stable. Perhaps a look around inside would tell her something. She was halfway to the building when a light flickering through the trees caught her attention. Was that a fire?
Dropping her overnight case, she broke into a run, only slowing when she realized the glow was growing brighter, but not larger. A strange, rhythmic hammering sound, carried by the wind, had her edging forward more cautiously. Just short of the clearing she paused.
The original Heartskeep had been built in the eighteen hundreds. A fire had destroyed the main house at the turn of the century, and the current mansion had been erected in its place. Some of the barns and outbuildings were still originals. They included an old forge that hadn’t been used in living memory—until now.
The door gaped open, allowing Hayley to see that it wasn’t actually being used now, either. The glow was coming from a large, portable forge standing beyond the building. A man bent over the intense heat of a fire, fueled by a massive propane tank. His features were in profile, his face etched with lines made harsh by the glow of his fire. Hair curled around his neck, thick and dark at the edges where moisture had dampened the strands. A sheen of sweat beaded his arms and plastered the dirty white, sleeveless T-shirt to his formidable chest. Stained jeans encased his lean hips. He was a large man, tall and well muscled. The sort of muscles that came from physical labor rather than a gym.
One of his large hands was covered by a thick, heavy glove holding what appeared to be some sort of tongs. He drew a glowing metal rod from the heart of the fire and set it to one side on a mounted anvil. The bare hand wielded an incredibly heavy-looking hammer, making the large tattoo on his upper arm flex and writhe. Transfixed, Hayley watched the intensity of his expression as he pounded away at the glowing length of metal, twisting and shaping it with undeniable skill.
There was something disturbingly sensual about the stranger and his actions. At the same time, he appeared almost sinister in his single-minded devotion to his craft, as if he was chained there by the fire and his work, pounding away at some inner demon only he could see.
Hayley found herself moving stealthily closer, drawn by the rhythmic force of his blows, awed by the beauty they were creating. He thrust the rod back into the flames once more. She moved even closer, determined to see what he was crafting with such intensity.
She was certain she hadn’t made a sound, but without warning, he turned. The white-hot piece of metal waved only inches from her face. Hayley froze, unable to utter a sound. She felt as if that glowing tip had actually branded her flesh.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded gruffly, using the hammer to push back his protective goggles and survey her. The disturbing heat of his gaze seemed far hotter than his fire, but at least it broke the spell holding her mute.
Hayley exhaled and raised her chin. “I’d be careful calling on the devil if I were you. You already look like you’re standing over the fires of hell.”
The man blinked in surprise. The corners of his lips darted upward for just a second, but the hint of a smile disappeared before it could form fully and the somber, dark mask settled back over his features.
“A good reason for you to run away, little girl.”
A strange tingle traveled straight up her spine. His voice was as deep and soft as crushed velvet. He rocked back on his heels, surveying her in a blatant challenge she couldn’t ignore.
“Personally, I prefer aerobics to running. I also prefer petite to little. And I haven’t been a girl for a number of years.”
The momentary softening of his mouth hinted at more amusement, quickly hidden. “Yeah? How many?”
She should have been nervous. At the very least, she told herself, she should be cautious. Yet somehow she sensed no real menace from the man, despite his brooding looks. Instead, she sensed an aura of sadness about him that immediately stirred her curiosity.
“I’m old enough to know you’re trespassing on private property.” She forced herself to respond lightly.
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh. Want to put your weapons down, or do you think you’ll need a hammer and a poker to ward me off?”
A grin slid across his features so fast she couldn’t be sure she’d actually seen one. He set the hammer aside with deliberate care. The glowing metal hissed loudly, sending a vapor stream into the darkness of the night as he plunged the object into a large tin of water.
“I’ll risk it,” he told her.
“So, who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking the questions. I was hired to be here. What about you?”
Anger
