on her stool, with saddle-perfect posture, her body relaxed and yet confident and poised for action.
He’d headed straight for her. And then he’d heard her voice as she spoke to the bartender and he’d stopped to listen.
He knew her.
A few seconds later, he had the darts in his hand, ready to issue his challenge. But it wasn’t until she looked him in the eyes that it really hit him.
Holy shit, she was a stunner. He’d known Leah since they were kids and yet, somehow, this truth had never sunk in before. Or maybe the passing years had changed her in some subtle, yet earth-shattering way.
Just five minutes into their conversation, it occurred to him that Leah might be the answer to a question he hadn’t been smart enough to ask yet. Being unfocused and aimless in your twenties wasn’t such a bad thing. Once you hit thirty, though, your sense of time shifted.
Years went by faster.
You understood that opportunities were either seized, or rarely encountered again.
He wanted to seize. And Leah’s eyes told him she was willing. As he leaned toward her, she met him halfway, and when their mouths connected, he stopped thinking, because everything felt so natural and right. This woman made him melt and burn at the same time, and his body felt stirred with a primal, yet mind-
blowing intensity.
“We have to leave,” he told her.
“Yes.”
He left money on the table, next to the drinks they hadn’t quite finished. If any of his friends were watching, no one was foolish enough to say anything to him. He felt as if he would have to punch anyone who caused them even a second’s delay in getting out of there.
The night air was cool and refreshing after the rain, but it didn’t dampen in the slightest his desire to take this woman someplace quiet and private. Leah stumbled slightly as they crossed the street, and he pulled her up closer beside him. Thank God this was Roundup, and there was no traffic, because he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her again, right there, in the middle of the street.
Her slender body formed perfectly against his bigger, harder one. He felt her fingers in his hair, her breath on his mouth. He filled his own hands with the curves of her butt, pulling her closer, nuzzling her neck, her collarbone, the silky lobe of her ear.
“Where?” Even his whisper came out sounding hoarse.
“I don’t know.”
“Can I take you back to my trailer?”
Her lips were against his ear now and he could hear her sigh. “I wish—but no. That won’t work.”
“Then…?” His mind raced as he tried to think of a suitable place to make love with this beautiful woman. But before he could come up with a solution, she was sighing again.
“You’d better walk me home, Colt. To my mother’s place.”
Not the answer he’d been hoping for. But maybe, if they were quiet, they could sneak into Leah’s bedroom without waking Prue Stockton. Leah was an adult, after all, and he was someone she’d known most of her life.
Leah slipped out of his arms, turned, then stumbled again. “Oops!”
Her giggle was infectious and he had to smile, too, even as he wondered just how much she’d had to drink before he’d shown up at the bar. “Careful, darlin’. Here, let me help you.”
He asked for her mother’s address, then hand-in-hand they walked the four blocks. He savored each moment with her, his heart full-to-bursting with an emotion he’d never experienced before. He could feel the smile on his face getting bigger each time he looked at her. Even tipsy, Leah had a confident, athletic gait. At the same time she was undeniably female….
“Here we are.” Leah stopped at a Victorian-styled two-story several blocks south of the high school. The house was dark, except for a small exterior lantern to the side of the front door. Two vehicles were parked under the carport to the left of the house—a modest sedan and a Ford truck. The back of the truck was loaded with furniture and boxes.
“The truck yours?”
“You bet.”
“Nice.” He’d never dated a woman who drove a truck before. Seemed like another good sign to him. He held Leah’s hand as they climbed the steps up the porch, then waited as she opened the unlocked front door.
She gave him a smile. “Good night, Colt.”
“To hell with that.” He pulled her in for another kiss, savoring the softness of her lips, the sweet scent of her hair. Cupping the sides of her face, he pressed the tip of her nose to his. “How about inviting me in, darlin’? I’ll make pancakes for your mama in the morning. Win her over with my charm.”
This didn’t elicit the smile he expected. Instead, Leah frowned. “Those would have to be mighty special pancakes, Colt. My mom doesn’t impress easily. Besides, it would be too confusing for Jill and Davey. I haven’t dated anyone since I divorced their father.”
Suddenly dizzy, Colt put a hand to the wooden railing by the door. “Jill and Davey?”
“My children.” Leah looked at him as if he had a screw loose. “You knew about them, right?”
Bloody hell didn’t. Colt opened his mouth, not sure what to say. “How old are they?”
“Davey is two, Jill five.”
Leah crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. Colt knew his reaction was upsetting her, yet he couldn’t seem to get his breathing under control or his mind to work properly. He was just so blown away by all of this. How was it that no one—not a family member, or a friend—had mentioned that Leah Stockton had children?
“You’re doing the math, aren’t you?” Leah finally said. “But I’m not ashamed of the fact that I married Jackson because I was pregnant. It was the right thing to do. As it turned out, we couldn’t make the relationship work, but at least I tried.”
Oh, God. Stop talking, Leah. He didn’t want to hear this. Not any of it.
“You’re right. Pancakes were a very bad idea.” He took a step away from the door, away from her.
“Colt?”
“I should get going.” The chill in the air cut through his shirt and the night sky seemed very bleak all of a sudden.
“You’re leaving? Just like that?”
He took another step away. Dinah had said something similar to him, only that afternoon. Badly timed exits were becoming something of a pattern in his life. Colt raised his hat to Leah. In the cold light of day she would be grateful the evening had ended this way.
* * *
“I WISH YOU WEREN’T so set on moving out.” Prue Stockton, in a pressed housedress with her hair neatly combed, stood at the kitchen counter, dipping homemade bread into her own special egg concoction for
