dependable keeping an eye on Maddie.
“I’ll tell you now,” Mark had said, “Maddie’s a handful. But I think you just might be the one person around who can handle her.”
Noah narrowed his eyes and wondered exactly what “handling Maddie Kincaid” would entail. He sure as hell didn’t need another woman enforcing her will over his. In fact, since the charade with Felicia, he’d made it a point to stay completely away from the opposite sex. Except in a professional setting, of course.
Thinking that Mark was going to owe him big-time for this, Noah turned off the ignition and got out. The outside cold, made more penetrating by a gusting north wind, turned his breath to freezing fog. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground—frozen into tiny ice pellets, Noah was certain—and every step he took made a uniquely wintry crunching sound. He walked to the front door and rang the bell. No one came to the door, nor could Noah hear any movement from inside.
Frowning, he left the small front porch and walked around the house to the side door. From there he could see a long white trailer and a strikingly handsome white one-ton pickup truck residing in the extra parking space Mark had behind his garage. The truck sparked Noah’s interest. It had chrome running boards and tail pipes, chrome rooftop lights, and probably every other conceivable add-on, Noah decided. It was an obviously costly vehicle, and when he gave the trailer another look, he thought the same about it. Apparently Mark’s sister was not here because of a lack of funds, but then no one had said she was. She was here to recuperate from an accident. A rodeo accident, Noah thought, puzzling about something that he probably should already know, given Mark’s concern for his baby sister.
Certain that he’d get the lowdown from Maddie Kincaid herself, he knocked. After a few seconds he knocked again, and then again. Muttering several choice curse words under his breath about “some women’s lack of consideration for a man’s time,” he impatiently yanked off his glove and dug through his pockets for the key Mark had given him.
Unlocking the door, he stepped into the house—more precisely, into the messiest kitchen he’d ever seen. “Good Lord,” he mumbled. Mark and Darcy had only been gone one day and Maddie had done this much damage? How injured could she be? There were pans covered with dregs of food on the stove and counters, dirty dishes and cutlery in the sink and on the counters, and empty soup cans spilling out of a full trash container.
One thing wasn’t in the kitchen—Maddie Kincaid. Shaking his head disgustedly at the unwashed dishes scattered around the room, Noah went looking for her. He spotted a lump under a big soft comforter on the sofa in the living room and decided that he’d found her.
Maddie had awakened just enough to know that someone was in the house. Groggy from the pain pills she’d been taking as prescribed, she nonetheless felt suddenly frightened. Mark and Darcy had left for their honeymoon. Had that happened this morning? Yesterday morning? Well, whatever morning it had been, they weren’t back already. And the doors were locked! Mark had locked everything up nice and tight before his and Darcy’s departure, and Maddie had had no cause to unlock anything.
With her heart pounding hard enough to hear, Maddie moved the comforter a fraction so she could at least get a glimpse of the intruder. She’d been sleeping with the soft down-filled blanket over her head, because she hadn’t been really warm since she’d arrived, even with the gas furnace going full blast. She’d actually forgotten how cold February could get in Montana, which was odd when she’d grown up with blustery north winds and temperatures that could bring tears to the eyes of the most stalwart—and warmly dressed—outdoorsman. But apparently she’d spent too many winters in the southern states to expect instant acclimation.
Peering through the tiny gap she’d created within the folds of the comforter encapsulating her, Maddie saw a man. A tall man with broad shoulders in winter garb, who appeared to be looking in her direction, although she couldn’t be sure that he realized the bulky comforter contained a person. If she didn’t move again—maybe he hadn’t seen her cautiously create the viewing gap she was looking through—would he eventually go away without harming her?
Dear God, why had he broken into this particular house? Did he know that Mark and Darcy had gone away and was planning to take everything they owned in their absence? Even if he wasn’t aware that she was staying there and, in fact, lying on the sofa and watching him this very second, could she do nothing and let him steal Mark and Darcy blind? What she should do was to leap up, grab a poker from the stand by the fireplace and whack him over his thieving head.
She could see herself doing it, maybe even knocking him silly without the poker. She could leap up, whirl around and kick him in the chin, do another whirl and give him a good one in the chest with her heel. Another kick to the groin should just about finish him off.
It was pure fantasy. She was in no condition to do a super-heroine leap off the sofa, let alone any dramatic whirls and high kicks. As for using the poker for a weapon, it was too far away. This villainous cretin certainly wasn’t going to stand still and wait for her to limp over to the fireplace, for Pete’s sake.
Moving just her eyes, Maddie searched for something closer with which to defend her honor—and possibly her life—along with her brother’s possessions. The paperweight on the end table would have to do, she decided, and sucking in a big breath for courage, she threw back the comforter, stumbled to her feet and lunged for the paperweight.
Noah could hardly believe his eyes. A tiny little woman wearing what looked to be a set of her brother’s two-piece long johns and huge woolen stockings was assuming an attack position, with her weapon being a paperweight! Her short, light-brown hair was spiky, totally disarrayed, and the right side of her face was every color of the rainbow, obviously in varying stages of the healing process. A soft cast was on her right hand and halfway up her forearm, and besides all of that, the paperweight she was threatening him with in her left hand was one with artificial snow in it. The “snow” kept swirling within the globe because Maddie—she must be Maddie—was so unsteady on her feet that her hand couldn’t stop her weapon from wavering.
Maddie Kincaid was truly the most hilarious sight Noah had ever seen, and he started laughing. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. He laughed so hard that he could just barely stand erect and so he fell into an overstuffed chair. He laughed until his sides ached, and all the while Maddie stood there weaving back and forth trying very hard to look vicious and dangerous, which kept feeding Noah’s laughter.
Finally Maddie merely looked disgusted, which was exactly how she felt. What kind of lunatic moron was this guy? Breaking into a house and then laughing himself sick because there was someone home to defend it and he’d believed it to be vacant had to indicate some sort of mental problem. He probably belonged in a padded cell! Somehow she needed to get to one of the phones in the house and call the police, but…but…to Maddie’s chagrin, she started blacking out.
She looked suddenly pale, Noah saw and, recognizing the signs of an impending faint, he stopped laughing and made a dive for this oddball little woman. The paperweight dropped from her lifeless hand and thudded on the carpet. Noah got to her before she ended up next to the little globe and swung her up into his arms to lay her back on the sofa.
She couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds, he decided while tucking the comforter around her shoulders. Then he gently shook her and said, “Maddie? Come on, wake up. You only fainted.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself looking into the dark blue eyes of…of… She couldn’t give him a label, though heaven knew she was scared to death of the many horrible things he might be. Actually he didn’t look like an ax murderer or even a burglar—he was very good-looking, in fact—but then how many truly sinister people had she met in her twenty-three years?
