mouth turned up at one corner. His face was transformed when he smiled, even when it was a half-smile given halfheartedly. Wow. A sexy cowboy with a sense of humor could be dangerous. And while she’d always avoided danger in the past, for some reason, she found herself wanting to move just a little closer.
Play with fire, she reminded herself. Only getting burned seemed like a small price to pay.
“GET READY, TOMMY,” Lucy Sax told her brother. She kept her voice down, like Mrs. Fortier was always telling her, only this time it wasn’t to keep from getting on Mr. Fortier’s nerves. She spoke quietly so that no one could hear them.
Her brother shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”
Lucy planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You have to. I can’t do it—I’m not any good. You’re the best, Tommy. And you know we need the money.”
Tommy, ten and older than Lucy by two years, shook his head again. “It’s wrong.”
Lucy already knew that boys were more important, more special, than girls, but she didn’t get that at all. From her viewpoint, boys weren’t very bright. Wanting or not wanting didn’t have anything to do with it. Need mattered more.
They stood close together by the vending machines in the brightly lit bowling alley. Sound exploded all around them, from the smash of a ball crashing into the pins to the buzzing and beeping of the video games to the frantic laughter of desperate children.
Lucy glanced past her brother to all the nervous couples bowling with children they didn’t know and would never adopt. She hated coming to the social events. What was the point? No one was ever going to adopt her or Tommy.
For a long time she’d hoped they would get new parents. She’d agreed to wear her best dress, to smile and be polite. Until one day she’d overheard some adults talking about her and Tommy.
“Mongrels,” the man had said. “Not white, not black, not Hispanic.” He’d turned to his pretty pale-skinned wife and reminded her that they wanted to adopt a white or Hispanic child.
Lucy had saved her tears until she was in bed and no one would see. Then she’d given in to the sorrow. At the next social event, she’d concentrated on charming the African-American couples, but they didn’t seem any more interested in mongrel children. It was then that she realized she and Tommy were never going to find a home. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.
Now she glared at her brother. “I’m going to start doing cartwheels right now,” she told him. “While everyone is watching me, you’re going to take the money.”
He nodded, looking miserable. For a second Lucy felt bad about making him do it, but then she thought about all the times Mrs. Fortier sent them to bed without supper. It was one of her favorite punishments. Lucy had heard her talking to a friend once; Mrs. Fortier had said that at the end of the day, she liked her peace and quiet.
So Lucy and Tommy needed the money for food, and sometimes for clothes. She kept track of every penny, and they never spent it on candy or toys. She was saving, too, so that when they were bigger they could run away together.
But that was for later. Right now she had a plan.
After smoothing her hair, she marched to the front of the bowling lanes. She waited until Tommy was in position, then she smiled so wide her cheeks hurt and started doing cartwheels. Everyone turned to watch. On her third one, she deliberately fell. She’d misjudged the distance and really slammed her knee into the hardwood floor. It wasn’t hard to force out a few tears.
Instantly all the adults crowded around her. Lucy did her best to look small and hurt. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy moving toward the purses.
* * *
“HEL-LO, GORGEOUS.”
Phoebe looked around as she stepped out of Zane’s truck. Standing next to the passenger door was a tall teenager with bright, inquisitive eyes and a welcoming smile. He looked enough like Adam Levine to make it easy for her to guess his identity.
“You must be Chase,” she said.
“In the flesh. And you’re Phoebe.” He looked her over from head to toe, then sighed. “Maya said a lot of great things about you, but she never mentioned you were a goddess.”
The outrageous compliment made Phoebe laugh. “Hardly,” she protested, knowing that with her brown hair, brown eyes and unspectacular features she was little more than average.
“My heart is pounding a mile a minute,” Chase said, moving closer. “Want to feel?”
The driver’s-side door slammed shut. “Don’t you have chores?” Zane growled.
Chase took a step back, and his smile cranked down about 50 percent.
“All done. Even the extra ones you gave me. I got started early so I could be finished to welcome Phoebe.” Keeping a wary eye on his brother, he swept his arms open wide. “Here it is. Several thousand acres of Nicholson family ranch. Nicholsons have owned this land for five generations.”
She looked around at the rolling hills that stretched out to the horizon. They were a mere fifteen minutes outside of Fool’s Gold, but the only signs of civilization were two wind-power generators on a hill miles away. A two-story ranch house sprawled out on her left. To the right were several barns and corrals. Trees crested the nearest hill. In the distance she could see cattle. Lots of cattle.
“Amazing,” she said honestly.
“If you’re so fired up about playing host,” Zane said, his expression both fierce and closed, “I’ll let you take care of her luggage and show her to her room.”
He put his hat on his head, nodded once at Phoebe and stalked away.
She stared after him for a second. He looked as good from the back as he had from the front. Her hormones yelled out catcalls of appreciation which—fortunately—only she could hear. But however impressed she might be with him, Zane obviously didn’t return her feelings. He practically burned rubber in his haste to get away.
Chase brightened the second Zane was gone. “How was the drive?” he asked as he walked around to the other side of the truck and pulled her suitcases out from behind the driver’s seat where Zane had placed them.
“Good.”
“Did Zane talk?”
Phoebe glanced at him, not sure of the question.
Chase hoisted her luggage with the same ease Zane had shown and started for the house.
“He’s not much of a talker,” he explained as he walked. “I can’t figure out if the act of forming words is physically painful, or if he just doesn’t have anything to say.”
She thought about the drive from the airport. “Things started out well,” she admitted. “Then we sort of stalled about twenty minutes into the drive.”
Yup—nothing
