right behind her, his large hand covering hers on the knob. Her breath caught at the feel of him, at his closeness. The scent of leather and heat and pure maleness emanated from him, heightening her awareness. For a moment, it was as if time had never passed. He felt familiar and wonderful, his scent intoxicating. She glanced down at his tanned fingers practically interlaced with her own.
“Ava?” he said, removing his hand from hers.
She looked up at him. “Yes?” He was so close she could feel the solid wall of his chest grazing her shoulder. She could feel his heat, his overwhelming strength. A combination that had branded her many times before.
His gaze traveled from her neck to her mouth, then up to her eyes. “Let go of the door.” He raised a brow. “This time I’m going to be the one walking out first.”
Jared drove his truck down the dirt road like a madman. Well, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? He’d just come face-to-face with the one woman he couldn’t forget—the woman who’d betrayed him.
The wild beauty, he’d called her back then. And at twenty-six, she hadn’t changed much—only filled out in all the right places. High breasts and curved hips with that slender white neck that had always driven him nuts. Those tiny freckles that were sprinkled about the bridge of her nose were still visible, but had faded somewhat. Her honey-blond hair was longer and more lustrous than he remembered, but it still held the fresh scent of daybreak.
Damned if it hadn’t taken everything in him not to run his hands through it when he’d stood beside her at the bridal shop door.
He knew that she’d be here for her sister’s wedding, but the idea of Ava Thompson returning to Paradise was just something he hadn’t wanted to think about—couldn’t ever think about—if he expected to survive his days and nights.
The first year she’d been gone had been hell, he recalled, as the dull ache in his chest turned razor-sharp like the spines of the cactus that lined the road outside the truck’s window. He could still remember that morning like it was yesterday. That morning when Ben Thompson had met him out in the south pasture and told him that he knew about Jared and Ava. Ben had told him that his daughter had left for New York to marry another man, someone her equal, and wasn’t coming back. Jared had been just twenty-four then. A poor ranch hand who was working his way up in the numbers business and wanted nothing more than Ava, a few hundred acres of his own and a future in finance. But no matter how much he’d wanted to go and find her, fight for her, he hadn’t.
She’d wanted another man.
She hadn’t wanted Jared.
And neither had her father, Jared had quickly learned. Ben had booted Jared and his grandmother off of the ranch just one week later.
On an oath, he cut his truck right and skidded into his long driveway, barely clearing the iron gates. Well, he had everything now. With the help of one incredibly loyal client who had believed in Jared’s talent, he’d become successful and highly respected in a short amount of time. The rich and famous came to him when they wanted to see and protect their financial future. Yes, he had it all.
Well, almost.
With his horrendous romantic history and intense work schedule, he didn’t get involved with many women. But the ones he did understood that a few nights of enjoying each other’s company was all he was willing to offer.
He was wealthy beyond his wildest imaginings, while Ben Thompson was now struggling to keep his ranch alive. That thought always made Jared smile.
The house that stood before Jared, however, made him frown. His three-story spread on four hundred acres sure as hell might be the symbol of his worth and how far he’d come, but every time he entered the gates and flew down the gravel road where his house loomed up before him, he was reminded of Ava. He’d had the house painted the color of her eyes—that soft, pale green. Lord, she had the kind of eyes a man could get lost in for days.
Jared ground his teeth, staring up at the place. When she’d left him four years ago, part of him had died. But the other part had remained alive to work. He’d worked his backside off night and day and dawn to get her out of his mind. Then later, to keep her out.
He’d created this place to look cheery and homey. And perhaps to his grandmother it was, but it sure wasn’t to him. It was as though he’d built this house as an ode to Ava—in hopes that she’d come back, come home to him some day. But he’d been a fool, and the house had become just a place to rest his head at night.
He slammed on his brakes, skidding to a dust-cloud stop. He stared at the house, its white and Ava-green trim mocking him in the late afternoon sunlight. All he could think, see, was her. He cursed. All those years ago, Ben Thompson had made it clear that his daughters were off-limits to the ranch hands. Why the hell hadn’t he listened?
Ben Thompson.
If it were the last thing Jared did it would be to get his revenge on that man. And if rumors of a financially troubled ranch were true, that looked to be soon enough.
“Are you going to get out of that truck?”
Jared glanced up at the porch where his elderly grandmother, Muna, sat at a small table surrounded by the things she loved. Tea, books, herbs of every kind and her spirit cards. She was his mother’s mother and all he had left of a family. She was a true Cheyenne with salt and pepper braids stretching to her waist. She was thin, but far from frail. Eighty-four and sharp as a tack, she looked a bit wrinkled, a bit like a weathered apple—sweet but tart when she had a mind to be.
He remembered the stories she would tell him when he was a child. She’d been the shaman of her tribe, the one the people would go to for answers about dreams, visions and the future. She was called a “Teller” by some and a “Seer” by others.
Right now, Jared noticed, she was something else altogether. Apprehensive. She stood up and started to sweep the porch with long, swift stokes. “What happened in town, Jared?”
Inside his truck—which was growing warmer by the moment—Jared scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to answer her question, so he chose a route more traveled: avoidance. “Why are you sweeping? We have a housekeeper.”
“I didn’t ask for her.” It was her usual reply in her usual indignant tone.
Jared shook his head. All he wanted was for his grandmother to live the rest of her days in comfort. She and his mother had struggled all their lives, worked at any job that was willing to pay them a fair wage, just to put food on the table. And when his mother had died, it had been Muna who’d taken care of him. He’d just turned eight and he was a hellcat looking for trouble. But Muna had set him right, fed him, read to him—forced him to look past the cutting remarks and see that even a poor mixed blood could be someone. She’d been in her seventies while they’d lived on the Thompson’s land and still found the energy to wash floors, cook meals and sweep porches.
Now, in her eighties, all she had to do was sit back, relax and enjoy life. But that wasn’t her way.
“Jared,” she called from the porch, her voice calm but laced with strength. “You better tell me what happened in town.”
“I ran into an old…friend. Nothing to worry about.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. “I felt something, but the cards were most secretive this morning. They didn’t tell me
