you made it, Sean.” Her voice was husky. When he looked down into her lively turquoise eyes, he suspected that a lot of wild living had gone into creating her raspy tone. Though she wore jeans on the bottom, her top was kimono-style with a fire-breathing dragon embroidered on each shoulder. He had the impression that he’d met her before.
She stuck out her tiny hand. “I’m Hazel Hopkins.”
Compared with hers, his hand looked as big as a grizzly bear’s paw. Sean was six feet, three inches tall, and this little woman made him feel like a hulking giant.
“Hang your jacket on the rack and take off your wet boots,” she said. “You’re running late. It’s almost dark.”
“The snow slowed me down.”
“I was worried.”
Parallel lines creased her forehead, and he noticed that she glanced surreptitiously toward a shotgun in the corner of the entryway. Gently he asked, “Have there been threats?”
“I had a more practical concern. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to find the ranch and you couldn’t reach us by phone. Something’s wrong with my landline, and the blizzard is disrupting the cell phone signal.”
He sat on a bench by the door to take off his wet boots.
Without pausing for breath, she continued. “You know how they always say that the weather doesn’t affect your service on the cell phone or the Wi-Fi? Well, I’m here to tell you that’s a lie, a bold-faced lie. Every time we have a serious snowstorm, I have a problem.”
The heels on her pixie-size boots clicked on the terra-cotta floor between area rugs as she darted toward him, grabbed his boots and carried them to a drying mat under the coat hooks. She braced her fists on her hips and stared at him. “You’re exactly how I remembered.”
Aha, they had met before. He stood and adjusted the tail of his beige suede shirt to hide the holster he wore on his hip. “This may sound strange...” he said. “Have I ever been here?”
“I don’t think so. But Hazelwood Ranch is the backdrop for many, many photos. The kids came here often.”
Her explanation raised more questions. Backdrop for what? What kids? Why would he have seen the photos? “Maybe you could remind me—”
She reached up to pat his cheek. “I’m glad that you’re still clean-shaven. I don’t like the scruffy beard trend. I’ll bet you picked up your grooming habits in the FBI.”
“Plus, my mom was a good teacher.”
“Not according to the photo on your TST Security website,” she said. “Your brother, Dylan, has a ponytail.”
“He’s kind of a wild card. His specialties are electronics and cybersecurity.”
“And your specialty is working with law enforcement and figuring out the crimes. I believe your third partner, Mason Steele, is what you boys call the ‘muscle’ in the group.”
“I guess you checked me out.”
“I have, indeed.”
He took a long look at her, hoping to jog his brain. His mind was blank. Nothing came through. His gaze focused on her necklace, a long string of etched silver, black onyx and turquoise beads. He knew that necklace...and the matching bracelet coiled around her wrist.
Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply. A particular aroma came to him. The scent of roasted peppers, onions, chili and cinnamon mingled with honey and fresh corn bread. He couldn’t explain this odor, but his lungs had been craving it. Nothing else was nearly as sweet or as spicy delicious. Nothing else would satisfy this newly awakened appetite.
His eyelids closed as a high-definition picture appeared in his mind. He saw a woman—young, fresh and beautiful. A blue jersey shift outlined her slender curves, and she’d covered the front with a ruffled white apron. Her long, sleek brown hair cascaded down her back, almost to her waist. She held a wooden spoon toward him, offering a taste of her homemade chili.
He had always wanted more than a taste. He wanted everything with her, the whole enchilada. But he couldn’t have her. Their time was over.
He gazed down into her eyes...her turquoise eyes!
“You remember,” Hazel said, “the wedding.”
That Saturday in June, six and a half years ago, was a blur of color and taste and music and silence. His eyelids snapped open. “I recall the divorce a whole lot better.”
These were dangerous memories, warning bells. He should run, get the hell out of there. Instead, he followed his nose down a shadowy hallway. Stiff-legged, he marched through the dining room into the bright, warm kitchen where the aroma of chili was thick.
Two pans of golden corn bread rested near the sink on the large center island with a dark marble countertop. She stood at the stove with her back toward him, stirring a heavy cast-iron pot. She wore jeans that outlined her long legs and tight, round bottom. On top, she had on a striped sweater. Over her shoulder, she said, “Hazel, did I hear the doorbell?”
The small, silver-haired woman beside him growled a warning. “You should turn around slowly, dear.”
Sean gripped the edge of the marble countertop, unsure of how he was going to feel when he faced her. Every single day since their divorce five years ago—after only a year and a half of marriage—he had imagined her. Sometimes he remembered the sweet warmth of her body beside him in their bed. Other times he saw her from afar and reveled in coming closer and closer. Usually, he imagined her naked with her dark chestnut hair spilling across her olive skin.
Her hair! He stared at her back and shoulders. She’d chopped off her lush, silky hair.
“Emily,” he said.
She whirled. Clearly surprised, she wielded her wooden spoon like a knife she might plunge into his chest. “Sean.”
Her turquoise eyes were huge, outlined with thick, dark lashes. Her mouth was a thin, tight line. Her dark brows pulled down, and he immediately recognized her expression, a look he’d seen often while they were married. She was furious. What the hell did she have to be angry about? He was the one who had driven through a blizzard.
He stepped away from the counter, not needing the support. The anger surging through his veins gave him the strength of ten. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you two ladies are playing, but it’s not funny. I’m leaving.”
“Good.” She stuck out her jaw and took a step toward him. “I don’t want you hanging around.”
“Then why call me up here? I had a verbal contract, an agreement.” TST had a strict no-refund policy, but this was a special circumstance. He’d pay back the retainer from his own pocket. “Forget it. I’ll give your money back.”
“What money?” Emily’s upper lip curled in a sneer that she probably thought was terrifying. Yeah, right, as terrifying as a bunny wiggling its nose.
“You hired me.”
“Not me.” Emily threw her spoon back into the chili pot. “Aunt Hazel, what have you
