Fall Creek, Texas
Kylie Monroe tightened her grip on the .357 Magnum and
kept her index finger on the trigger.
She waited in the dark. Deep in the corner where she hoped
the shadows hid her.
Listening.
Praying.
Mercy, was she ever praying. Maybe those footsteps that
she'd heard outside belonged to one of the deputies from
the Fall Creek Sheriff's Office. Heck, she was even hoping
it was a neighbor who'd dropped by. Fat chance of that,
though. Her nearest neighbor was nearly two miles away,
and it was close to midnight. Hardly the time for visitors.
Besides, she'd seen no car lights. No sound of an engine.
Or any other indication that whoever was out there had
neighborly intentions. The footsteps likely belonged to
the shadowy figures she'd seen in the woods on the east
side of her property.
She made a quick check of the clock on the mantel. Sweet
heaven. Where was the deputy? She'd made that 911 call
well over a half hour ago.
Of course, it seemed more like an eternity. Because her
legs were trembling, Kylie leaned against the wall of the
tiny foyer and tried not to make a sound. That included
humming. Several times, she'd caught herself humming a
little louder than was probably safe. Of course, maybe no
sound was safe right now.
The baby she carried inside her kicked and squirmed as if
he or she knew something was terribly wrong. That didn't
surprise her. After all, her entire body was tense — every
muscle knotted, her breath thin.
It only got worse when she heard another sound that she'd
anticipated.
And dreaded.
There was a sharp groan of wood. No doubt from one of the
creaky floorboards on the porch. Someone was just outside
her door. Mere inches away.
Her heartbeat began to race out of control, but she tried
to stay calm. For the sake of the baby. And for her own
sake. So she could respond accordingly.
Unfortunately, respond accordingly might mean she'd have
to use deadly force.
She was a trained law enforcement officer, Kylie reminded
herself. Except she hadn't carried a badge or even held a
gun for nearly three years. Maybe she wouldn't even
remember her firearms' training. But it didn't matter. She
would do whatever it took to protect the baby and herself.
"Kylie?" a man called out. "It's me — Lucas Creed." Oh,
mercy.
That didn't do much to steady her heart rate or her
breathing.
However, Kylie did lower her gun, and she eased her finger
off the trigger. Sheriff Lucas Creed wasn't exactly the
threat her body had prepared itself for.
But he was a threat of a totally different kind. "I didn't
hear you drive up," she informed him. Lucas didn't answer
right away, but she thought she heard him mumble
something. A not-so-pleased kind of mumbling. One she
understood. Because, after all, her comment probably had
seemed like some kind of accusation.
"I parked at the end of the road," he responded. "You told
the dispatcher you thought there might be trespassers on
your property. I looked around. Didn't see anyone."
That was the good news.
The bad news was that Lucas Creed was standing on her
porch.
Kylie eased her gun onto the foyer table and inched closer
to the door until her ear was pressed right against it. "I
asked the dispatcher to send out a deputy." She tried to
keep her voice level. Failed miserably. She had to clear
her throat and repeat it so that it was more than an
incoherent squeaky grumble.
Another pause. A long one. "One of my deputies is
transferring a prisoner to Houston. He won't be back till
morning. The other's out sick with the flu. I was the only
one on call."
Ah. So that explained it. Lucas had no choice but to
respond to her 911. That meant he wasn't any happier about
this late-night visit than she was. No surprise there.
He despised her.
Worse, he had a reason to despise her. "You plan to open
the door and tell me what this is all about?" Lucas
demanded.
That sent her pulse pounding. If she refused to let him
in, it would make him suspicious. If she did comply, the
same might happen.
And the one thing she didn't want was Lucas getting
suspicious.
"You know the drill," he continued, sounding even more
impatient. "I have to do a visual check to make sure
you're not being held against your will."
Yes. It was standard procedure. Something Lucas wouldn't
violate. Even if she was absolutely the last person on
Earth he wanted to see.
Kylie glanced down at her stomach. The darkness hid a lot
of things but not the second trimester tummy bulge. Almost
frantically, she loosened the tie of her flannel robe and
fluffed up the fabric. It helped. Well, hopefully it did.
Just in case, though, she angled her body behind the door
when she opened it.
And she came face-to-face with a man who'd sworn never to
see her again.
"Lucas," she said, her throat closing up.
He didn't acknowledge her greeting and didn't make eye
contact with her. Instead, he kept a firm grip on his
lethal-looking Glock and swept an equally lethal-looking
gaze around the yard.
"Is your porch light working?" he asked.
He didn't say it as if it were a request, either. More
like procedure. He had to make sure she wasn't injured. Or
that someone wasn't lurking behind her, threatening her.
To do that, he needed light.
Kylie reached over, hesitantly, and flicked the light
switch on. If she thought it was tough to cope with Lucas
in the dark, it was nothing compared to being able to see
him.
He was every bit the rough-and-ready Texas cowboy tonight.
Just over six feet tall. Long and lean. Intense and
imposing, with a fierce don't-mess-with-me demeanor. He
was the kind of man who could stop a heart in mid-beat. Or
send one racing.
He seemed to be doing both to her right now. The past
three years had been hard on him. She could see the stress
etched on his rugged, naturally tanned face and in the
depths of his eyes. Stress that she was responsible for.
Okay. That made her ache. Made her feel guilty. Worse, it
made her want to do something to ease what he was going
through. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him how
sorry she was. For everything. But Kylie knew Lucas
wouldn't appreciate the gesture or the words. And while
they might make her feel marginally better, gestures and
words wouldn't do anything to help him.
The wind howled, stirring through his slightly-too-long
mahogany-brown hair. His firm jaw muscles stirred, too.
Moving against each other, as if he were in the middle of
a battle about what to say.
Or, more likely, what not to say. "Don't make this any
harder than it already is," he mumbled in a rough whisper.
She knew what he meant. He had to come inside, look
around. He'd need to put that on the report. Especially
this report. Lucas wouldn't want anyone to question his
procedure or accuse him of cutting corners because of the
bad blood between them. But he also wanted to do this as
quickly as possible so he could get the heck out of there.
Something she totally understood.
Kylie moved back, still using the door as cover. Lucas
didn't say a word. He stepped inside, bringing with him
the scents of his well-worn buckskin jacket, the winter
frost and the fragrant cedars that he'd no doubt brushed
up against to get to her house. His unique scent was
there, as well. Something dark and masculine. Something
that reminded her that she was a woman.
Oh, no.
That little mental realization shocked her. All right,
more than shocked her. It stunned her. Because it had been
a long time — years, in fact — since she'd been aware of
something like that. This was obviously some by-product of
pregnancy hormones. Yes, that had to be it. Because there
was no other option. She couldn't be physically attracted
to the one man on the planet who would never be attracted
to her.
Stupid pregnancy hormones.
They didn't have a clue. "What happened?" Lucas asked,
using his cop's voice to go with the cop's surveillance of
her living room and foyer. "Why the 911?"
Kylie quickly tried to gather her thoughts. And not the
ones set off by the hormones, either. Those she pushed
aside, and she got down to business.
"Around 11:30, I went to the kitchen to get a drink of
water." Even though she was trying to hurry this along,
she stopped when she heard how shaky her voice was and
took a deep breath. This wussiness had to stop.
"I looked out the window and saw two men dressed in dark
clothes in the woods out near that cluster of hack-
berries."
He nodded. "I saw the fresh tracks. Could be hunters."
"Could be." And that's what Kylie desperately wanted to
believe. That the men were deer or rabbit hunters who'd
accidentally strayed onto her property.
Nothing more. "But they weren't carrying flashlights, or
if they were, they didn't have them turned on."
Lucas made a throaty sound of contemplation and walked
across the living room. His scarred boots echoed softly on
the hardwood floor. "It's a full moon. Maybe they didn't
need flashlights."
"Maybe, but they weren't carrying hunting rifles, and they
ducked out of sight when they spotted me at the window."
While he no doubt processed that, Lucas looked around. At
the rough stone fireplace. At her seriously outdated
furniture. And at her spartan computer desk tucked between
two corner windows. He flexed his eyebrows when he noticed
an old-fashioned turntable and the stack of equally old-
fashioned Bob Dylan vinyl albums.
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