Zach MacKenzie turned off the shower and heard the
doorbell ringing. Wondering who could be at the door this
time of night, he grabbed one of the pink towels off the
rack just as the bell, an elaborate eighteen-note affair,
chimed again. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he
padded across the bedroom to the front of the house. At
the window, he peeked beneath the sheer curtains half
expecting to see a cop parked in front of the house. Cops
had no reason to be looking for him, but he had no doubt
they would come around just as soon as they found out an
excon was living with the richest woman in town. Never
mind that she was his aunt and the only person who had
stuck by him over the last three and a half years.
Because of the porch roof between the open window and the
front door, he couldn't see who had rung the doorbell. He
studied the dark street in front of his aunt's house,
noted a car in the driveway across the way that hadn't
been there earlier, and decided all else looked about as
it should for midnight in a town as small as Rangeview,
Colorado.
The town was the opposite in every way from Denver, where
he had lived his entire life before going to prison.
Instead of jammed freeways, a single stoplight three
blocks from the house regulated the town's meager traffic.
The town was a whole twenty blocks long and seven wide,
the only paved street the highway that came through town.
The breath of air that fluttered the curtain was as soft
as a sigh.
Outside, it was blissfully, peacefully quiet, and he
decided the ringing of the bell had been nothing more than
kids playing a prank.
Yawning, he left the window and pulled back the covers to
the bed. Between putting his aunt on a plane in Grand
Junction early that morning, making the four-hour trip
back here courtesy of a ride from his aunt's attorney and
unpacking his few belongings, it had been a full day. A
good day. A free day. For that he was thankful.
The bell rang again, making him wish he had obeyed his
impulse to disconnect it until Sadie returned from Europe.
He couldn't imagine who might want to see his aunt this
late. Whoever was at the door obviously wasn't going away,
so he pulled on a pair of jeans, then trotted down the
stairs.
The bell rang one last time, the chimes echoing through
the house. He clicked on the porch light. The silhouette
on the other side of the frosted oval glass looked like a
kid. With green hair.
He flung open the door to a visitor β who had green hair,
all right, a wig with flyaway straight strands β clutching
a giant pair of shoes.
"Oh, Sadie," said a distinctly feminine voice, her
attention mostly on something behind her. "I just pulled
into the driveway and thought I saw Foley go around the
back of the house and..." Her voice trailed off when her
gaze lit on his bare feet. She stared a long moment before
raising her head and showing him a clown face with a huge,
painted-on grin that was completely at odds with the
apprehension in her voice and in her eyes.
She swallowed, and her hold on the shoes
tightened. "Oh...I forgot. Sadie left for Europe and
you're..."
"Zach," he supplied when she finally met his eyes. "Her
nephew."
Movement across the street snagged his attention β a guy
in a white dress shirt and blue jeans appeared between two
of the houses across the street, walking with the careful
deliberation of someone pretending they were sober. It was
a deception Zach understood all too well.
The clown turned around to see what he was looking at.
When she caught sight of the man, her shoulders drooped
suddenly as though a weight had just been placed across
them.
Figuring the guy was bound to notice them any second, Zach
snagged her by the arm and drew her into the house. He
closed the door and turned off the porch light. "That guy.
He's unwanted company?"
"Oh, yeah." Her voice caught on a laugh that would have
been hysterical if it hadn't ended on a sob.
"You can use the phone to call the cops." He turned away
from her and strode toward the kitchen.
"No." She dropped the shoes and practically ran to keep up
with him.
"It's the only way to deal with a scumbag like that." He
picked up the receiver of the phone and handed it to her.
"No." This time her voice was sharper. She set the
receiver back on the cradle. "You don't understand."
Zach folded his arms across his chest. He could only hope
she wasn't one of those women who saw themselves as a
victim while proclaiming they weren't.
"Then explain it to me."
Her gaze fell to the floor, which gave Zach an opportunity
to study her. She wore huge, patched, baggy bib overalls
cut off at the knees and a purple shirt. Both looked as
though they had been worn while painting rainbows. Red-and-
white striped socks covered her shoeless feet and climbed
up her legs. Under that getup, he couldn't tell if she was
a size eight or eighty. He figured the former based on the
shape of her calves. An unwelcome flare of awareness
nudged him, which he ruthlessly shoved away.
"He is the cops," she said finally.
"So?" Zach hooked a thumb in one of the belt loops of his
jeans. "If he's causing you trouble β"
Again she laughed, the sound bitter and
disbelieving. "What planet did you come from? There's a
whole five guys on the force, and trust me, they'll see
this his way. They'll turn a blind eye since I'm his ex-
wife, cast in the role of Delilah."
"So you're not interested in getting back together with
him." He watched her, the answer to that question somehow
important.
"No." She met his gaze, her blue eyes framed by long, long
fake black eyelashes. "Not now, not ever."
"Feeling a little ambivalent, huh?"
She smiled, or at least he thought she did behind the
painted-on grin.
"Do you have a name?"
"LΓ©a Webster."
He stuck out a hand. "Hi, LΓ©a. I'm Zach MacKenzie." With
effort, LΓ©a kept her gaze on his face, her impression
growing this was the hardest man she had ever met.
Piercing eyes the color of strong tea and framed by spiky
lashes searched her face. His own was utterly masculine
from the straight slash of his eyebrows to the square jaw
and jutting chin beneath a couple days' growth of beard.
His nearly black hair wasn't much longer.
Even without looking below his chin, she knew what was
there. A powerful build that any bodybuilder would covet
and lean hips covered by faded jeans. He didn't look
annoyed, though she wouldn't have blamed him if he was.
Time paused somehow, and she was too aware of his hand
touching hers. Just that fast, she felt out of breath,
like some starry-eyed schoolgirl. She didn't like this out-
of-control, breathless anticipation. Thanks, but no
thanks. The only thing that kept her from bolting was the
knowledge that her ex-husband was still lurking somewhere
outside.
And she β who had a reputation for never meeting a
stranger and who could make conversation with anyone about
anything β had no idea what to say to Sadie's nephew.
He glanced down at himself, absently running the flat of
his hand down one pant leg.
"Give me a minute to put on a shirt." He strode down the
hallway toward the stairs at the front of the house, which
he took three at a time.
LΓ©a pondered what to do next as she moved out of the
hallway into the front room where she peeked out the
window.
She should simply let herself out, but that would be rude.
More rude than paying a midnight visit. How could she have
forgotten that Sadie was gone? Especially since the
upcoming trip to Europe had been the primary topic of
conversation between them for weeks. That, and her
nephew's arrival.
LΓ©a knew he was fresh out of the Colorado State
Penitentiary because Sadie had talked about that, as well,
especially after LΓ©a had taken her to CaΓ±on City for the
parole hearing. Zach's story had all the elements of
melodrama that could have provided a storyline for a
daytime soap. According to Sadie, Zach had been involved
in a tragic accident where someone had been killed. Thanks
to a sloppy on-scene investigation and a compelling
eyewitness, Zach hadn't been able to convince the D.A. he
was sober at the time of the accident. He had further cast
doubt on his credibility by checking into an alcohol rehab
center a couple months before the scheduled trial. Despite
plea-bargaining the charges against him, he'd still ended
up in prison for almost three years. The story sounded too
familiar to LΓ©a. It seemed likely he was a guy who avoided
responsibility the way her ex-husband Foley did. A
responsible man wouldn't have ended up in prison.
Though LΓ©a loved her neighbor and respected her judgment,
she had decided the less she had to do with Sadie's
nephew, the better. She'd be neighborly but distant.
Except, here she was, late at night, dodging her drunk ex-
husband and imposing on a stranger. A stranger she had
vowed to avoid. What had she been thinking? What little
she could see of the street from the window didn't
reassure her that Foley was gone, but still... She had
just changed the locks, so all she had to do was get
across the street and get inside before he came around
again.
Rude or not, it was time to go.
She ventured toward the front door, the hallway dominated
on one side by the open stairwell.
"Sorry to bother you..." Her call died in her throat as
Zach came down the stairs, a black T-shirt emphasizing his
impressive shoulders. He looked every inch the bad boy,
the kind of guy she had been drawn to a lifetime ago β
before she had grown up. His jeans were a little loose, as
though he had recently lost weight. The shirt, though,
clung to his broad physique.
"It's no bother." His voice was deep and had a raspy tone
that reminded her of the big, stray one-eared tomcat that
visited her every day and whose meow came out as a hoarse
rumble.
"Really, I β"
"He come around much? Your ex?"
Her gaze skipped away from Zach's penetrating one. She
shrugged and managed a nonchalant, "Depends. Sometimes..."
"And you come see Aunt Sadie when he does."
LΓ©a nodded.
"And then what?"
"We talk."
He made a noncommittal sound.
"Usually over tea or hot chocolate."
His eyebrow rose, and he took a step toward the kitchen as
though he expected to fill that role. She couldn't imagine
drinking hot chocolate with him in Sadie's welcoming pink-
and-green kitchen.
She touched his forearm as he passed her. "You don't have
to...I'm not expecting..."
Her glance fell to her fingers on his arm. She snatched
her hand back, feeling as though she had just been burned.
Maybe she had.
"I should go," she said.
"You're sure?"
Wishing she had some way of knowing Foley was gone and
hating the uncertainty that skittered through her, she
nodded. Zach made her uncomfortable, though he had been
nothing but nice. She swallowed, unable to ignore the knot
of apprehension that settled in her stomach.
He followed her toward the door where she picked up the
discarded shoes.
"Thanks," she said. "And I really am sorry that β"
"I'll walk you home."
Feeling more flustered by the second, she shook her head.
"Thanks, but I don't want to bother β"
"You're not." He stepped onto the dark porch behind her
and pulled the door closed.
Her attention focused on the deep shadows beneath the
trees up and down the street. Since Foley had been wearing
a white shirt, he ought to be easy to spot if he was still
here. Aware Zach was looking, also, she felt marginally
reassured he didn't seem to see anyone, either.
With effort, she tried to pick up the conversational
thread, but couldn't remember what had come before. "I'm
not what?"
"You're not bothering me." In the dark it was impossible
to tell, but she had the feeling he was smiling.
"Oh. Well..." She took in a deep breath of air, which was
cool, just a little crisp, and carrying the scent of
Zach's soap and the rose garden in the middle of Sadie's
front yard.
Once again at a loss for words, she opened the gate to the
picket fence that surrounded the yard and then walked
across the graveled street to her small house. If Zach
noticed the rocks biting into his bare feet, he didn't
acknowledge it at all.
"Sadie get off okay?" she asked to fill the silence.
"Yeah."
"She's been really excited about this trip." LΓ©a glanced
back at him and found him once again studying her. She
kept moving forward and didn't see the first step of her
porch until she banged her shin into it, then flinched
when he steadied her, his long fingers warm against her
skin. At that, he dropped his hands and slid the tips of
his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.
When she met his gaze, she found him staring at a point
somewhere beyond her shoulder, his jaw clenched. Seconds
passed before he looked at her. "You don't have to be
scared of me β"
"I'm not."
He issued another of those noncommittal sounds that was
evidently a disagreement.
"Really." To prove her point, she sat down on the top step
of the porch, tucked her feet under her, and set the shoes
on her lap. She couldn't be afraid, she thought. Not of
this man, not of Foley, and certainly not of the dark
street in a town where she had lived all her life. All she
had to do was sit here for a minute or two to prove it to
herself.
"Aunt Sadie told you I was just released from pr β"
"Yes," LΓ©a interrupted.
"And if you're scared β"
"I'm not." I'm not, she repeated to herself. And she
wasn't. Not in the way he probably meant. He was simply a
big, tough-looking man. She supposed he'd have to be to
survive prison, a thought that gave her an inward shudder.
She couldn't even imagine what that must have been like.
© 2003-2026