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  This is for Mimi, she reminded herself. If Maxie avoided Kyle, he would just get curious and ask questions, which would inevitably lead to ones concerning Mimi. For the briefest moment, when she'd first seen Kyle after so long, she'd considered stashing Mimi's things, closing off her room and letting her daughter stay longer at her grandmother's to avoid any contact with him. But the thought had died as quickly as it had formed. She couldn't do it. Mimi was everything to her, and she was proud of her little girl. She had had no reason to hide her six years ago and she wouldn't do it now. Besides, Kyle had made it clear by not answering her letters that he'd no interest in what happened to her after their breakup, and if his present attitude was any indication, he still didn't. Nothing had changed.

  Suddenly the image of her daughter—dark red hair in braided pigtails and bright, expressive green eyes—burst in her mind, like Mimi always burst into the house. No, she corrected, everything had changed from the moment she'd met her daughter. I miss her, she thought, then stiffened her spine, determined to get through the next couple weeks without any more emotional scratches.

  Dust and dirt kicked up as the chopper neared, and she admitted she was impressed at how he lowered the craft gracefully to the ground. The noise immediately lessened, the blades beating the air in a slow drone. Maxie stopped, shoving her gloved hands into her jacket pockets, and didn't approach as he flipped switches, then removed the radio headset and a baseball cap. Even from here, she could tell the cap had the Marine Corps emblem on it. He pushed open the door and climbed out, opened the rear hatch and removed his seabag. That faded piece of military luggage was a constant reminder of their last night together. She wanted to burn it, but he hitched it over his shoulder, then reached for a black cowboy hat, donning it as he walked toward her. Her heart jumped in her chest, her gaze moving over him. Even hidden behind sunglasses and beneath the hat, he still had the rugged good looks that made women sigh. She couldn't fight the riot suddenly skipping through her as his thigh muscles flexed with each stride. She remembered what his skin felt like beneath her palms, his body wrapped around hers and what an unselfish lover he'd been. A warm coil of heat curled through her, tightening her breasts, tingling up the back of her thighs. Her knees felt papery, and Maxie jerked her gaze away, staring anywhere except at him. It would not help to think this way, she reminded herself, shoving her sunglasses back up her nose. Kyle was the last person she wanted in her life, not to mention in her bed.

  Kyle stopped directly in front of her, and she looked at him as he nudged his hat back. He wanted to see what was going on behind those sunglasses and knew she wore them to shield more than just the sun. He tipped his down, peering, and liked that she tensed. His gaze lowered to her lips, and the intensity of their kiss in the barn ripped through him. He was aching for another taste when the husky sound of her voice made his heart skip.

  "Welcome to Wind Dancer, Kyle."

  His lips quirked. "Am I welcome, Max? Or tolerated?"

  "A little of both," she said honestly, not moving a muscle, even when she could feel the heat of his body, see every sinfully long lash surrounding his dark eyes. A brave front, she thought

  Kyle glanced briefly at the ranch house beyond her and imagined what it would be like, living with her. Did she still go nuts over chocolate and hate asparagus? he wondered, looking down at her. Did she still have a wild collection of lingerie that had always made him hot just to look at her and wonder what feminine scrap was beneath her clothes? Even as the enticing thought materialized, he knew he was in for torment. With himself. Don't let her get to you. Don't. This is one woman you cannot trust.

  The sudden surge of anger made his voice harsh. "Where should I stow my gear?"

  She stepped back. "That's all you have?" She nodded to the seabag.

  "I travel light."

  His tone was clipped and Maxie sighed. Clearly he didn't want to play this beyond the edge of civility. Fine. At least she was making an effort. She spun around, and he followed her to the house, both silent.

  But Kyle's gaze was on her back, more so—her backside. And the way it filled those tight jeans enough to fill his mind with nothing but what was beneath and seeing her again without them. Man, oh man, this was tough already, and he forced himself to remember every detail of their wedding day. She was a selfish coward, plain and simple, he thought as he mounted the porch steps behind her. She opened the door, walking briskly inside.

  Crossing the threshold, Kyle regained his determination as he removed his sunglasses and hat. His gaze quickly scanned the Southwest decor of beige walls, terra-cotta-hued furniture, the room dotted with blue-and-coral trimmings. The warmth of the decor settled into him instantly, calming the tension he'd felt since he landed on her property. He spotted baskets filled with odd collections of croquet balls, oversize wooden spools of thread and even branding irons. Antique oil cans were tucked here and there, some hidden by plants, others in plain sight like the grouping near a six-foot-wide fireplace dominating the living room. Kyle liked it and thought it suited her. At least this new Maxie.

  "Nice place."

  "Thank you."

  "To hide," he added.

  Over the rim of her sunglasses, she slid him a frosty glance as she stripped off her jacket. "I wasn't hiding, Kyle," she defended, removing her shades. "I've been right here."

  "But who knew?"

  "Anyone who was interested did," she snapped, and was about to add to her defense, then closed her mouth and hung her hat and parka on a peg near the door. She didn't need to provoke questions, she thought, reminding herself to stop responding to his remarks. He had no right to be curious about her life. Crossing the foyer, she turned down a hall. After passing four doors, she stopped near the last on the right throwing it open.

  "In here," she said, leaning back against the frame and folding her arms like a warden outside a jail cell.

  Kyle moved past her, his big body brushing hers, and he felt a subtle heat stroke up his body. He stilled, searching her gaze and wondering if she felt it. Wondering if he'd imagined those moments in the barn.

  "The bath is next door. Dinner is in—" she checked her watch "—about a half an hour." She turned away.

  Summarily dismissed, he thought, but then something made her pause, her hand on the door frame. She looked back, meeting his gaze across the wide brass bed. Kyle felt the world, the room, tighten down on him, focusing on her eyes, green and clear. Wavy dark red hair fell over one eye, partially shielding her face. Her stare was confident, even when he let his meander over her wind-chapped cheeks, her tightly tucked shirt molding to her breasts, defining their fullness. Her nipples tightened, pushing against the fabric, and his gaze flew to her face. Her expression didn't alter a fraction. Lord, she was still so beautiful, he thought, ageless, and for a moment he was twenty-three and so hungry for her he couldn't think straight. So in love with her his arms ached.

  Something flickered in her eyes, and the corner of her mouth lifted wistfully. "Make yourself at home, Kyle. The fridge is stocked with snacks … and beer."

  He breathed his first normal breath since walking through the door. "Thanks, Max." He dumped the seabag on the bed before he did something stupid like grab her against him.

  "Think nothing of it," she said, and by her tone, he knew she meant it. He was immediately on guard again. He was right. This was like waiting for enemy gunfire.

  Maxie hastened down the hall, ignoring the heat jumping through her body, ignoring the fact that he could still just look at her and make her crave his arms around her, long for the throb of his kiss again … and force her to relive when she was young and innocent and Kyle was the dangerous man her father didn't want near. And she ignored the fact that he was in the room directly across from hers.

  She paused in the hallway, grabbing the edge of the secretary and closing her eyes against her image in the glass. She was a fool to believe she could handle being this close to him. Not when he could peel away her secrets with a look. Me
mories pelted her like an acid rain without relief, and she longed for Mimi's little arms around her neck, the warmth of her little body snuggled close where she could protect her daughter from the world. From this kind of heartache.

  Pushing away from the secretary, she walked to the living room and built a fire in the hearth, staring as the blaze roared to life. For a brief moment her mind wandered, selecting a scene out of their past when they'd gone to Mexico and woken with one hell of a hangover in the back of a vegetable truck in Encinada. With no idea of how they'd got there. At the time, it was fun and funny, but on her wedding day, it had just sounded stupid. The ache of memory caught in her chest. She'd cried for weeks back then. For the decent trusting man she'd hurt, for leading him to believe she would be there for him when she couldn't and for the innocence she'd left behind.

  The pop of burning wood startled her, and she blinked, expecting her eyes to be wet with tears. They weren't yet her heart felt sore. She stared at the ember just on the edge of the hearth, then quickly kicked it back and replaced the fireplace screen. It reminded her that memories were threatening and she couldn't afford to be this melancholy. Not with her daughter's contentment at stake. Moments later, she donned her jacket and hat then left the house, slamming the door closed and wishing she could shut Kyle out of her life as easily.

  Kyle flinched when he heard the door shut, the vibration rattling the walls. Closing the dresser drawer, he stared out the window, his gaze following her as she crossed the yard to the huge barn. Her steps were angry and quick. He could see her inside the barn, bundled up against the cold, her beige cowboy hat tipped low as she walked down the center aisle, lugging a bucket of feed, he assumed. Did she do everything around here alone? He watched her for a moment until she vanished into a stall, then turned away from the window.

  Kyle looked around the room, the soft Southwestern decor carried over in here, too. It didn't soothe him this time, and he shoved his fingers into his hair. A tension he hadn't felt since Saudi radiated through him, and he tried to shake it. He couldn't and sat down on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He had to get a handle on his emotions. But part of him said to exercise it, get it out, just keep his hands off her and his desire locked away. But he kept remembering the moments in the barn, the hot feel of her skin in the cold air, her ferocious passion unleashing on him and his desperate need to absorb it. It was as if he'd come alive for the first time in seven years and every cell in his body wanted him to know it.

  But he made himself recall their past, and he was tucked deep inside it when he heard his name and looked up. His heart slammed against the wall of his chest.

  Made.

  "You okay?" she said, frowning. "Dinner is almost ready, if you're hungry."

  He looked away, nodding, anger simmering, the pain of his memories stronger and harder than he thought possible. She was a coward, damn her. She'd made the decision to walk away, alone, never giving him the courtesy of talking with him about what she was feeling. She'd stolen their prospect at happiness, his one chance. And as he turned his head to see her disappear from the doorway, he told himself he wasn't falling for her charm again. He was not here to see if her cowardice was a mistake or a godsend.

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  Kyle held on to his resentment, his only comfort right now, and snapped, "I'm not eating a damn thing you cook. Your reputation precedes you."

  "Fine, don't. Starve. See if I care." Pigheaded man, Maxie thought, and didn't spare him a backward glance as she walked briskly down the carpeted hall. Her boot heels clicked on the wood foyer as she crossed it into her tiled kitchen.

  Kyle followed, his gaze unwillingly dropping to her behind shifting inside tight jeans. He immediately cursed his preoccupation, even as he noticed that she'd changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  "Your compassion astounds me, Max."

  "You'll get over it, I'm sure." She moved to the stove, grabbing a mitt to open the oven. Bending to remove a baking tray, she set it on the cutting board, the scent of broiled salmon and Dauphine potatoes making her mouth water. With quick efficiency, she pulled two small salads from the refrigerator, positioning them by the service already set. She served the food onto plates, aware of his gaze following her moves. She didn't have to look to know he was standing near the arched entrance. His eyes had the power of touch, always had, and her frustration mounted as she struggled with opening the soda bottles.

  It was only five-thirty, and she wished the day were over. Not that she'd allow his presence in her house to keep her from her routine. She had a living to make. Kyle or no Kyle.

  Filling glasses with soda, she placed them precisely ahead of the knife point, and for an instant, Kyle saw the old Maxie, the one who knew which fork to use in a fancy restaurant, who sat beside whom at a banquet, the proper way to greet dignitaries. She would have made a great marine wife, he thought fleetingly. Of course, it wasn't good manners that had attracted him years ago, but the culture and experience he'd hungered for and she had been willing to share without making him feel like the ill-bred kid from the wrong side of town. Then there was the way she kissed. The way she felt in his arms. Naked. Beneath him, over him—he smothered a groan and rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

  Jeez. How could he despise her for abandoning him one minute, then want to hold her so badly the next?

  "Earth to Kyle." He jerked a look at her. She was waving in front of his face, and he noticed the faded Pluto oven mitt.

  He scowled. "Yeah."

  She back-stepped, then gestured to the kitchen table. "Still not interested?"

  Briefly his gaze dropped to the elegant supper. "You going to poison me?"

  Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "Guess you'll have to take your chances, huh?"

  He straightened and moved to the chair, jerking it back. She was already seated and using the remote to turn on the TV.

  He sat. "Don't tell me you watch the soaps?"

  She scoffed, her lips quirking. "Boy, Hayden, are you out of the loop." He frowned. "Those shows are on at noon, while I'm shoveling stalls." She nodded to the TV. "The weather report."

  The Weather Channel was on, and she ate, making notes on a pad of paper and ignoring him completely. Halfway through the meal, he chanced a look at her paper and saw the wind-chill factor, the chances of snow. His brows rose. His gaze dropped to the plate. He'd eaten half of it without realizing how good it was.

  "Why do all those guys believe you can't cook?"

  She scoffed, glancing around at the table setting. "This isn't cooking. Christmas dinner is cooking. And I'm the one who started that rumor." He frowned, and she shifted toward him a little. "I don't need any of the boarders I take in for the rescue team hitting on me. It's happened once too often." She didn't add that bringing men in her house wasn't in her plans, for Mimi's sake. "I like my privacy."

  "You forget I know from firsthand experience," he groused.

  She looked at him, her green eyes suddenly hard as glass, her voice tight. "I didn't forget a thing, and I told you, Kyle … don't assume you know me anymore. We—" she gestured between them "—were years ago. A lifetime. Nothing is the same. The old Maxine Parrish vanished—"

  His expression turned thunderous. "You ran away—!"

  "And this Maxie is a stranger to you," she finished without missing a beat. She drained the soda and stood, collecting her dishes and carrying them to the sink. Maxie couldn't deal with him just now, even if she inwardly admitted she was actually glad to see him. Kyle had always possessed a zest for life she'd envied, even if his enthusiasm dragged him into a brush or ten with death. She'd spent her life taking the easy way out. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. Her single moment of defiance cost him so much pain and left her pregnant single and forced to grow up. Yes, she was different, stronger than before. Jilting him had little to do with the woman she was now, and everything to do with the child he'd given her.

  She was runnin
g water over the dishes when his deep voice stole across the wide kitchen.

  "You're not a stranger, Max, a little different on the outside maybe, but you're the same. You're ten feet from me and still running."

  She whirled on him, outrage in her eyes. She'd stopped running the day Mimi was born. "I have a life here, and just because you happened upon me after all these years does not mean I've been hiding in Arizona. And certainly not from you." Her expression sharpened, her voice a low rasp. "Don't be so arrogant to believe I've been waiting around for you to come riding up on a charger to save me—I haven't!" Her steam lost its pressure, and she stared at the TV, not seeing the weather report, but envisioning life, after the trauma of Kyle, after her ruined marriage to Carl Davis, which left her daughter sobbing into her pillow and her own heart bruised … because she couldn't be honest with her feelings. Nor could she trust them. They'd failed her once too often. Seconds passed, and she brought her gaze back to his.

  "How long are you going to hold a grudge, Kyle?" Her voice fractured and she swallowed. "How long are you going to hang around my ranch and make me pay for a decision I know I was right in making?"

  His eyes flared and for a split second, Maxie saw pain there. Dark, aching pain. Then it was replaced with pure rage. "You knew it was right? You knew?" He rose slowly out of his chair. "What about me, Max?"

  "What about you?" She didn't want to get into this discussion, not for a million dollars, and she forced a sneer into her voice she didn't feel. "I called, I wrote. You didn't want to hear my explanations. What difference does it make now? What's changed?"

  A pause, everything he ever felt ricocheting through his body, and then, "Nothing." His gaze raked her. "You still think of yourself first."

  Hurt flashed in her eyes. "Believe what you want, Kyle. You will anyway." She headed toward the entrance, but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him.

  "Change my mind."

  "No." Her chin came up a fraction. Admitting her mistakes was the one thing she wasn't ready for. "I've worked very hard to make myself a future here, and I refuse to go back to the past." Please don't make me.