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The Black Sheep Heir
Dammit, he shouldn’t have taken advantage of her like he had.
He didn’t know where he’d be next week, much less the next hour. His whole life could change at this cocktail party, and where would that leave Lacey?
Would he be part of that family?
He couldn’t say anything for a second when she entered the room. Her crushed blue gaze and the flowing buttercup sheerness of her dress with the wispy material misting over her shoulders, waist and legs took his breath away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’ve always been so beautiful but, right now, it’s painful to look at you.”
Taking a step back, her hand drifted up to her hair, where a few curls fought to stay corkscrewed. Already they were wilting, softening her features more than he thought possible, making her eyes more doelike, her lips more full and vulnerable.
“You know what to say to a girl. Don’t you?”
“Not too often.” Awkwardly, he made one attempt, two, to offer her his arm. Just like a gentleman would, he hoped….
Dear Reader,
Well, the new year is upon us—and if you’ve resolved to read some wonderful books in 2004, you’ve come to the right place. We’ll begin with Expecting! by Susan Mallery, the first in our five-book MERLYN COUNTY MIDWIVES miniseries, in which residents of a small Kentucky town find love—and scandal—amidst the backdrop of a midwifery clinic. In the opening book, a woman returning to her hometown, pregnant and alone, finds herself falling for her high school crush—now all grown up and married to his career! Or so he thinks….
Annette Broadrick concludes her SECRET SISTERS trilogy with MacGowan Meets His Match. When a woman comes to Scotland looking for a job and the key to unlock the mystery surrounding her family, she finds both—with the love of a lifetime thrown in!—in the Scottish lord who hires her. In The Black Sheep Heir, Crystal Green wraps up her KANE’S CROSSING miniseries with the story of the town outcast who finds in the big, brooding stranger hiding out in her cabin the soul mate she’d been searching for.
Karen Rose Smith offers the story of an about-to-be single mom and the handsome hometown hero who makes her wonder if she doesn’t have room for just one more male in her life, in Their Baby Bond. THE RICHEST GALS IN TEXAS, a new miniseries by Arlene James, in which three blue-collar friends inherit a million dollars—each!—opens with Beautician Gets Million-Dollar Tip! A hairstylist inherits that wad just in time to bring her salon up to code, at the insistence of the infuriatingly handsome, if annoying, local fire marshal. And in Jen Safrey’s A Perfect Pair, a woman who enlists her best (male) friend to help her find her Mr. Right suddenly realizes he’s right there in front of her face—i.e., said friend! Now all she has to do is convince him of this….
So bundle up, and happy reading. And come back next month for six new wonderful stories, all from Silhouette Special Edition.
Sincerely,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
The Black Sheep Heir
Crystal Green
To Grandpa and Grandma Green, with my love.
CRYSTAL GREEN
lives in San Diego, California, where she writes full-time and occasionally teaches. When she isn’t penning romances, she enjoys reading, overanalyzing movies, risking her life on police ride-alongs, petting her parents’ Maltese dogs and fantasizing about being a really good cook.
Whenever possible, Crystal loves to travel. Her favorite souvenirs include journals—the pages reflecting everything from taking tea in London’s Leicester Square to backpacking up endless mountain roads leading to the castles of Sintra, Portugal.
She’d love to hear from her readers at: 8895 Towne Centre Drive, Suite 105-178, San Diego, CA 92122-5542.
And don’t forget to visit her Web site at: http://www.crystal-green.com!
THE KANE’S CROSSING GAZETTE
Mystery Man Hiding in Siggy Woods!
by Verna Loquacious, Town Observer
Greetings from your friendly neighborhood grapevine!
I’ve just received word that a stranger who suspiciously resembles Kane Spencer, our town founder, has been seen skulking about the streets. Scuttlebutt has it that our own Lacey Vedae, who has some skeletons in her own closet, is helping this mystery man by cooking him exquisite gourmet dinners and warming him with her home fires. Hmmmm. Sounds like more of a courtship than an innocent neighborly interest to this observer. What does Spacey Lacey know that we don’t? Read tomorrow’s column to find out….
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
S omeone had been sleeping in her bed.
Lacey Vedae stepped over the threshold of her deserted cabin—the one located on her property in the thick of the snow-frosted woods—and shut the door. The sudden lack of chilled air caused her to shiver, more from a sense of foreboding than anything else.
A fire danced and snapped in the grate, sending waves of shifting light over the simple oak furnishings: two bony chairs, a square table, the rumpled bed…
What in the world was going on?
She removed her fuzzy pink earmuffs, hardly believing someone had broken into this dilapidated structure in the middle of nowhere.
None of her possessions had been filched or vandalized, not that there had been much to tamper with in the first place.
Shoot. If those darn teenagers from town had come back to use her property as a love shack again she’d—
Lacey grabbed one of those iron thing-a-ma-jigs from the fireplace, just to bolster her confidence.
The door burst open behind her, swirling a blast of whistling, flake-laced wind into the room. A voice, the tone chipped with a low, flat-plains drawl, iced her more than the weather ever could.
“Who the hell are you?” it asked.
A mix of shock and anger spiraled through Lacey, and she brandished her fireplace tool while turning to meet the intruder. “I’m the woman who’s going to call the sheriff if you don’t keep your distance.”
The figure slammed the door shut, the altered light changing his mysterious silhouette into that of an actual human being. Half abominable snowman with drifts of light snow powdering his heavy jacket, pants and boots. Half cowboy dream with the smooth motion of a wide-brimmed hat being swept off his head in apparent respect. The gesture revealed shoulder-length blond hair and a grim, if not downright sheepish, almost-smile.
“Damn,” he said, beating the felt head wear against a thigh. Melting bits of ice flew to the planked floor with every thump.
“Damn what?” Lacey asked, jabbing her weapon in his general direction to make sure he didn’t come any closer. “Damn, you’ve been caught in my cabin?”
He stepped nearer, sending her a few stumbles backward. Dang. It wouldn’t do to run away like a fluttery chicken. She’d faced her share of bullies during her life in Kane’s Crossing, and she wasn’t about to lose her courage now—especially since she’d worked so hard to win it back over the years.
She’d learned to overcompensate in the control department. Learned that, every time she asserted herself, the past grew more distant and less threatening.
Lacey sauntered forward, wearing her most ornery glare. The ready-to-rumble demeanor, as her stepbrother Rick liked to call it.
Yeah, definitely in control.
“Well?” she asked, making it clear she expected a straight answer.
Something quick and explosive shot across his gaze. Something bluer than the shade of his eyes, warmer than the sputtering fire. She almost wished she could interpret the visual pause as interest, as a “Damn, I’m not sorry I got caught in this cabin. I’m saying, ‘Damn, you are a mighty hot little number.’”
Excellent, Lacey, she thought. No wonder most of the town thinks you still need to be institutionalized.
She blinked, erasing those negative thoughts. Think positive, think sunshine, think…
Control.
The stranger cleared his throat, startling her. “I didn’t mean any trouble, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Didn’t he know she was too young for a “Ma’am”? Jeez. Twenty-seven years old and she was already eliciting matronly respect.
“Don’t ma’am me,” she said, narrowing her eyes and clutching her makeshift weapon.
He lifted a brow, barely sparing a glance at her war-like stance, his mouth slanting to an angle that belied his exasperation. “How about addressing you as ‘missy,’ then?”
“You’re pretty cocky for a guy who’s about to get thrown in jail for trespassing. Sheriff Reno doesn’t take kindly to that sort of crime.”
He shrugged, tossing his hat onto the table as if he owned the place. “Cocky never did me any harm.”
Oh, what a voice. If she wasn’t so suspicious of him right now, that calloused tone might’ve already talked her into a million things—all of them bad, too.
“Whether or not you meant trouble by commandeering my property, you need to scoot out of here.” She peered around, again noting the canned goods piled on a counter near the stove, a spurt of woolen shirts peeking out of an extra-large leather duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. “Seems as if you’ve already gotten cozy.”
As he ambled closer to the fire, he spread his hands toward the heat. His hesitation in answering gave Lacey the welcome opportunity for a second lingering once-over.
Simply put, he was gorgeous. As still and breath-stealing as a cold night settling over dusk-burnished badlands, with blue eyes, chisled cheekbones and a full mouth. Sharp-edged, rough-and-tumbled. Lacey’s heart hopped away from her.
Hold on to it, girl.
“So…” she said. “You’re not going to tell me how many moons you’ve camped out here?” She paused for him to answer.
Silence, of course.
He slipped off his jacket, revealing a homespun beige shirt that emphasized broad shoulders and a wide, muscled back, crisscrossed by a pair of sturdy suspenders. As he draped the clothing over a chair, Lacey drew in a breath, her pulse beating faster at the sight of his long legs encased by rugged tan pants that covered most of his boots.
How had a man like this ended up in her own backyard?
Lacey gathered all her common sense. In spite of her flighty reputation, she very capably ran the family feed business; she was even embarking upon a risky project that would soon raise more money for the town’s Reno Center—a home for foster children. She was a woman who could preside over an efficient meeting, a woman who was strong enough to show Kane’s Crossing that she was no longer the waif who’d spent time in that “clinic for disturbed girls,” as her mother had called it.
She and the iron pointy fire thing definitely had the upper hand here.
“Listen, I need answers. Know what I mean? After all, here I was, taking a nice late-afternoon walk through the woods on my property when I saw a light burning in the window of this supposedly empty cabin. A historic cabin, built back in the days when Kane’s Crossing was first settled. No one has stayed here for years, not since those teenagers sneaked in and—”
He’d glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge her words, then, after a moment or two returned his attention to the fire. He acted as if the mute flames were far more interesting than her town lore.
“Mister?” It was making her mad to realize she wasn’t compelling him in any way. Since returning to Kane’s Crossing, she always had the situation in hand—with business, with her family, with her reputation and image.
He didn’t stir from the flames. “Yeah?”
Heck, at least he wasn’t comatose yet. “Imagine my surprise when I saw that someone had taken up residence in a hovel that’s about to fall down around our ears.”
“Then I suppose if I were a couple decades younger I’d be Goldilocks.”
Touché.
“This must be a real laugh riot for you,” she said. “How amusing to turn your back on a woman with a dangerous weapon.”
His hands dropped to his sides, and he finally turned around. The fire cast a sheen around his blond hair, tickling its length with softness and shadow. “It’s an andiron, and I’m sorry.”
The words were few, but obviously sincere. She could tell he was being truthful by the way he’d shrugged his shoulders slightly, enough to be brusquely awkward.
“If you’re so apologetic, then leave.”
He pulled his mouth into a straight line and trained his gaze on the floor. A stubborn comeback.
She sighed. “If you need a place to stay, there’s the Edgewater Motel out by the highway. Its roof is much less likely to come tumbling down while you sleep. Besides, this is no palace. The only point of interest is the view.” She gestured to the frost-clouded window. “Hail the Spencer estate in all its glory.”
She thought she saw him flinch, but couldn’t be sure. Nonetheless, he recovered quickly, his voice going back to the same deep-freeze burn she’d heard when he’d entered the cabin.
“Maybe we can make a deal, miss. Maybe I can repair this heap of an abode so it’s livable again.”
He was all business. It was a language Lacey preferred, one she spoke well.
“Really?” she asked, interest piqued, yet adding enough doubt to her tone to let him know that she wouldn’t be a complete pushover. She’d intended to fix this place for years, but had nudged the task to the bottom of her priority pile, just like other matters.
Matters like relationships, love, loneliness.
He watched her with that cocky grin, as if he knew he’d get his way. “I only have one condition.”
“You have a condition?” She laughed. If she hadn’t still been ready to attack him at a moment’s notice, she would’ve relished the irony of his words.
“Yeah. My condition is this: If I fix this place, you leave me alone. No questions asked.”
Her heart fell to her stomach. Of course he didn’t want anything to do with her. No surprise there, especially for a gal who’d probably end up an old maid anyway.
Lacey tried to appear as if his words hadn’t hit that gaping chink in the armor of her self-esteem.
Connor Langley regretted the words the moment they’d flown out of his mouth. Not because he didn’t need to be left alone—his reason for being in this town depended upon it at this stage—but he could see how the request killed the light in her eyes, how it paled the blush of her winter-stained cheeks.
She was damned adorable in her little snow bunny outfit, with earmuffs hanging from the fingers of one dainty, pink-gloved hand, while the other held the andiron like it was a sword gone limp. The metal thumped against her tight ski pants, which were tucked into snowboots. Her perky image was further emphasized by wide gray-blue eyes fringed by spiked lashes, a slightly tilted nose and those prim-and-plump lips.
She was cuter than any woman had a right to be, sweet as powder puffs and sugar cookies.
But Connor wasn’t in the mood for the heat that stole through his body every time he looked at her. He had much heavier issues weighing him down.
Issues like the necessity of staying in this cabin, a place that offered the best vantage point of the Spencer estate.
Trying to keep any sign of urgency out of his voice, he said, “Is it a deal then?”
The woman lowered her gaze and tucked a chin-length strand of dark brown hair behind an ear. The ends flipped up, reminding him of jukebox nights and sock-hops where the girls wore poodle skirts with scarves around their necks.
“This is crazy,” she said. “I don’t even know your name.”
“That’s easy.” He stuck out his palm, as if every day he encountered ticked-off women who wanted to emasculate him. “Connor Langley.”
She tilted her head, seemingly testing the sound of his name in her mind. Then, she inched out her gloved hand. “Lacey Vedae.”
As their fingers connected, Conn felt the electric jolt of her firm grip, even if she was wearing a protective layer of wool over her skin. Her touch was steady, no nonsense, sending shock waves up his arm, down to his lower belly, stirring into something he couldn’t afford to focus on.
He let go of her before he could get burned, then took a step back toward the fire.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Langley?”
Miss—it was Miss, wasn’t it?—Vedae didn’t mince words. He could tell she had a core of steel the minute she’d stood up to him when he’d entered the cabin.
He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I’m getting away from it all. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”
“So you settled on Kane’s Crossing? You must be desperate for some boredom.”
Actually, he’d give his life for boredom, for the way it used to be, back in the small Montana town where he’d lived all his years. Back where he’d been engaged to Emily Webster because that’s what had been expected of him. Back where his mother hadn’t shriveled from cancer to almost nothing. Back where he’d been Connor Langley and nothing more.
“That sounds nice to me,” he said, meaning it.
Her eyes took on a wary narrowness. “You’re lying. Why should I let you stay here if you can’t tell me some semblance of the truth?”
Damn. “Because I’m a hell of a handyman. That was my job back in Raintree, Montana.”
She crossed her arms over her down jacket, clearly not buying his guff.
“That’s the honest slant on it, Miss Vedae.” He paused. “I just need to be alone.”
“Hmmm.” She quirked her lips, considering him. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Trust isn’t a requirement.” He almost added the dreaded “ma’am,” but remembered right in time how she’d reacted to the title earlier.
Too bad his mom had bred “ma’am” into him for the length of his life. You couldn’t break a thirty-three-year-old habit.
Mom. The word, the image stung because, in Montana, she was waiting for him to help her, to heal her.
Well, he wouldn’t do it standing here making nice with his prospective landlord. Conn needed to take his binoculars and get back to work.
“What about it?” he asked, unthinkingly taking a step forward. He itched to run a hand along her jaw, comforting her, convincing her that he wasn’t such a bad guy.
At least, that’s what he’d thought up until a month ago, when he’d learned the truth about himself.
Lacey Vedae sighed and tossed up her hands. “Heck. It’s not like you’re living in my house.”
“Right.”
“And you’re going to do work on this hunk of junk.”
“Your obviously beloved hunk of junk.”
She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
“If you adhere to my condition, we won’t even know each other exists.”
She stared at him for a second, her gaze going as soft as the gray-blue clouds of a rainstorm. Something like emptiness filled her eyes for the briefest moment, then flashed away.
She walked toward the door, hesitating before opening it. “I’ve got plenty of supplies in my toolshed, off the main house. Help yourself.”
“Does that mean you’ll keep quiet about my being here?”
Her hand rested on the doorknob, then she nodded. “For the moment.”
Without another glance back, she opened the door and walked outside into the newly revealed sunshine with its glare of snow on the ground.
What had that meant? Was he staying? Going?
Questions and more questions. He was sick of asking himself, testing himself every day.
All he knew for certain was that he needed Ms. Vedae to keep his secret, to keep him hidden in this cabin in the woods.
By evening, Lacey had already thought of twenty-six ways to break Connor Langley’s one condition.
She settled on the temptation of a gourmet dinner.
As her boots crunched through the light layer of snow leading to the cabin, she tried to tell herself that this was a good idea. Maybe it was the biggest mistake of her life, allowing him to stay on her property, but the businesswoman in her had pretty good instincts about people. Connor Langley didn’t strike her as a terrible man—not with the way in which he’d taken off his hat to greet her, or turned his back when she’d been ready to skewer him.
Maybe he’d even be happy to see her when she told him she’d decided he could stay on her property. It could happen.
She approached the trees, leaving footprints as she went. “He did make it clear that he didn’t want company though,” she said out loud. “But what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t give him a welcome basket along with the good news?”
She hefted the loaded wicker carrier from one hand to the other. “Leaving him alone would make you a good neighbor,” she answered, hardly minding that she was talking to herself. “Because he did ask you to stay away.”
As she entered Siggy Woods—the dark forest that had inspired more than one town legend—she pressed her mouth into a silent line. Way back when she was fourteen, her doctor at the HazyLawn Home for Girls had warned her about talking to herself but, like most advice she’d culled from her short stay in the institution, she’d pretended to embrace the suggestion while ignoring it completely.
Her problem hadn’t been too much self-conversation, anyway. It’d had more to do with wanting to cry all the time, wanting to stop herself from sinking into the slow-spinning black hole of her thoughts. Sometimes, long ago, she’d ached so badly that she couldn’t get out of bed come morning.
At times the darkness still lapped at the edges of her mind. But she fought it—tooth and nail. Weekly therapy sessions with her Louisville doctor as well as the steady lift of Prozac helped her, healed her.
For the most part, she was happy and settled, successful and normal—and everyone in Kane’s Crossing who didn’t believe her was going to be convinced whether or not it drained Lacey of all energy and resources.
Between the trunks of white-glimmer pine trees, Lacey caught sight of the cabin, its bare windows winking with an orange glow. A shadow crossed over one of the panes, causing nerves to goose her heartbeat.
Connor Langley wasn’t going to be ecstatic to see her but, all the same, she couldn’t help herself. Every hungry cell of her body wanted to take him in, to swarm under the thick, warm feeling of attraction, even if only for the time it took to give him this basket.
She paused at the door, blowing out a cloud of pent-up steam. Then, ready for a scolding, she knocked.
A long hesitation followed, as if he was thinking about pretending not to be home. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the door creaked open on rusted hinges.
He stood in front of her, arms akimbo, his hair tied at his nape. “What didn’t you understand about leaving me alone?”
Boy, his eyes were blue. And now that she was almost toe-to-toe with him, she could see icicle-white flecks spiking the deep color of his irises.
“I…” She grinned, shoving the gingham-lined carrier in front of her as aggressively as she’d presented the fireplace implement this afternoon. “I wanted to tell you that you can stay in the cabin. And I cooked you dinner in apology for almost running you through with that metal thing.”
“I told you, it’s an andiron.” Then, as he cocked a brow, Lacey wondered why she’d thought this would be such a wonderful idea in the first place.
Before he could speak, she rushed on. “I really am good in the kitchen, so you shouldn’t refuse this. I’ve whipped up a spinach and grilled shrimp salad with a sherry vinaigrette, salmon rolls with spinach and sole with Champagne sauce and pear cake savoie. Pretty decent grub for the middle of nowhere.”
