ope approached the information desk and waited for the female deputy to look up. “I need some information on a restraining order,” she began.

“Is this an emergency?”

“I think so.”

“Have you been assaulted?”

“Not yet.”

The officer picked up the telephone receiver and punched a button. “Hazel, I have a woman out here who needs to obtain a TRO.”

“No.” Hope shook her head, stopping the deputy before she made the mistake of involving Dylan and his secretary. “I already have a restraining order. When I lived in California, I had to take Myron Lambardo to court. I won, but I just saw him at the M and S Market.”

“Just a minute, Hazel.” The woman pressed the hold button. “And you’re positive it was him?”

“Yes. You can’t miss Myron. He looks a little like Patrick Swayze, only shorter.”

“How short?”

“He’s a dwarf.”

The officer blinked twice, then lifted her finger. “Hazel,” she began again, “the woman here says she’s being stalked by a dwarf from California. She wants to know about a restraining order.”

Hope groaned. “Oh, my God.”

“Just a sec. I’ll ask her.” The deputy looked Hope up and down. “Are you the woman with the peacock boots?”

“Yes.”

“Yep.” The woman pointed to the double glass doors that led to Dylan’s office. “Go right in there and Hazel will help you.”

Hope looked at the big gold star painted on the doors, and her dread of seeing Dylan replaced any lingering fear of Myron. “I just want some information. Can’t you help me?”

The deputy shook her head. “If a stalker has followed you here from California, the sheriff needs to be informed.”

Hope figured she had two choices. She could be an adult and brave it out, or she could run and hide like a coward. She stood frozen for several indecisive moments. Maybe it wasn’t Myron. Maybe it was some other dwarf who wanted her to make Micky the Magical Leprechaun a stud muffin. If she left, she could always return on a day when Dylan was out of the office. Maybe if she just ignored Myron, he’d get tired and go away. Problem was, she’d tried that and it hadn’t worked.

Hazel swung open one of the glass doors and settled the issue for her. “Sheriff Taber said to come on back.”

Hope’s stomach got a bit queasy as she moved toward Hazel and followed her past her desk and down the short hallway. The closer she got, the worse she felt. And then there he was, standing as she entered his office, looking better than she remembered. Tall and handsome, his hair rumpled as if he’d combed it with his fingers. Her footsteps faltered and she stopped just inside the doorway.

“Shall I hold your calls, Sheriff?” Hazel asked.

“Yes,” he said, and the sound of his voice after so many days without it poured through Hope like warm sunshine on a December day. “Unless it’s the prosecutor’s office.”

Hazel shifted her gaze to Hope as if she were a scanner, trying to detect the true nature behind Hope’s visit. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me, Sheriff,” she said, then left, and Hope was alone with the man she loved, her broken heart, and her queasy stomach.

“Why don’t you sit?” Dylan offered.

“No, really. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just have a quick question that I thought one of the deputies could answer for me. I guess no one knew the answer and just assumed you’d want to see me. I know that you don’t, and I wouldn’t have come if I’d known—”

“What’s your question?” he asked, interrupting her.

She placed a hand on her abdomen and took a deep breath. “Is a restraining order obtained in California enforceable in Idaho?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She let out her breath and took a step backward. “Thanks.”

“Why?”

She stood close enough to see his green eyes, close enough to see him looking back at her as if she were just any ordinary citizen stopping by to fill out a complaint. As if he’d never shown her Sawtooth Lake and Cassiopeia spinning around on her head.

In his gaze, there was no spark of hunger nor even the interest that had been there from the first moment she’d met him. There was nothing, and she hadn’t realized until it was gone how much she’d delighted in it and how desired he’d made her feel. The backs of her eyes stung and she slid her palm over her stomach as if she could hold in the pain of seeing him.

“Why?” he asked again.

Looking at him made it hard to think of anything beyond how much she still loved him and how little he felt for her now. She lowered her gaze to the clutter of paper on his desk.

“A few months ago I was granted a restraining order against a man named Myron Lambardo.” She paused and her fingers nervously rubbed the smooth leather of her belt as she told herself not to cry. “He was part of the reason I came to Gospel. I needed to get away from the whole mess and stress of the court hearing.” She glanced up. “I saw him when I was coming out of the M and S.”

“Today?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“What did he say?”

“I think he called my name.”

“What else?”

“He held a big sign that said, ‘Make Micky a Stud Muffin.’ ”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Who else could it be?” Dylan was so professional. So impersonal, and although she wouldn’t have thought it possible, he broke her heart just a little bit more.

“How close was he to you?” he asked.

“A parking lot away.”

He pointed to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Hope.”

Finally he said her name, and she wished he hadn’t. It made everything so much worse, reminding her of all the other times he’d said it, or whispered it against her neck or into her mouth.

“I’m okay,” she said but took a step further into the room.

He looked at her for several long moments; then he sat in his chair and typed something into his computer. “Are you afraid he’ll physically assault you?”

“Not really. He’s never touched me, but he used to threaten me with a tombstone.”

He glanced up.

“It’s a wresting move.”

“I know.” He read something off the screen, then lifted his gaze to her once again. “By following you to Gospel, he has violated the terms of the restraining order,” he explained. “Of course, he can always say he’s here for some other reason, but I doubt a judge will believe him.”

“What happens now?”

“I’ll bring him in, and depending on what time he’s actually booked into jail, he’ll go before the magistrate either today or in the morning. Bail will be set as well as a court date.”

“I’ll have to go to court again?” Hope didn’t want to go through another hearing.

“That depends on his plea. He might plead guilty, pay his fine, and leave town.”

Hope doubted it. “Can’t you just talk to him? He’s easy to spot in a crowd. He’s not even four feet tall and he looks a bit like Patrick Swayze. Maybe you could just scare him into leaving?” But she doubted fear of Dylan would send Myron running. Dealing with him had never been that easy.

Dylan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If that’s what you want, but you still need to swear out a complaint. Just in case we need something to take to the prosecutor.”

Hope raised her hands to her face and rubbed her forehead. She was sorry she’d come here. Myron would pay a fine, and then be free to hassle her by morning. She’d accomplished nothing by talking to Dylan, and ultimately, she would pay for it more than Myron. Myron would pay in cash, but looking at Dylan, hearing his voice, and loving him cost Hope another chunk of her heart.

She dropped her hands and shook her head. “Just forget it,” she said. “I guess that little weasel is free to harass me.” The tears which had stung the backs of her eyes since she’d walked into the room collected on her bottom lids and blurred her vision. She wasn’t sure if she was crying out of frustration with Myron or because the man she desperately loved didn’t feel anything for her. “The restraining order means nothing to him, so just forget it.”

As if he could no longer stand the sight of her, Dylan turned his attention to his computer monitor and seemed to become instantly absorbed in whatever he read there. One appalling tear slid over her lower lashes and down her cheek.

“Just forget I was here,” she said and practically ran from the room before she embarrassed herself further.

Dylan watched Hope leave his office and rose from his chair. He started to go after her but stopped. If he caught up with her, he wasn’t certain what he’d do. He wasn’t certain he wouldn’t pull her against his chest and bury his nose in her hair. The second he’d heard she was in the building, his body had responded to her. His chest got tight and that was before she’d even walked into his office, looking incredible in a simple white shirt and jeans just tight enough to hug the curve of her sweet behind.

Thankfully, he’d been able to ignore his body. He’d been in control and handling the situation as if she were just another citizen off the street. Until she cried. Seeing her tears, he’d about jumped out of his chair and gone to her. Even after everything, she still tore him up inside. He still wanted her.

He leaned his behind against his desk and stared at the framed accommodations and service awards hanging on the wall. He remembered the day he and Hope had hiked to Sawtooth Lake and she’d joked about coming to his office and filing a complaint just in case she got lonely for him.

Ten minutes ago, when Hazel had buzzed to say Hope was in the reception area, the memory of that day had popped into his head with the subtlety of a lightning bolt. The memory of her hand on the zipper of his Levi’s and her tongue in his mouth had had him holding his breath, wondering if she’d made up an excuse just to see him. When he realized she hadn’t, there was a part of him that was disappointed as hell.

He missed Hope, or rather the Hope he thought he knew. He missed talking to her. He missed the sound of her voice and the scent of her skin. He missed making love to her and waking up seeing her head on the next pillow. But perhaps most of all, he missed looking across his dinner table and seeing her face.

He crossed one foot over the other and studied the razor crease running down the leg of his pants. As much as he missed her, and as much as he wanted her, he distrusted her that much more. Although he couldn’t reconcile the Hope he knew with the Hope who worked for a sleazy tabloid, he knew she was one and the same person. She’d put her loyalty for her job over him. She’d had two choices: her desire to report a big juicy story, or her desire for him. She hadn’t chosen him.

Dylan walked to the corner of the room and grabbed his hat from the coat rack. Now he had no choice but to forget about her. And he would. Just as soon as he took care of her problem with Myron the Masher.

At three o’clock that afternoon, Myron Lambardo sat on a stool at the Cozy Corner, munching on French fries and polishing off a BLT. He’d eaten in worse dives, he supposed. Wrestled in them, too.

Some kind of shitty country-and-western music poured from an old jukebox, and he wondered if they had any head-banging music, like Metallica. The place was deserted except for the cook, who’d gone on a break in the back, and a waitress with a long braid. Paris; he’d read her name off her tag and thought it sounded exotic. She had big hands, big bones, and big breasts. Just the sort of woman he loved to wrestle. There was a lot to grab. She brought him a refill on his Coke and didn’t stare at him like he was a freak.

“Thanks, Paris,” he said and decided to strike up a conversation and maybe get information. “Are you named after Paris, France, or Paris, Texas?”

“Neither. My mom just liked the name.”

“So do I. It sounds exotic.” He took a drink of his Coke, then asked, “How long have you lived here?”

“All of my life. Where are you from?”

“Everywhere and nowhere. I’m a professional wrestler, so I move around a lot.”

“You’re a wrestler?” Her eyes got wide, and her cheeks flushed red with excitement. “Do you know The Rock?” she asked.

“Sure,” he lied. “We’re tight.”

“Really! He’s my favorite wrestler.”

He was every woman’s favorite wrestler. The Rock was famous, and for a short time, Myron had touched a bit of fame himself. While he’d been Micky the Magical Leprechaun, people had wanted to talk to him. He’d even swung a few matches in higher-ranking venues and wrangled a few dates with normal-sized chicks. Then that bitch of a reporter, Hope Spencer, had turned him into RuPaul, and poof, it was all over.

At twenty-six, he was a has-been. He wanted the fame back. One article. All Hope had to do was write one article and restore his reputation. Give him everything he wanted, and then he’d leave her alone.

“Do you wrestle in the WWF?”

“Nah, but it’s my dream,” he confessed and polished off his BLT. The current wave of political correctness riding the country had killed the sport of midget wrestling. The WWF was too afraid of the backlash to sponsor matches, like somehow what he did was less dignified than regular-sized men. Lately, he’d been thinking of going to Mexico, where mini wrestling was big. “Have you ever thought of wrestling?”

“Me?” Paris laughed and placed a hand over her heart. “I could never wrestle.”

Myron focused on her hand and large breasts. “Sure you could, sweet thing. I bet you’d look great in spandex.” He gazed into her flushed face. “I’d love to wrestle you sometime.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She glanced over the top of his head, and a worried wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Oh, no, here comes Dylan,” she said.

Myron looked over his shoulder at the tall cowboy getting out of a sheriff’s Blazer. “Holy frijole,” he said. “You’ve got to hide me.” He jumped up onto the stool and vaulted over the counter like it was a pommel horse, landing on the other side. “If he asks about me, don’t tell him I’m here.

“I think he’s here because of something I did.”

Myron squatted down and pressed his back against the shelving behind the counter. He hoped Paris was right. He hoped the sheriff wasn’t after him. He’d heard plenty about people rotting in small-town jails, and the network of wrestlers he knew had all heard the story of the time Tiny Ted had been arrested in Oklahoma and forced to dance around like a Munchkin while singing “The Lollipop Guild” for a bunch of drunk deputies. He figured something like that had to be twice as degrading as being morphed into a drag queen.

Myron heard the door swing open, then shut, and the heavy thud of bootheels on the linoleum.

“Hey there, Paris,” said a man no more than a few feet from where Myron hid. “How are you doin‘?”

“Good. What can I get for you, Dylan?”

“Nothing. There’s a mini Winnebago outside with Las Vegas tags, and I’m looking for the owner. His name is Myron Lambardo and he’s about three-feet-six. Have you seen him?”

“Why, is he dangerous?”

“I just want to talk to him.”

There was a pause and Myron held his breath. “He was here earlier, but he left,” she finally said, and if Myron hadn’t been hiding, he would have kissed her.

“How long ago did he leave?”

“About an hour.”

“Did you see which way he went?”

“No,” she answered. And since Myron couldn’t kiss her, he ran his hand up her calf, under the jean skirt she wore, to her knee and gave it a pat.

“Well, if you see him again, be sure and call the sheriff’s Dispatch.”

She didn’t say anything for another long moment and he wondered if she was going to kick him or turn him in. “Why, what’s he done?”

“He’s in violation of a restraining order.”

“From who?”

“Ms. Spencer.”

“Oh.” This time she did kick him.

“What’s the matter?” the sheriff asked.

“Nothing. Just squishing a bug.” Myron wrapped his arm around her thigh and hung on so she couldn’t kick him again. She got real still, and he waited for her to squeal on him.

“If you see him near the Winnebago, give us a call.”

“I’ll do that.”

The bootheels faded and the door opened and shut. “Is he gone?” Myron whispered.

“Get your hand out from under my skirt!”

Slowly Myron slipped his palm down her soft thigh to her knee. “You have great skin.”

She took a step back and stared down at him as if he really were a bug. “You’re here to chase after Hope Spencer.”

“ ‘Chase’ is an awfully strong word.” He stood, then hoisted himself up onto the counter. He sat on the edge facing Paris, which nearly brought him to her height. “I just need her to do one little thing for me.”

“What’s that? Have your baby?”

“Hell, no. I hate that woman.”

The frown wrinkling Paris’s brow lifted. “You do?”

“Yes. She ruined my life.”

“Mine, too. Ever since she drove into town, all the men have been chasing after her.”

“Hope? She’s too scrawny.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that.”

“No. I like full-figured gals.” He looked her up and down. “Gals like you.”

Hope shoved her hands into a pair of sturdy work gloves and tackled the weeds growing in the old rose garden in front of the Donnelly house. The late-afternoon sun beat down on her head, covered with her Gap hat, while insects buzzed around her. She wore a pair of beige shorts and a red tank top, and she’d protected her exposed skin with sunscreen and bug juice. On the porch sat her big covered tankard of iced tea, and Bonnie Raitt sang from the CD player.

It had been three days since she’d first seen Myron outside the M & S. She hadn’t seen him again, but she’d heard from him. She didn’t know how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number, but he had, and although he never said anything, she knew it was him. She recognized his breathing. He’d done the same thing when he’d followed her to L.A.

When she’d told Shelly about it, her friend had waved aside Hope’s fear as nothing to be concerned about, but after the creepy phone calls kept coming, Shelly volunteered Paul to kick Myron’s ass. If only it were that simple. Hope knew from prior experience with Myron that he was very good at hiding.

“What’re ya doin‘?”

Hope looked over her shoulder at the two little boys walking into her yard wearing nothing but their swimming suits and cowboy boots. Wally’s gaze quickly moved to the big sickle leaning against the house, while Adam kept his eyes glued to the ground.

At the sight of Adam, Hope felt a warm little glow in her heart. She was surprised at how glad she was to see him. At how much she’d come to care for him in such a short time. A little boy who had a passion for rocks and anything gross. “Do you boys have sunscreen on?”

Wally nodded and asked again, “What’re you doin‘?”

“I’m trying to clear this rose bed.”

“Need help?” he asked.

Under normal circumstance, she would have welcomed help from anyone who offered. “No, thanks.”

“You could pay us,” Wally continued as if she hadn’t refused the offer. “And we’d do a good job, too.”

Hope looked at Adam and he finally took his gaze off his shoes and his eyes met hers. His cheeks flushed; then he looked away, as if he were embarrassed and uncertain. “I would, but I don’t think Adam’s father would be too happy if he saw him here.”

“He won’t care. Will he, Adam?”

Adam shook his head. “No, he won’t care if I pull your weeds.”

She knew better. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, rather than argue. “You go get hold of your dad and ask him. If he says it’s okay, I’ll hire you both.”

“Okay,” they said at the same time and darted across the street.

Hope watched them disappear and didn’t believe there was even a slim chance that the boys would come back. Her thoughts returned to Myron as she got busy pulling the fireweeds choking the garden under the front window. Earlier, someone from the sheriff’s office had called to say that Myron’s Winnebago had disappeared and they thought he’d left town. Hope knew better, but she hadn’t said anything. The last time she’d gone for help, she’d been sent into Dylan’s office. She’d rather face harassment by Myron than gaze across a room and see Dylan’s blank face looking back at her.

Myron drove her insane, but at least he didn’t hurt her. She tugged a big weed from the ground and tossed it on a pile. She would rather be driven crazy by a demented dwarf than have her heart continually crushed by Dylan’s disinterest.

She glanced up as the boys returned.

“Adam’s dad said it was okay.”

Hope couldn’t believe Dylan would allow his son around her. Not after he’d told her to stay away from him. “Did he really say that?” she asked Adam.

He looked her right in the eyes and said, “Yeah, he did.”

“And he said you could work for me? You mentioned my name?”

“Yes.”

Surprised and perhaps a tiny bit relieved that maybe Dylan didn’t think she was such a horrible person after all, she took off her gloves and dropped them on the ground. “Well, okay. Follow me.” She led them into the house and gave them each a pair of pink rubber gloves she used to wash dishes. She poured them iced tea with lots of sugar; then they went back outside and got to work. Wally talked almost nonstop, but Adam was much more quiet than usual.

“Hope, I have a question,” Wally announced as he tackled a weed almost as tall as he was.

She looked up. “Go ahead, but I don’t have to answer if I don’t feel like it.”

“Okay.” He tossed the weed onto the pile. “Can I drive your car sometime?”

She glanced at her Porsche parked in the driveway. “Yes.” Wally’s face broke into a big smile, until she added, “When you’re sixteen and have your license.”

He sighed. “Oh, man.” Then, together, he and Adam worked on a weed that took both of them to pull it from the ground.

As Hope knelt in a different bed a few feet away, she watched Adam out of the corner of her eye. She watched him closely, and over the course of the next hour, he looked at her whenever he thought she wasn’t looking at him, his brows lowered over his green eyes as if he were seriously trying to figure something out.

“Hope?”

“Yes, Wally?”

“How come you don’t have kids?”

She placed her gloved hands on her thighs and gazed at the boys from beneath the brim of her hat. Like always when she was around these two, she didn’t know exactly how to answer their questions.

“Is it ‘cause you’re not married?” Wally wanted to know.

Adam finally spoke. “You dope. You don’t have to be married to have kids.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh. My mom and dad had me and they weren’t married,” Adam announced, and Hope was glad to hear he knew now and that he seemed okay.

Wally looked his friend over. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Both boys turned their attention back to Hope and waited for her to answer.

“Well,” she began, deciding to wing it, “when I was a lot younger, I had to have an operation. When it was over, I couldn’t have children.”

Adam’s eyes got big. “You had an operation? Where?”

Hope stood and placed her hand on her abdomen. “Right here.”

“Does it hurt?” he wanted to know.

“Not anymore.”

Adam walked toward her, keeping his gaze pinned to her abdomen as if he could see beneath her shirt. “Do you got a scar?”

“Yep.”

“Wow!” He looked up and a lock of hair fell into his eyes. He needed it cut again. “Can I see?”

Hope raised her hand and combed his hair from his forehead. The hot sun heated his scalp, and Hope felt the warmth of it beneath her palm and travel to her heart. Adam didn’t flinch or move away and she smiled down at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, man.”

Dylan’s truck pulled off the highway onto Timberline Road, and Hope dusted the dirt from her knees. She wondered how much longer her heart would react when she saw him. She walked to the porch and picked up her tea, purposely turning her back on him. She didn’t want to see him and know he was looking at her and feeling nothing. Someday it wouldn’t matter and she wouldn’t feel anything for him, either. Just as she felt nothing for her ex-husband, but it would take time, and that someday was not today.

“Bye,” the boys said in unison and tossed their rubber gloves on the ground.

“Wait, guys. You forgot your money,” she called after them as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Later,” Wally yelled, and the two of them barely waited until the truck had passed before they tore out of her yard and headed for the Aberdeens‘.

Hope had a sneaky suspicion that she’d been had. That they’d looked her right in the eyes and lied their little buns off. She suspected Dylan wouldn’t be pleased, and she fully expected him to say something about it. Something along the lines of “I told you to stay away from my son,” like he thought she would pump Adam for information for a story.

Hope went back to work in the flower bed beneath the front window and waited for him. She waited no more than ten minutes until he strolled up her drive and into the yard. Except for his service belt, he still wore his sheriff’s uniform, complete with mirrored sunglasses.

She stood and held out one hand as if to stop him. “Before you yell at me, I asked Adam to make sure it was okay with you before I hired him to pull weeds. He and Wally left to call you, and when they came back, Adam told me that you’d said he could work in my yard.” She took off her gloves and held them in one hand. “And in case you’re wondering if I tried to wheedle Adam for information about you and Juliette, I didn’t. Frankly, I don’t care what you think.” The last was an absolute lie, but she figured it would be true enough someday.

Dylan shifted his weight to one foot and looked at her through his sunglasses. “Are you through?”

“I think that’s about it.”

“I came over here to ask if Deputy Mullins called you today.”

“Someone did, yes.”

“So you know that we think Myron has left town.”

“Yes. I know that’s what you think.”

He raised one brow. “You don’t think so?”

“I know he hasn’t. He’s been calling me.”

“What does he say?”

“Nothing. He just breathes heavy.”

A frown curved his lips, and with two fingers he pushed the brim of his hat up his forehead. “You recognized his breathing?”

“He’s done this before. Unless there is another phone breather in town, it’s Myron.”

“Could be he’s calling from out of town.”

Hope shrugged. “Maybe.” But she doubted it. “Wait here while I get my purse. Adam ran off before I could pay him.”

“Forget it. Adam lied about calling me and asking permission to work in your yard. He doesn’t get rewarded for lying. His punishment will be that he pulled your weeds for free.”

That sounded harsh to Hope. “Are you sure? He worked pretty hard.”

“I’m sure, but in the future, he doesn’t need my permission to work for you.”

“Are you saying it’s all right?”

“Yes. Whatever happened between us, and despite what you’ve done, I don’t believe you would interrogate Adam for your paper.”

She supposed he meant that as a compliment. He probably was under the mistaken assumption that he was being nice—the big jerk. She threw her gloves to the ground and walked toward him, stopping just inches away. “What I’ve done? I’ve done nothing, and someday you’re going to realize you’re a... you’re a...” She was so angry and frustrated, she couldn’t think of the right word.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “A what?”

He was laughing at her. He’d broken her heart, and now he was laughing at her. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and said, “A redneck sheriff who can’t even find one dwarf. I could understand it if there was a Little People of America convention in town, but there’s not.” His lips flattened and she pressed her luck. “How hard could it be to find a man who isn’t even four feet tall? It isn’t like he blends.”

“I’ll tell ya what, honey. If you didn’t have such a unique way of making friends, you wouldn’t be stalked by a dwarf in the first place.”

He’d called her honey, which only enraged her more. “Get out of my yard.”

“Or you’re going to do what? Call the sheriff? Get a pen and take down the number. It’s nine-one-one.”

Hope stuck her hands on his chest and shoved. He didn’t budge and she tried again, pushing hard enough to lift her heels off the ground. The momentum of her body carried her forward, and her hands slid up the creases of his work shirt. She slammed into the solid wall of his chest, knocking the air out of her lungs.

Dylan’s hands grasped her waist, and for several prolonged seconds he held her as if he meant to shove her away. She saw herself in the reflection of his glasses, caught a glimpse of her shock and surprise, and then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto her toes. He said something about leaving, but he lowered his mouth instead and kissed her. As always, he made her skin tingle and sent warm little shivers along her nerves. His hands swept her back as he pressed her into the warmth of his body. It had been so long and she missed him so much. She missed the scent of his skin and his touch on her. His tongue stroked hers, and the kiss caught fire.

Dylan groaned deep and in his throat, a sound of pure lust and frustration. It called to the deepest, basest part of her, and before she could answer, she did something she’d never done before. She found the strength to step away from his embrace before he sucked her in again.

She licked her moist lips and sucked air into her lungs. She felt dizzy and confused. He wanted her no matter how much he’d pretended he didn’t. “You’re a liar, Dylan Taber.”

“Me? I’m the liar?”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she had finally found a man to love and he didn’t love her back. “You’re a hypocrite, too.”

He took off his sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re angry because I lied about who I really work for. It was one little lie that just kept getting bigger and bigger and gained more importance than it deserved. And you’re right, I should have told you before you found out, but you lied to me, too, Dylan. You lied when you told me Adam’s mother was a waitress.”

“I had a good reason for that.”

“Yes, you never trusted me.”

“I was obviously right not to trust you.”

Hope grabbed her gloves from the ground. “I’m tired of defending myself to you for something I didn’t do. For the last time, I didn’t call the tabloids.”

He looked at her as if he could stare a true confession out of her. “I’ll never know that for sure, will I?”

“No.” She shook her head. “You never will, because that means you’d have to believe in me, without proof. It means you’d have to have faith in me, but you’ll never do that, because you never really cared for me.”

“You’re wrong.” He raised his gaze to a point over her head, then said, “I cared.”

“Not enough.” She took one last look at the man she loved with all her broken heart. “And I deserve better than a man who doesn’t care enough for me.”

Myron Lambardo grabbed his Swisher Sweet between his stubby fingers and pulled it from the corner of his mouth. He blew a fog of cigar smoke and smoke rings toward the ceiling. If he had to spend one more day hiding out in his Winnebago in Paris’s barn, he was going to go freakin‘ nuts. Maybe go medieval on someone.

He rose on his elbow and looked down into Paris’s face. Beneath the sheet on his bed, her bare body was pressed to his. She was a nice woman, and he cared about her more than he’d cared about any woman, except for his mama, of course.

Paris could cook like nobody’s business, and until two days ago she’d been a virgin. The first night she’d come to the Winnebago, they’d had sex, and it was still a bit unbelievable to him that he was her first. She’d chosen him, and that knowledge puffed out his chest and put a swagger in his step. It was just too bad he wasn’t the type of guy to settle in one place for very long, because if he were, he could see himself settled with her.

“I wish you could go to the dance tomorrow night,” she said, all dreamy as she looked at him. “They get colored streamers and decorate the grange for the Founder’s Day Ball. Everyone dresses up real nice, and they even hire a band. I could teach you the two-step.”

She already knew he couldn’t be seen anywhere in town, but he thought it was real sweet of her to want to go dancing with him. Even if it was to crappy country-and-western music.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to be leaving here soon.”

A frown settled between her brows. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Do you think I can hide here in your barn forever?”

She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed having you here. It’s been fun sneaking out.”

“Yeah, but I can’t stay much longer. The thing is, I’ve been thinking of going to Mexico. Since the WWF won’t sponsor midget wrestling, and Hope Spencer made everyone think I’m a pansy, I don’t know that I have a future in this country. I’ve been thinking of making a name for myself in Mexico. It’s always been a dream of mine to be one of the top wrestlers. Those guys get respect.”

She turned her face into his chest and he felt her tears. “I’ll miss you, Myron.”

He stuck his cigar in his mouth and rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll miss you. You’re a good woman, Paris.”

“Not so good. I’m not proud that I got angry and called all those reporters up here.”

“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met.”

“That’s true,” she sobbed. “And you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”