LITMIR.BIZ

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Lenora Worth has written more than forty books for three different publishers. Her career with Steeple Hill Books spans close to fourteen years. Her very first Love Inspired title, The Wedding Quilt, won Affaire de Coeur’s Best Inspirational for 1997, and Logan’s Child won RT Book Reviews’ Best Love Inspired for 1998. With millions of books in print, Lenora continues to write for the Love Inspired and Love Inspired Suspense lines. Lenora also wrote a weekly opinion column for the local paper and worked freelance for years with a local magazine. She has now turned to full-time fiction writing and enjoying adventures with her retired husband, Don. Married for thirty-five years, they have two grown children. Lenora enjoys writing, reading and shopping…especially shoe shopping. This is her first Harlequin Superromance novel.

      To Tara Gavin, Wanda Ottewell and Patience Smith.

       Thanks to each of you for believing in me, pushing me to be my best and letting me write this story!

      And to Steve Miller, of course.

      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

      FROM HIS SPOT atop the hill, Lenny Paxton watched as his friend Henry Powell ran around the old truck to help the passenger. Amusement at Henry’s chivalrous antics changed to dread inside Lenny’s heart.

      It couldn’t be. But it was. Henry set suitcases and tote bags down on the dusty road, tipped his hat to the woman standing there. Then with a grin, the man ambled back to the idling vehicle and took off, spinning rocks as he headed on up the mountain road.

      “I don’t believe this,” Lenny said, his words edged with aggravation. He watched as the woman grabbed at her luggage and trudged up the rocky dirt driveway toward the farmhouse, purses and bags falling down her arms.

      “Trouble, double trouble,” Lenny said, thinking a man could certainly reach his limits on days like this one. He’d just had words with ex-wife number two and now this.

      Another woman in his life. An unwelcome, unwanted woman. And most of the women in his life were that way these days. He’d have to nip this in the bud right now.

      But the primal male in him shifted gears. She did look kinda cute carrying all that baggage up that hill. Taking his time, he watched, a trickle of his old wickedness making him smile. He should go help her, but he wasn’t nearly as noble as old Henry. “Let her sweat a bit.”

      Then she swayed, tripped on a rock and popped one of the heels off her pretty pumps. Lenny had to laugh at the words the cute woman uttered. A tad feisty underneath all that gabardine, wasn’t she?

      When she threw down the bags and held up what was left of the heel of her right shoe, her expression full of exasperation and frustration, in spite of his aversion to the female population right now, Lenny knew he couldn’t let this one slide. This might get interesting.

      SHE’D BROKEN A HEEL.

      Letting out a groan, Jane Harper held that heel and looked up from her now ruined black Italian leather “client-meeting” pumps to the two-storied whitewashed farmhouse sitting with forlorn loneliness up on the hill in front of her. At least she was here now. And from the looks of the place, she’d be here a while. The yard was weed-covered and drought-thirsty. An old International tractor sat lopsided near a giant live oak on a hill, looking like a petrified bug. The steps were cracked, the porch paint was peeling. And the porch was lined with several pieces of vintage wicker furniture and Victorian plant stands, along with exercise equipment and piles of various brands of empty beer cans.

      Jane glanced around, hoping the rumors she’d heard about shotguns weren’t true. She envisioned this place clean and well repaired. She could see this house renewed and invigorated, shining brightly with fresh white paint and ferns sitting pristinely on those fabulous old stands. She could almost smell freshly baked bread coming from the open kitchen window, hear the sound of someone practicing piano from inside the parlor. She’d plant daisies near that old tractor and make it into a backdrop instead of an eyesore.

      Jane’s heart hurt for this place. All it lacked was a little nurturing. Her organizational skills were sorely needed. For this house, and for the man who’d been holed up here—allegedly armed and dangerous—since last spring.

      “Certainly have my work cut out for me,” she mumbled to the broken heel of her pump.

      But if anyone could get rid of the clutter surrounding the quaint Victorian house, Jane could. And if anyone could bring former NFL quarterback Lenny Paxton out of his self-imposed isolation after losing the Super Bowl, losing his beloved grandmother and then losing his cool in front of the world, Jane could. She also planned to get the scoop on the story everyone wanted—what in the world was wrong with Lenny Paxton?

      Maybe everything that had happened up to now—the long drive from Little Rock, getting a flat tire out on the main road, then meeting the skinny, philosophical Henry in the old red pickup (he’d been kind enough to give her a ride and to warn her that she might get shot) and now her broken heel—had all been signs that she should have stayed in the big city.

      Never one to take bad luck as the

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