LITMIR.BIZ

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      LAURIE PAIGE

      “One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from RT Book Reviews for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette Book in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list.

      Settled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will bring.

      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

      Chapter One

      Home.

      Kyle Mitchell stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of the white ramshackle house. Danielle, his wife of six years, had bought it when she’d moved to Whitehorn two years ago. Until this moment he’d never laid eyes on it.

      The wind howled forlornly through the evergreens that lined the drive and formed a windbreak against the driving snow. It slid icy fingers under the thick collar of his down-filled parka, roamed down his spine in a series of chillbumps and robbed the heat from his body.

      January in Montana was something to be reckoned with.

      The lights of the house glowed faintly through the windows, urging him inside where there would be warmth and human companionship. Still, he lingered.

      The letter packed in his luggage didn’t invite a rush into the old homestead, which was sort of Victorian, sort of early ranch house style. The twin gables in the steeply pitched roof indicated a second story, perhaps with bedrooms carved out of the attic.

      He wondered where Danielle slept.

      The longing he’d blocked for two years hit his chest and radiated outward. Dani, his heart repeated with each beat. Dani.

      She wouldn’t be glad to see him. The letter proved that. In it, she had said it was time for a divorce. So that they could get on with their lives. So that the uncertainty of their marriage would be resolved. So that they could be entirely free of each other to do whatever they wanted.

      What he wanted…her warmth. Her generous love. Her catchy way of laughing. Dani. Ah, God, Dani.

      The wind rushed down the Crazy Mountains, blew snow in a swirl around his head and blinded him for a moment, bringing the unexpected sting of tears to his eyes. When the gust passed and the air cleared again, he blinked away the flakes that clung to his lashes and stared into the eyes of a young girl. Joy flashed through him.

      Sara. His daughter. She’d been three when he’d left two years ago.

      Her eyes rounded in obvious fright and her mouth dropped open as if in a silent scream. She spun from the window. The heavy curtains dropped into place behind her, shutting out most of the light.

      Stunned, he realized she didn’t remember him. That brought its own remorse, separate from all the other regrets that lingered inside him. If he could go back…

      But, once started on a course, life wouldn’t let a person go back to Day One and make a better decision. And regret didn’t do a damned thing but deepen the pain of loss.

      The words of the letter burned in the back of his brain, stamped there for all time, a personal message from Dani to him written on the crumbling wall of their marriage.

      I think it best if we consider divorce. I made the down payment on the house from my own savings. Naturally I would like to keep it. Your salary has mostly gone into your savings account. I did have to use some for Sara, clothes and dentist and such. I have split her expenses with you, which I thought was fair.

      Yeah, it was fair. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch that wrapped around the side and front of the house. Damn, but it was colder than a well digger’s…

      He would have to watch his language around a five-year-old. The last couple of years had been spent with rough company. He had of necessity spoken their lingo. Now he could shut off that part of his life. It was over.

      Just like his marriage.

      The cost of serving justice had been high, but the safety of his family had come first, or else the price could have been even higher. The picture of a woman and two children, blasted beyond recognition by a shotgun, lingered in his mind like a horror movie. He’d arrived too late to save them.

      Given a tiny twist of fate, that family could have been his. Dani and Sara. It was an image that haunted him in the depths of long, long, lonely nights.

      A shiver snaked down his spine. He reached for the handle of the old-fashioned bell on the front door.

      Danielle heard Sara’s running steps cross the living room, the formal dining room that they used for a family room, and on the linoleum of the old-fashioned eat-in kitchen—the quaint, cozy kitchen being one of the reasons she’d bought the drafty old house that needed more repairs than a demolition derby junk heap. She laid the stirring spoon aside and knelt just as Sara rushed to her.

      “There, darling, it’s all right. Nothing is going to hurt you,” she crooned.

      She held her daughter tightly, every fiber of her being ready to fight or soothe or do whatever was necessary to protect her daughter from harm or fear or anything that bothered the five-year-old.

      For a second she marveled at the ferocity of feelings that swamped her. She had rarely felt this intensity of emotion, not even in the heady weeks after meeting Kyle, not even during their first year of marriage when she had thought nothing could be more exciting than her dark-haired, blue-eyed FBI agent husband. Fear had put a different spin on the nature of her feelings for her child.

      For

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