LITMIR.BIZ

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      Miranda shifted closer to Harden involuntarily and slid a shy hand into his. Evan’s knowing look made her feel self-conscious and embarrassed. “Actu-ally—” she began reluctantly.

      Harden cut her off. “She had a small problem last night, and I rescued her. Now I’m taking her home,” he said, daring his brother to ask another question. “I’ll see you at the workshop.”

      “You’re all right?” Evan asked Miranda, with sincere concern.

      “Yes.” She forced a smile. “I’ve been a lot of trouble to Mr. Tremayne. I…really do have to go.”

      Harden locked his fingers closer into hers and walked past Evan without another word.

      “Your brother is very big, isn’t he?” Miranda asked, tingling all over at the delicious contact with Harden’s strong fingers. She wondered if he was even aware of holding her hand so tightly.

      “Evan’s a giant,” he agreed. “The biggest of us all. Short on tact, sometimes.”

      “Look who’s talking,” she couldn’t resist replying.

      He glared down at her and tightened his fingers. “Watch it.”

      She smiled, sighing as they reached his car in the garage. “I don’t guess I’ll see you again?” she asked.

      “Not much reason to, if you don’t try jumping off bridges anymore,” he replied, putting up a cool front. Actually he didn’t like the thought of not seeing her again. But she was mourning a husband and baby and he didn’t want involvement. It would be for the best if he didn’t start anything. He was still wearing the scars from the one time he’d become totally involved.

      “I had too much to drink,” she said after he’d put her in the luxury car he’d rented at the airport the day before and climbed in beside her to start the engine. “I don’t drink as a rule. That last piña colada was fatal.”

      “Almost literally,” he agreed, glancing at her irritably. “Find something to occupy your mind. It will help get you through the rough times.”

      “I know.” She looked down at her lap. “I guess your brother thinks I slept with you.”

      “Does it matter what people think?”

      She looked over at him. “Not to you, I expect. But I’m disgustingly conventional. I don’t even jaywalk.”

      “I’ll square it with Evan.”

      “Thank you.” She twisted her purse and stared out the window, her sad eyes shadowed.

      “How long has it been?”

      She sighed softly. “Almost a month. I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”

      “It takes a year, they say, to completely get over a loss. We all mourned my stepfather for at least that long.”

      “Your name is Tremayne, like your brother’s.”

      “And you wonder why? My stepfather legally adopted me. Only a very few people know about my background. It isn’t obvious until you see me next to my half brothers. They’re all dark-eyed.”

      “My mother was a redhead with green eyes and my father was blond and blue-eyed,” she remarked. “I’m dark-haired and gray-eyed, and everybody thought I was adopted.”

      “You aren’t?”

      She smiled. “I’m the image of my mother’s mother. She was pretty, of course…”

      “What do you think you are, the Witch of Endor?” he asked on a hard laugh. He glanced at her while they stopped for a traffic light. “My God, you’re devastating. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”

      “Well, no,” she stammered.

      “Not even your husband?”

      “He liked fair women with voluptuous figures,” she blurted out.

      “Then he should have married one,” he said shortly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

      “I’m flat-chested,” she said without thinking.

      Which was a mistake, because he immediately glanced down at her bodice with a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes. “Somebody ought to tell you that men have varied tastes in women. There are a few who prefer women without massive…bosoms,” he murmured when he saw her expression. “And you aren’t flat-chested.”

      She swallowed. He made her feel naked. She folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window again.

      “How long were you married?” he asked.

      “Well…four months,” she confessed.

      “Happily?”

      “I don’t know. He seemed so different before we married. And then I got pregnant and he was furious. But I wanted a baby so badly.” She had to take a breath before she could go on. “I’m twenty-five. He was the first man who ever proposed to me.”

      “I can’t believe that.”

      “Well, I didn’t always look like this,” she said. “I’m nearsighted. I wear contact lenses now. I took a modeling course and learned how to make the most of what I had. I guess it worked, because I met Tim at the courthouse while I was researching and he asked me out that same night. We only went together two weeks before we got married. I didn’t know him, I guess.”

      “Was he your first man?”

      She gasped. “You’re very blunt!”

      “You know that already.” He lit a cigarette while he drove. “Answer me.”

      “Yes,” she muttered, glaring at him. “But it’s none of your business.”

      “Any particular reason why you waited until marriage?”

      The glare got worse. “I’m old-fashioned and I go to church!”

      He smiled. It was a genuine smile, for once, too. “So do I.”

      “You?”

      “Never judge a book by its cover,” he murmured. His pale eyes glanced sideways and he laughed.

      She shook her head. “Miracles happen every day, they say.”

      “Thanks a lot.” He stopped at another red light. “Which way from here?”

      She gave him directions and minutes later, he pulled up in front of the small apartment house where she lived. It was in a fairly old neighborhood, but not a bad one. The house wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and the small yard had flowers.

      “There are just three apartments,” she said. “One upstairs and two downstairs. I planted the flowers. This is where I lived before I married Tim. When he…died, Sam and Joan insisted that I stay with them. It’s still hard to go in there. I did a stupid thing and bought baby furniture—” She stopped, swallowing hard.

      He cut off the engine and got out, opening the door. “Come on. I’ll go in with you.”

      He took her arm and guided her to the door, waiting impatiently while she unlocked it. “Do you have a landlady or landlord?”

      “Absentee,” she told him. “And I don’t have a morals clause,” she added, indicating her evening gown. “Good thing, I guess.”

      “You aren’t a fallen woman,” he reminded her.

      “I know.” She unlocked the door and let him in. The apartment was just as she’d left it, neat and clean. But there was a bassinet in one corner of the bedroom and a playpen in its box still sitting against the dividing counter between the kitchen and the dining room. She fought down a sob.

      “Come here, little one,” he said gently, and pulled her into his arms.

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