LITMIR.BIZ

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a respectable member of society when she told Cash Lawless how to run his life, she thought with a wry smile.

      She climbed up the steep flight of stairs and made her way toward a front porch that caught the light in spite of the dismal house paint. The windows and doors were wide open, as if the house was gasping to drink in some of the beautiful September day beyond.

      But Rowena hadn’t even reached the door when she heard something that raked her nerves. Sounds coming through the screen. A child sobbing.

      “Hurts, Daddy!” Mac Lawless wailed. “You always hurt me!”

      “I know.” Cash Lawless’ rough-edged voice answered. “I know it’s tight, honey, but it’ll loosen up if you just—”

      The hairs on the back of Rowena’s neck stood on end. What in the world was he doing to the child?

      “I hate you when you hurt me!”

      “I hate myself.” Lawless said with fierce feeling. “But damn it, Mac, I won’t stop. Got that? I’ll never give up. Never. Now come on, sweetheart! Open your leg and—”

      Rowena’s stomach clenched with outrage at the child’s tears, terrified at what might be happening behind the gray walls. Dread overpowered caution. Without stopping to think, she wrenched the screen door open and plunged in. Stripped down to a sleeveless white T-shirt and running shorts, the deputy had the child pinned on the floor, his big hands curved around her ankles…

      “Leave her alone,” Rowena cried, lunging to grab him around the neck and pull him off the child. But Lawless’ reflexes were too good. Before she could get a solid grip he dodged to one side, catching her arm, using her own momentum against her. In a heartbeat she was hurtling over him, Mac’s shrieks piercing the air.

      Rowena flailed, kicked, terrified she’d crush Mac, but Lawless controlled her flight. One leg snagged something on a side table, the sound of glass shattering in its wake. Rowena caught a glimpse of something glittery, pink just a second before she collided with it.

      Cash swore, trying to help her avoid the blow, but it was too late. The object she’d hit careened over from the impact, taking her with it, a horrendous racket making her ears ring. Pain burned under Rowena’s right eye as she struggled to untangle herself from whatever she’d fallen on. But the instant her mind registered the lines and shape of it, her heart slammed to the floor.

      It was a wheelchair.

      A child-sized, glittery pink wheelchair.

      She pressed her hand over her mouth, feeling sick, feeling foolish, feeling like…well…like she was about to be slapped in handcuffs and hauled down to the hoosegow. For breaking and entering. Assaulting an officer. Not to mention vandalizing his property. She stared down at the hideous lamp she’d shattered—well, his really ugly property.

      Slowly she shifted her gaze to the little girl she’d been trying to defend. Mac-sized metal braces encircled the child’s tiny legs. Elastic exercise bands and miniature weights scattered the mat rolled out on the taupe carpet. Stuff for physical therapy.

      Cash Lawless faced her down like one of her sister Ariel’s bad-cop fantasies, his broad chest heaving, his tanned shoulders sweat-damp, some kind of tattoo smudging his left biceps. He looked disoriented, hunted, his nerves stripped raw as if he’d just gotten up from a torture session on the rack. Maybe he had.

      He seemed to shake himself, trying to clear his head. “You.” He pinned her with eyes that were granite-hard beneath spiky black lashes. “What the hell are you doing in my living room?”

      For a moment Rowena couldn’t remember the answer to his question herself, let alone form it into a coherent explanation. At least, not with the deputy’s gaze peeling back the layers of her soul that way. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to get a little oxygen to her brain.

      “It was Mac…” Rowena stammered. “She was screaming, saying you were hurting her. I could see you bending over her from the door and I…” She faltered, remembering all too well the power in him, the size of him, leaning over the tiny child who seemed completely at his mercy.

      Somehow Rowena doubted the deputy would appreciate what her snap judgment of the situation had been. “I, uh…” She shrugged, undoubtedly looking as guilty as she felt. “I thought you…”

      His gaze narrowed. “It’s obvious what you thought.”

      Obvious and embarrassing. Rowena’s cheeks burned. The man would hate her worse than ever after this. She’d taken Clancy’s chances of being placed in the Lawless household from slim to none in less than twenty seconds.

      “What can I say?” Rowena swallowed a lump of defeat. “It’s official. I’m an idiot.”

      She glimpsed Mac moving on the exercise mat, pushing herself up to a sitting position and scooting her way over to lean against the wall. At least Mac was able to move her legs, Rowena thought in relief. Still, they looked far too thin, way too frail sticking out from under the ruffle of the glittery purple tutu about the little girl’s middle.

      “It’s a very bad thing to hit a policeman!” she accused with a formidable frown. “My daddy’s going to have to ’rest you now. And you’ll get handcuffs on and—Hey, Daddy. That lady’s bleeding.”

      “Yes, she is.” Was his voice a little softer, or had Rowena imagined it? The deputy probably came with that whole “if I get quiet be afraid—very afraid” warning Rowena’s mother had.

      Rowena’s hand fluttered up to the crest of her cheekbone. It stung, felt a little sticky. Great. She hadn’t just humiliated herself. She’d managed to get cut in the process. She could just imagine trying to explain the mark it would leave behind.

      Cash righted the wheelchair. He gathered Mac, tutu and all, in his arms and put her into the seat. There was something heart-wrenching in the big man’s gentleness as he buckled her in, set her feet in their tiny rainbow striped stockings on the footrests.

      “Guess I get to stop therapy while you take that lady to jail, huh, Daddy?” Mac chirped.

      Cash grabbed the white hand towel he’d looped around his neck, looking as uncomfortable as Rowena felt. “We’ll finish later,” he said. “Head on into your room and watch Dora the Explorer.”

      “Watch TV?” If the kid could have danced a jig, she would have. “Before my therapy’s finished?”

      “You heard me. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

      Completely unfazed by his growl, Mac flashed him a gleeful smirk then wheeled her chair down the hallway. Lawless watched until she vanished into one of the rooms. Silence fell, his utter isolation crushing all the anger out of Rowena.

      “I’m…so sorry,” she said.

      “Yeah. So am I.”

      He turned back to Rowena, but instead of slapping her in cuffs or bellowing at her or any one of a jillion characteristically hostile actions she expected from the deputy she loved to hate, he paced toward her, a bemused expression on his face.

      “You’re crazy.” Why didn’t the insult sound nearly as scathing as it should have?

      “You should talk to my mother.” She grimaced, then touched her cheek gingerly as her cut stung anew.

      Lawless’s eyes narrowed as if he’d just remembered the injury, as well, and he closed the space between them. Frowning in concentration, he grasped Rowena’s chin, tipped her face into the light streaming through the window. With the corner of his towel, he dabbed at the cut.

      “Doesn’t look like you need a stitch,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “A butterfly bandage will work just as well.”

      “In your expert medical opinion?”

      “As a matter of fact, yes. We’re the first responders to accidents. We handle triage until the EMTs get

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