LITMIR.BIZ

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on his sister in the name of discipline. But that mouth of hers! And when had his baby sister learned about sex and pheromones, for cripes sake? The idea Piper had become a young woman while he was deployed unnerved him, and the thought of some randy teenage boy coming sniffing around his sister …

      Gunnar flexed and balled his fists a few times to work out the tension. He knew all too well what boys Piper’s age thought about girls. It was pretty much the same thing men his age thought about women—especially perky young women with short blond hair and Bambi eyes … sassy, petite women with ample curves and pouting lips that begged to be kissed …

      Grunting, Gunnar scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn it, Piper was right. As annoyed as he was to see the film crew on the ranch property, Gunnar had found trading barbs with the feisty actress incredibly … invigorating, arousing.

      Yanking open the driver’s door of the ranch’s Suburban, Gunnar growled under his breath. If he wanted to get involved with a woman—which at this juncture in his life, he did not—a spoiled and superficial starlet was the last person he’d consider for a fling. And a starlet with kids? He shuddered. No thank you. He was not a glutton for punishment.

      Cranking the engine, Gunnar glared through the windshield at the people assembled on the ranch lawn, and a sour feeling gnawed his gut. He knew he’d been inordinately rude. Guilt kicked him for having assumed a hostile demeanor. But after the incident in town, his nerves were already jangling, and all he wanted was to go back to his cabin, reheat some leftover stew for dinner and kick back in his recliner for the Penn State football game—alone, without distractions. He wanted to think—or not think if his thoughts dwelled too long on the way he’d made a fool of himself in town or the fool of himself he’d made in front of the movie crew.

      He squeezed the steering wheel impatiently as Violet Chastain’s dressing room bus lumbered down the driveway, out of his path. He cut another glance to the tiny woman who’d stood up to him like a warrior or a mama bear when he’d challenged her. The spark that had lit her brown eyes had intrigued him, enticed him. He sent an appreciative gaze over her formfitting green minidress and tan leggings, the spots of color the cold air put in her cheeks. With her pixie haircut, petite stature and gamine face, was it any wonder she conjured images of Tinkerbell for him? She was a grown-up Tinkerbell … with a hot body and lush mouth. And a dead husband. And kids.

      Gunnar shook his head to clear it and jammed the SUV in gear as the bus finally cleared the road. The blonde actress stirred too many confusing and contradictory feelings in him. His gut told him she was trouble with a capital T. While the movie crew filmed in town and at the Double C, he’d do well to stay far away from the temptation and aggravation that was Violet Chastain.

      Violet stamped up the steps into her tour bus, then stopped for a moment as a shiver rolled through her from the cold, from unspent adrenaline after her confrontation with Gunnar, and from … okay, lust, because Gunnar Colton, jerk that he was, had a to-die-for physique, a rough-hewn square jaw and knee-melting hazel eyes. Too bad he had the personality of an angry badger.

      The rest of the Colton family she’d liked. Derek had been charming and gracious. Piper was clearly bright, if starstruck, while Sawyer seemed shy and soulful, his dark eyes keenly assessing, much like her Mason’s did.

      As if her thoughts of her contemplative son had conjured him, Mason toddled out of the bus’s bedroom and spotted her. “Mommy!”

      “Hey, sunshine!” Violet hurried to scoop her son into her arms for a hug. “All done napping?”

      Mason gave her wet kisses, then pressed his chubby hands to her face. “Cold.”

      “Yeah, it’s cold outside. Brrr!” She poked her chilled nose against his cheek, which still bore the impression of his blanket from his nap, and he shrank back giggling.

      “Brrr!”

      “Mommy!” Hudson’s voice preceded him as he came charging out of the bedroom with no diaper on.

      Violet stooped to greet her second son, laughing. “Well, hello young streaker. Do you have a kiss for me?”

      Hudson smacked a kiss on her face, then turned and darted away as his nanny appeared in the bedroom door.

      “Hudson, you scamp! Get back here and put on some pants, mister!” Rani Ogitani propped a hand on her hip and shook her head. “I’ve never seen a kid with so much energy! And believe me, I’ve babysat for some rambunctious kids in my day.”

      “Rani, I bless the day I found you. I don’t know what I would have done these past few months without your help with the kids.”

      The nanny grinned. “Oh, probably hired someone else just as competent.”

      “Not likely.” After going through three nannies in eight months, Violet had mentioned her child care troubles to an old high school friend, with whom she kept in touch through email. Her friend, Zoe Bancroft, mentioned that her babysitter was looking for a job as a full-time nanny and gave Rani high marks. A week later, Rani had moved from Louisiana to Beverly Hills to live with Violet, Adam and the boys.

      Violet shook her head. “No one’s better than you, and the proof is in how my boys are thriving, even without—” a rush of emotion overwhelmed Violet, and her throat closed “—you know … Adam …”

      Her nanny gave her a sympathetic smile. “They are thriving because of the love and attention you give them.”

      Or don’t you Hollywood types believe in raising your own children? Gunnar Colton’s accusations reverberated in her memory, and she sighed.

      “I wish you would tell that to the linebacker,” she mumbled, then wondered why she gave a fig what Gunnar Colton thought of her parenting skills. Perhaps because he prodded her working-mommy guilt over leaving so much of her children’s care up to Rani.

      “Linebacker?”

      “Never mind.” She stood and held Mason out to her. “Here, you take this one, and I’ll round up the streaker and finish dressing him.”

      Rani held up a hand of refusal. “Wait.” She turned her head and coughed several times into the crook of her arm. “Sorry. I’ll take him now.”

      Violet frowned. “Are you coming down with something?”

      “I hope not.” Rani rested Mason on her hip and brushed his blond curls out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s just the changing weather or dry air or something. I can’t seem to shake this cough.”

      “I’ll watch the boys for a while if you want to rest. I told the Yoders I’d be back for dinner, but if you need—”

      “I’m okay. I grabbed a short nap while the boys were asleep. Besides, don’t you need to go over the new script for the barn scene they sent over this morning?”

      “New script? They changed the barn scene again?” Violet’s shoulders sagged. “I wish they’d make up their minds. I wanted to be through shooting by Christmas. The boys should be in their own home on Christmas morning.”

      Rani turned her head and covered another cough. “Mac still think that can happen?”

      “It’ll be close.”

      The hydraulic hiss of the bus door opening announced a new arrival, and Violet turned.

      “Knock, knock,” Mac called as he poked his head around the corner. “Everybody decent?”

      “Everyone except Hudson,” Violet said, meeting her director in the living area of the bus and scooping Hudson off the couch where he was bouncing on the cushions. She turned to ask Rani to grab a diaper out of the boys’ bag and discovered, as usual, Rani was a step ahead of her. The nanny tossed her a diaper and a toddler-size pair of overalls. Violet caught the diaper. Mac snagged the overalls and eyed them.

      “I didn’t know they made these for tykes.”

      Violet had the diaper fastened around Hudson

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