LITMIR.BIZ

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gear that was the standard outfit of the Southwest. He had on the blue jeans, but he wore a new-looking T-shirt instead of a long-sleeved Western-cut button-down shirt. His arms were deeply tanned, as if he spent quite a bit of time outside.

      His black boots weren’t the kind a real cowboy would wear, and he wore a baseball cap instead of a Stetson on his head.

      From a distance, he’d looked tall and imposing. Up close, he merely looked imposing. It was odd, really. He had to be at least an inch or so shorter than six feet, and he was slender, almost slight. Yet there was a power about him, a quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him.

      It may have been in the set of his shoulders or the angle of his chin. Or it may have been something in his dark eyes that made her want to step back a bit and keep her distance. His gaze swept across the drive, over the van and the luggage and the guests, over the ranch house, over the corral where Silver was waiting impatiently for another chance to stretch his legs, over Belinda and Dwayne, over her. With one quick flick of his eyes, he seemed to take her in, to memorize, appraise, and then dismiss.

      Becca tried to look away, but she couldn’t.

      He was impossibly, harshly handsome—provided, of course, that a woman went for the dark and dangerous type. His face was slightly weathered, with high cheekbones that even Johnny Depp would’ve been jealous of. His lips were gracefully shaped, if perhaps a shade too thin, too grimly set. His dark hair was longer than she’d first thought, worn fastened back at the nape of his neck. His face was smooth-shaven, but he had a scar on his chin that added to his aura of danger. And those eyes…

      Becca watched as he approached Belinda. He spoke softly—too softly for Becca to hear his words—as he drew a piece of paper from his pocket.

      Belinda turned and pointed directly at Becca. He turned, too, and once again those eyes were on her, coolly appraising.

      He started toward her.

      Becca came down the ranch office steps, meeting him halfway, pushing her beatup Stetson further back on her short brown curls. “Can I help you?”

      “You’re Rebecca Keyes.” His voice was soft and accentless. His words weren’t a question, but she answered him anyway.

      “That’s right.” His eyes weren’t dark brown as she’d first thought. They were hazel—an almost otherworldly mix of green and brown and yellow and blue. She was staring. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

      “You sent me this fax?”

      This time it was a question. Becca forced her gaze away from his face and looked down at the paper he held in his hands. It was indeed fax paper. She recognized the standard directions to the ranch, caught sight of the messy scribble of her handwriting at the bottom. “You must be Casey Parker.”

      He repeated the name slowly. “Casey Parker.”

      He didn’t look the way he’d sounded during their telephone interview. She’d pictured a larger, older, beefier man. But no matter. She needed a hired hand, and all of his references had checked out.

      “Do you have any ID?” Becca asked. She smiled to soften her words and explained. “It has more to do with filling out employee tax forms than verifying that you’re who you say you are.”

      He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. My wallet was stolen night before last. I got into some kind of fight and…”

      As if to prove his story, he took off his hat and she could see a long scrape above his right temple, disappearing into his wavy dark hair. He had a bruise on his cheekbone, too. She hadn’t noticed it at first—it was barely discernible underneath the suntanned darkness of his skin.

      “I hope you don’t make a habit of getting into fights.”

      He smiled. It was just a slight upward curve of his lips, yet it managed to soften his harsh features. “I hope not, too.”

      “You’re a week early,” Becca told him, hoping her briskness would counteract the effect his quiet smile and strange words had had on her, “but that’s good, because another hand quit on me yesterday.”

      He was silent, just standing there watching her with those eyes that seemed to see everything. For a moment, she was almost convinced he could see back in time, to yesterday morning’s disastrous conversation with Justin Whitlow, and back even further to Rafe McKinnon’s quiet resignation. For a moment, she was almost convinced he could see her anger and her frustration and her defeat.

      “You do still want the job…?” she asked, suddenly afraid that he didn’t like what he saw. After all, bad things always came in threes.

      He turned, squinting slightly at the blinding blueness of the summer sky. His gaze swept across the valley, and Becca was certain that unlike most people, this man saw, really saw the stark New Mexico countryside. She was sure that with his intense hazel eyes, he could see the terrible, almost painful beauty of the land.

      “You own this place?” he asked in his quiet voice.

      “I wish.” The words came out automatically and all too heartfelt. As his eyes flicked in her direction, she felt exposed—as if, with those two little words, she’d given too much of herself away.

      But he just nodded, his lips curving very slightly in the beginnings of a smile.

      “Who does own it?” he asked. “I like to know the name of the man I’m working for.”

      “The owner’s name is Justin Whitlow,” Becca told him. “He’s the one who pays your wages. But I’m the boss. You’ll be working for me. ”

      He nodded again, turning back to gaze out at the vista, but not before she saw a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. “I don’t have a problem with that,” he said quietly.

      “Some men do.”

      “I’m not some men.” He looked back at her again, and Becca knew without a doubt that his words were true. This quiet, slender man with the watchful hazel eyes wasn’t just “some men.”

      But exactly what kind of man he was, she didn’t know for sure.

      * * *

      “Hey, babe, long time no see.” Lt. Lucky O’Donlon of U.S. Navy SEAL Team Ten’s Alpha Squad pulled Veronica Catalanotto into his arms and kissed her hello as he came into the kitchen of his captain’s house.

      “Luke. Hi. Did Frankie let you in?” Ronnie’s smile was warm and she seemed genuinely glad to see him. And since she was one of the top ten most beautiful, nicest, smartest women he’d ever met, that welcoming smile was going to be good for quite a number of fantasy miles. But then she went and ruined it by smiling exactly the same way at Bobby and Wes, who had come in behind him.

      “How was your trip, boys?” she asked in her extremely classy British accent.

      Captain Joe Catalanotto’s wife always called the intensely dangerous and highly covert operations that Alpha Squad was sent out on “trips.” As if they’d been away sightseeing or visiting museums.

      Wes rolled his eyes. “Oh, man, Ron, we came really close to being cluster—”

      Bobby’s size extra-extra-large elbow went solidly into his swim buddy’s side.

      “Fine,” Wes said quickly. “It was fine, Ronnie. As always. Thanks for asking, though.”

      Veronica wasn’t fooled. Her smile had faded, making her eyes look enormous in her face. “Is everyone all right? I mean, of course I’ve already asked Joe, but I’m not sure he’d even tell me if someone had been hurt.”

      Ever since a year and a half ago, when the captain had nearly been killed by terrorists on what should have been a routine training mission, Veronica looked even more fragile than she had before when the squad went out on an op. She’d never found it easy to deal with the fact that her husband regularly left—sometimes without any warning—on

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