The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

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      Jillian had heard MacGregor’s keys jangling in his jacket pocket. All she had to do was fish them out when he was sleeping, right? But she kept her thoughts to herself and asked instead, “Do you live here year-round?”

      “Sometimes.”

      “Doing what?”

      He hesitated just a second and looked over her shoulder. “Fishing, hunting, white-water guide in the summer.”

      “And in the winter?”

      “Mostly get ready for the summer. Sometimes someone wants to go snowshoeing or cross-country skiing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not recently, though. Not with the storms.”

      Her eyes narrowed. It sounded like BS to her. And this good-ole-country-boy act didn’t wash either. “All winter long, you stay inside here, by yourself.”

      “I’ve got Harley.”

      At the mention of his name, the dog, with eyes still closed, thumped his tail against the rug.

      “What about family? Wife? Kids?”

      There was just a second’s hesitation, a slight tightening of his lips, before he shook his head. “Just Harley. Short for Harlequin.” He bent down and scratched the dog behind his ears. “And no, I didn’t name him. Someone else did the honors.”

      “Who?”

      “Harley came with the place. I bought it from a guy a couple of years ago. His bitch had a litter of pups. One died, he gave the other four away and this one stayed on with me.” He winked at the dog, who stretched and let out a contented sigh. “So far, it’s worked out.”

      “You never get lonely?”

      One side of his mouth lifted. “Not enough to make me change my ways.”

      “You got family?”

      “Not much.”

      “How much?” she asked, wondering about him.

      “Two half-sisters. Younger.”

      “Your folks are dead?”

      Again the slight hesitation, as if he were checking his lies, making sure he didn’t slip up. “I haven’t seen my mother in three years. Far as I know, she and husband number five…or is it six…I can’t remember, don’t care to, but the last I heard she was living outside of Phoenix somewhere.”

      “You don’t see her.”

      “Nope. And it suits us both fine. My old man took off before I was born. Never married my mother. I figure that’s why she kept trying.”

      “Did you ever meet him?”

      “What is this? Twenty questions?”

      “At least,” she said, and he finally leaned back in his chair, eyeing her over the rim of a cup that had to be holding cold coffee.

      “Okay, I met him once. When I was about eighteen. It didn’t go well.”

      She shifted in the chair and pain ricocheted up her leg, causing her to suck in her breath.

      “I told you to lie down,” he said, placing his cup on the hearth and climbing to his feet. “If you don’t want to go back into the bedroom, you can lie here on the couch, or on the recliner, where you can elevate your feet.”

      “Oh. Well.”

      He walked over to her chair, picked the knife off the small table and carried it to a small bureau positioned near the tattered old La-Z-Boy. “You wouldn’t want to forget this,” he said. He set the boning knife in reach of the chair.

      “I don’t need it.”

      “Of course you do. You don’t know me. You don’t trust me and you’re stuck here. Now, come on.” He crossed the room again and offered her the crutch. “You rest and I’ll make us dinner.”

      “Dinner?”

      “Stew and chili out of cans.” His lips twisted upward. “Gourmet chili,” he clarified, then helped her to her feet and walked her to the recliner. “Trust me. You’ll love it.”

      That was the trouble. She couldn’t let herself trust him. Not for a minute.

      Chapter Twelve

      Through the icy window, Regan saw Lucky’s pickup roll up the lane to idle near the front walk.

      And, of course, he wasn’t alone in the black Dodge that was jacked up higher than normal.

      In the passenger seat, appearing very cool and lofty in what looked to be designer sunglasses, sat his new wife, the oft-quoted Michelle.

      Pescoli’s guts tightened just a fraction. Though she told herself and the outside world that she was “way over” her ex, she still felt a pinch of tension every time she had to deal with him. And wifey.

      Regan made a face. She and Michelle were worlds apart. For the most part, Michelle was pleasant enough, just not the sharpest tool in the shed, the kind of woman who expected a man to do everything for her, the type Regan didn’t like and really didn’t trust.

      But there it was. Like it or not, Michelle, via Lucky and their children, was a part of her life.

      Which was a real pisser.

      She set her soft drink down, crossed the small living room to the front door and opened it just as Lucky began stomping snow off his boots on the minuscule area some builder had decided was an adequate front porch.

      “Everybody ready?” Lucky asked, looking at her through the glass panels of the storm door with his Pescoli eyes. Deep set and hazel, almost blue, they were sexy as hell. As was Lucky. Tall and trim, with thick nearly blond hair and a bad-boy attitude that drove women wild, Luke Pescoli was one good-looking man. And a pain in the backside.

      “Jeremy’s not here. I don’t know what his deal is.”

      “I told you,” Bianca said, her softer side disappearing СКАЧАТЬ