Read an Excerpt

She should be in Paris.

Sighing, Kiera glanced at the yellow-lit dial on her rental car dashboard. Nine thirty-two, Texas time. If she had got on her plane this morning, she would have landed at the Charles de Gaulle Airport two hours ago. At this very moment, she would be checking into her room at the hotel Château Frontenac. Ordering room service. Sipping espresso while she nibbled on a navettes. Sinking her exhausted body into a Louis XVI four-poster bed.

Instead, she sat in the cracked asphalt parking lot of Sadie's Shangri-La Motel and Motor Lodge.

Welcome. Park Your Cars Out Front, Your Horses Out Back, flashed the pink neon vacancy sign.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she dropped her head into her hands and did both. "Damn you, Trey," she said through clenched teeth.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you."

She let herself rant for a full ten seconds, then wiped her tears and flipped the visor down to study her face in the lit mirror. Scary, was her first thought—deal with it, her second. Mumbling curses again, she dug through her purse and pulled out a compact of cover-up, then carefully blotted the fading bruise beside her left eye. Not perfect, but the best she could do unless she put on her sunglasses, which, considering the fact that it was pitch black outside, just might draw attention to herself.

And that she certainly didn't want to do.

Adjusting her bangs and the sides of her hair to hide the fading bruise, she stepped out of the car and stretched her stiff muscles. She was too tired to care that her skirt, a pristine white ten hours ago, now looked like tissue paper pulled out of a gift bag. Nor did she care that her sleeveless blouse, a clean, crisp green when she'd left the ranch this morning, currently had the appearance of wilted lettuce.

It is what it is.

A double-trailer big rig rumbled past the motel, jarring her out of her thoughts. She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, sucked in a breath, then made her way to the motel's front office. Heat from the sweltering day lingered, and the humidity clung to her like wet plastic wrap. Shower, she thought, drawing the heavy, damp air into her lungs. She needed one desperately. A long one to wash off the grime and sweat of the day's travel.

When she opened the glass door, a buzzer sounded overhead and the scent of coffee hung heavy in the air. The desk clerk, a well-endowed petite blonde with Texas-size hair, stood behind the counter, hands on her voluptuous hips and her gaze locked on the screen of a small corner television.

"Be right with y'all," the woman said without even glancing up.

Kiera held back the threatening whimper. Born and raised Texan, she knew what "be right with y'all," really meant: sometime between the near future and next Christmas.

Living in New York the past three years had made her impatient, she realized. She'd become accustomed to the frantic rush of people, the swell of city traffic, skyscrapers and closed-in spaces. A delicatessen on every corner.

The thought of food reminded her she hadn't eaten today. She'd kill for one of those deli sandwiches right now. A ten-pound ham and cheese, with lettuce and tomatoes and—

"No!"

The shout made Kiera jump back and clutch her purse. The desk clerk threw up her hands in disgust, which set the strands of silver circles on her earlobes swirling.

"I knew I couldn't trust those two," she exclaimed, gesturing angrily at the TV. "For eight weeks she carries Brett and Randy's scrawny, lazy asses and what did it get the poor girl? What?"

Kiera wasn't certain if the woman—Mattie, according to the plastic badge on her white polo shirt—really wanted an answer, but she doubted it. "A boot in her butt, that's what. Lower than manure, that's what those two jerks are." Shaking her head, Mattie grabbed the remote and lowered the volume, then turned and stretched her bright red lips into a smile.

"You checking in, honey?"

Kiera hesitated, briefly considered taking her chances that she might find a room at a hotel in town. Someplace not quite so far off the beaten path. Some-place...safer. Then she remembered how much cash she had and shook off her apprehension. "The sign said you had a vacancy."

"Sure do." Mattie moved to a computer monitor behind the counter. "Single or double?"

"Single."

Mattie's long, glossy red nails clicked over the keys.

"Kitchenette?"

Kiera didn't really plan on cooking, but, then, she hadn't planned on being here, either. "Sure."

"How long y'all staying?" Mattie asked.

"I—I'm not sure." God, this was a bad idea, she thought. A really bad idea. "Maybe a week or so."

"Name?"

Kiera shifted uneasily. She didn't dare use her real name. At least, not her last name. "Kiera Daniels."

The desk clerk entered the name into her computer, then printed out a form and slid it across the counter. "Credit card?"

She thought about the name on her credit card, the fact that she could easily be traced back here if she used it, not to mention the fact that the name might raise questions. "I'd, ah, like to pay cash."

Lifting one penciled brow, Mattie glanced up. "I'll need two night's deposit."

"All right." She pulled out her wallet and opened it, felt her heart sink as she remembered most of her money was in francs, which obviously wasn't going to help her now. She counted what usable money she had, then tentatively laid out the amount that the desk clerk had entered on the printed card. If she was very, very careful, she might last two or three days before she ran out of cash.

Mattie stared at the bills Kiera had so carefully and reluctantly counted out, then looked up again. Kiera shifted uncomfortably when the other woman studied her face.

"Husband or boyfriend?"

"Excuse me?"

"Honey, I know it ain't none of my beeswax," Mattie stated flatly. "But it's hard not to notice that shiner you got there."

Instinctively, Kiera reached up and pulled her hair forward. So much for makeup. "No—I— It's not like that. I fell off a horse."

Sympathy softened the harsh edges of Mattie's eyes. "Like I said, it's none of my beeswax. But a woman comes into my motel late at night, alone, looking like she's been chewed up and spit out, and I can't help it, it's my Christian duty to ask."

Do I really look that bad? Kiera thought, biting her lip. She glanced down at her rumpled clothes, knew her eyes were probably still red from crying, and she realized that she did look that bad.

"If you need an ear or a shoulder..." Mattie went on

"...I know a few things about men. I hear there's a few good ones around, but, honey, my experience is most of them are asses."

At the moment, Kiera might tend to agree with that assessment but decided against encouraging the topic. "If I could just get my key."

"Sure." Mattie shrugged a shoulder, dropped the money into a drawer, then held out a key. "Room 107."

"Thanks."

"You know," the desk clerk said when Kiera turned.

"If you decide to stick around for a while and need a job, they're hiring at the hotel in town."

"Thank you, but—"

"I could put a good word in for you," Mattie offered.

"My sister, Janet, is head of human resources. I'm sure she could find a spot for you."

"I'm really not—"

"You don't even have to have any experience," Mattie continued. "They got all kinds of jobs open since they expanded. Between conventions and conferences and the new wedding chapel, the place is packed most of the time. I hear the new owner, Clair Black-hawk is great to work for."

Blackhawk?

The name sucked the breath out of Kiera's lungs. She stared at the desk clerk, had to swallow before she managed a weak reply. "Blackhawk?"

"Well, that was her name, but she got married a few weeks ago, so I'm not sure what her last name is now. Oh, wait—" Mattie snapped her fingers "—it's Carver. Clair Carver."

With her heart clamoring so loudly, it was hard for Kiera to concentrate. The name Carver meant nothing to her. But Blackhawk... God, was it possible? It was all she could do not to grab the desk clerk's arm, ask her point-blank if—"

"You okay, honey?"

Kiera blinked, watched Mattie's face come back into focus. "What?"

"You look a little pale. You feelin' okay?"

"It's just been a long day." The longest of my life, she thought, and forced a smile. "I appreciate your concern, but, really, I'll be fine."

Mattie nodded. "You're the last room on the left, just past the ice and vending machines. You need anything, just give me a call."

"Thanks."

Knees shaking, Kiera turned and walked back to her car. She wasn't certain how long she sat there, dazed, staring blankly into the deep shadows of the poplars edging the motel. As a child, she'd always been afraid of the dark, knew that ferocious monsters lived there, waiting to swallow children whole.

At twenty-five, maybe she was still a little afraid of the dark, she realized.

When she walked back into the motel office, Mattie glanced up from the TV.

Kiera closed the door behind her. "About that job..."

When Sam Prescott made his morning rounds through the lobby of the Four Winds Hotel, bellmen straightened their shoulders, desk clerks smiled brighter, valets hustled. The entire staff of Wolf River County's largest and most luxurious hotel knew that nothing slipped past the general manager's penetrating gaze. The white marble floors and vast expanse of glass windows had better sparkle, the chic black uniforms be crisp, the massive floral arrangements fresh.

The sharp, sculpted planes of Sam's face and the hard angle of his jaw played well with his thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. It was a combination that made grown women sigh and young girls giggle. Even with his football player's chest and lean waist, Sam's six-foot-four inch frame wore Armani well.

A few lucky women knew he wore nothing at all even better.

Joseph McFearson, the Four Winds doorman, tipped his hat when Sam approached. "Mornin', Mr. Prescott."

"Mornin', Joseph." Joseph was one of the few employees whose height—and eyes—directly met Sam's.

"How's Isabel?"

"On a rampage our boys don't call more often," Joseph groused. "Says they got their father's cold heart."

Sam grinned. Everyone knew Joseph had a heart of gold, just as everyone knew that his wife adored him. "Give her my best."

"Will do." Joseph nodded, then added when Sam walked by, "Call your mother."

I probably should, Sam thought, realizing he hadn't talked to her for a while. Maybe he'd just send flowers. Last time he'd called her, all he'd heard was, "Samuel, you're thirty-two years old, when are you going to stop living in hotels and give me more grandchildren?"

"Soon as I meet a girl like you," he'd say to placate her. He had no intention of changing his bachelor status any time soon, but he knew his mother needed hope, so he gave her that much.

His rounds complete, Sam stepped into a mirrored elevator, noted the quiet, instrumental version of McCartney's "Band On the Run" playing overhead. He had a ten o'clock briefing with Clair, an eleven-thirty lunch meeting with the publicist for the Central Texas Cattle-men'sAssociation, then a two o'clock appointment with the city council and the Department of Building and Safety. The Four Winds had already outgrown its original tower, and the proposal for a second, taller tower and conference center had been submitted two weeks ago.

The elevator doors had nearly closed when a hand slipped in to stop them. Long, slim fingers, no rings, short but neat unpolished nails. Automatically, he pushed the open door button.

"Sorry," the woman muttered a bit breathlessly and stepped inside, her head down while she rummaged through a white purse.