Lady Killer

and looked Hispanic. Being the son of a cowboy, and with some considerable experience with horses himself, Tony paused to watch the man in action. He was admiring the trainer’s skill and patience when the fellow looked up and noticed he had an audience. Tony nodded and waved. The horse trainer quickly ducked his head to hide his face and turned away. Coiling his rope to make a short lead, he led the mare at a brisk trot back toward the barn and corrals, which were just visible on the other side of a stand of live oaks.

Huh, Tony thought as he turned into Brooke’s lane. Friendly fellow.

Brooke came out to meet him when he parked in what had become his usual spot, beside her pickup truck. She looked flushed and eager, as if she’d been waiting for him. Watching for him.

Inside his chest he felt a little tremor of gladness at the thought. Gladness…and some unease.

“Everything okay?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Daniel…?”

“Made it to school just fine.”

Then, for a moment, there was silence while they looked at each other, and there was a new awkwardness, which hadn’t been there the other times he’d come, loaded down with his cameras, to spend the day taking pictures of the cougar. This was no longer about the cougar, and they both knew it. Somewhere, somehow, when he wasn’t paying attention, a line had been crossed. Just what kind of line and what it meant, he didn’t know.

“Uh, hey,” he said, clutching at something to fill the awkward moment, “I was just watching your neighbor over there across the road. Has some nice horses.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s Rocky.” She poked the tips of her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans and hitched one shoulder. “The Mirandas-they’re great. They help me out sometimes-a lot, actually.”

“Huh,” said Tony. “Must be me, then. He practically ran off when I waved.”

She smiled and made a little gesture as if to hide it-a kind of shyness he’d glimpsed in her a time or two before. “Oh, that was probably one of their, um, cousins.”

“Cousins?”

“Yeah. Rocky and Isabel have a lot of, uh, cousins. They come and work for them sometimes…you know?” He stared at her blankly, and she gave him a sideways look of exasperation. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Illegals, Tony. He probably thought you were INS, or ICE-whatever they call themselves now. Poor guy-he’s probably packing to leave as we speak. Well, I’ll call Isabel…tell her you’re harmless.”

Are you harmless, Tony? Why is it I doubt you when you’re out of my sight, and the minute I see you, I’m right back there, trusting you again?

Now, when I’ve got no business trusting anyone, much less a man who looks like a gang enforcer.

Feeling awkward suddenly, needing something to do with her hands, she opened the backseat passenger-side door and peered in. On the other side of the car, Tony was gathering up various camera and equipment bags, leaving a small duffel bag on the seat. “Do you want this, too?” she asked, picking it up.

“Yeah-here. Give me that.” He took the duffel bag from her, then held it, hefted it and looked at her in a way that made her wonder suddenly if he felt as awkward about this as she did. The idea made her want to smile, with a strange shivery excitement that made her think of her twelve-year-old self passing notes to Tommy Hanson in English class.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I thought it would be best if I stayed…you know, for a while. If you don’t have a spare room, I can sleep on the couch.”

“Oh. Well, are you sure? That’s…Thank you.” The shivery feeling expanded inside her, and her heart began to beat faster. She folded her arms across her chest and laughed a little as she turned to walk beside him. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, though. I’ve got a spare room, if you don’t mind the mess.” Glancing down at the duffel bag, she said, “Is that all you’ve got? No suitcase?”

He gave a wry puff of laughter. “Nope-that’s it. I came kind of on the spur of the moment.”

“Well then…” She paused to look over at him. “You must be about out of clean clothes. If you have any laundry, I’d be glad to-”

Having preceded her up the back porch steps, he opened the door for her, even though he was the one loaded down with bags. And smiled down at her as she came up the steps after him. “Okay, I wouldn’t mind the use of your washing machine, but I’m capable of doing my own laundry.”

“But I don’t mind, really-” She was facing him on the top step, crowded close to him while he held the door for her to slip through. She should have felt claustrophobic, being so close to such a big man, one she barely knew. But his eyes had that mellow honey glow, and the distance between them seemed…not too narrow, but too wide.

“Brooke,” he said softly, in a voice that reminded her of the mountain lion’s purr, and her vision grew shimmery around the edges. “We’re letting the flies in.”

“Oh.” Unnerved, she moved past him, onto the screened porch. He followed her, letting the door slam shut, and she watched the way the muscles bunched in his arms and back as he lifted the duffel bag onto the washing machine. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her schoolgirlish lapse, prayed that that revealing moment at the top of the steps had somehow slipped past him.

He turned back to her, shifting the bags hanging by their straps from various parts of his body. “I do not expect you to wash my clothes.” And he was smiling that incongruously sweet, heart-melting smile. “See, I was raised by a mom, along with seven sisters, not one of whom believed they were put on this earth to wait on a man.”

She let go a laugh, which emerged sounding light and casual; only she would know it was rooted in desperation. “Wow, tell me again why it is you aren’t married?”

“Funny,” he said as his smile slipped awry. “My sisters keep asking me the same thing.”

What is it with everybody lately? Tony thought as he followed Brooke down the hallway to what really was more of a “spare” than a “guest” room, being cluttered with all the usual things there was simply no other place for-sewing machine and ironing board and books and a boy’s outgrown toys. Suddenly everyone he knew seemed to be interested in his marital status. And, frankly, it was beginning to irritate him. Holt calling him a commitment-phobe…his sisters pointing out to him the fact that he was the last unmarried holdout in the family…What should it matter to them, anyhow? It wasn’t as if his mom was desperate for grandkids-she had so many now, he didn’t know how she kept track of them all. A couple of his oldest brothers and sisters even had grandkids, for God’s sake!

He’d chosen a career that wasn’t conducive to hearth, home and rug rats, that was all. What was he supposed to do? Give up his livelihood? Find a new one? The hell with that!

He dumped his cameras on the double bed that occupied a good bit of the available space in the small room and stood for a moment, frowning at nothing as a memory came crowding into his mind. A memory from a few years back, a time when he’d come close to losing everything-including his best friends and his own life.

Cory…and he’s had more beer than he usually drinks, and he’s leaning in toward me, across the table in a restaurant in the Philippines, and I can hear him saying, “…I’m thinking maybe it’s time to be settling down, cut down on the travel, have some kids before I’m too old to enjoy ’em.”

And me, nodding my head like I know all the answers and saying, “You’ve got the old nesting urge. Happens. Hasn’t happened to me yet, but I’ve heard about it.”

And he thought about Sam, and how she had thought she couldn’t have her career and Cory both, and had almost lost everything by waiting too long. And now look at the two of them-happily married and both still off to the far corners, doing their thing…

No kids yet, though. Kids make all the difference. Kids need their parents around while they’re growing up. Both of ’em, preferably.

He still had a few things to bring in from the car-his computer, mainly. He went down the hall and through the kitchen, and was struck by how quiet it seemed-and how empty-without Brooke. It had been all of five minutes since she’d left him in the spare room and had gone out to take care of some chore or other. And already he missed her.

And what the hell was that?

He went outside, telling himself he was just going to get his laptop, that he wasn’t going to go looking for Brooke, who had her own business to attend to, after all, and didn’t need him tagging along, getting in her way. He’d gotten as far as unlocking the trunk when he looked up and saw three people walking up the lane. One of them