Moonlight and Mistletoe

act, at that point still unsure if she’d been a party to Patty’s threats. Those past suspicions sent a wave of greasy self-disgust through his gut. He knew now that Shayna Miller was the antithesis of her scheming mother.

A third photo showed Shayna and a handful of others-among them the mayor and Lindy and Travis Monroe- standing in front of a shiny white ten-passenger van with James Miller Youth Center stenciled across the side. His sixth sense tingled as he read the article. By the time he got to the third paragraph, the veins in his neck were throbbing.

‘Reliable transportation is key to several outreach programs we hope to begin instituting immediately,’ reported recently appointed Center Director Shayna Miller, who donated the ten-passenger van in her father’s name.

The rest of the article disappeared in a blur of disbelief. Holy hell! Did that woman have any money sense at all?

As part of his background work on this case, he’d investigated Shayna’s financial situation. It was bleak. She had no retirement plan, only three thousand dollars in her savings account and her monthly income was barely more than his rent. So what the hell was she doing donating a fifty-thousand dollar van to the youth center while her own car looked like it should be pushed off the mountain and put out of its misery?

Coffee and food forgotten, he folded the paper and stood. He tossed a twenty on the table and stalked out of the noisy diner.

Damned woman was living mere inches from the poverty line. How could she possibly justify spending money she didn’t have on a van she didn’t even intend to keep for herself?

She was threatening all he’d worked for on sheer stubbornness. He hated the idea of her doing without when a viable solution was well within her grasp.

Walker’s money was her birthright. She deserved it. She needed it. And she was damned well going to swallow her pride and accept it.

The quiet of the empty Knights of Columbus Hall helped soothe Shayna’s anger at herself, but her frustration still raged. Her lawyer, Chester Warfield, had headed out to the deer camp with his son and two grandsons this morning at first light. His secretary had regretfully informed her he wouldn’t be back in town until late Thursday and was scheduled to be in court Friday morning. Shayna begged for, and got, an appointment Friday afternoon.

If she’d called last night like she’d intended, she wouldn’t be in such a pickle.

Instead, she’d driven home, navigating more by habit than attention, and spent the night recalling Kyle’s beyond-fantastic kisses, lecturing herself about all the sound, logical reasons to be glad he hadn’t pressed for an invitation to her bed.

Then of course, all the sensational, emotional reasons why having him in her bed was a terrific idea had surfaced. That line of thinking conjured up all manner of lusty thoughts, which had fueled some impressively erotic dreams.

Not surprisingly, this morning she was a confused ball of hot hormones and mixed emotions. Figuring it best to steer clear of him until she’d made a decision about Walker’s agreement, she was holed up, inventorying the donated toys so she could decide how best to spend the cash contributions. Three-thousand four hundred sixty-two dollars and seventeen cents-a new record, helped considerably by the five crisp one-hundred dollar bills found at the bottom of the bucket. Put there by a certain Hollywood lawyer.

Knowing that Kyle was the surprise benefactor only upped his yumminess. If she didn’t uncover a few negatives soon, she’d be a goner for sure.

Last night, when she and Kyle had unloaded the truck, she’d been too frazzled by his kisses to worry much about organizing the toys, so the first order of business was to divide the goodies by gender and age. By the time she had everything separated, she’d worked up a light sweat, so she peeled off her jogging suit’s zippered jacket. More comfortable in the cooler tank top she wore underneath, she plopped onto the floor, notebook in hand, and began her shopping list.

She’d become so attuned to the building’s silence that the unexpected pounding on the rear service door startled her so badly she broke her pencil in half. Alarmed, she raced to the back door. Several strands of hair escaped her clip as she ran.

Heart beating furiously, she turned the lock and wrenched the door open, finding a thunderously mad Kyle Anderson vibrating on the other side. Dressed in a new suit, he looked every inch the spit-and-polished, no-holds- barred lawyer she remembered from the ground breaking ceremony. Had the jeans and flannel guy who’d kissed her last night been a figment?

“Hey! How’d you know I was here?”

“That old heap of yours is pretty hard to miss.” He stormed past her.

Wondering what in the world he had caught in his craw, and knowing he’d tell her soon enough, she shut and relocked the door. “No sense replacing a perfectly good car just because it’s seen a few hard years.”

“And I’d imagine a new vehicle would set you back a pretty penny. Probably take a single woman without a full-time job quite a while to save that kind of money.”

Troubled by his forcefully bland tone, she wrapped her arms across her chest. She’d taken him at his word when he’d promised to back off and give her time to consider her options, but this return to bullying lawyer mode unnerved her. Was he reneging on his promise? Or was something else driving this inquisition?

“Four-wheel drive certainly doesn’t come cheap,” she answered noncommittally, heading back to the gym, Kyle close on her heels. “But my old wagon’s got plenty of good years left in her yet, so I’m not worried.”

“With any luck, if it breaks down, the youth center will let you borrow their expensive new van, since you won’t be able to afford another new vehicle for at least a decade on your income.”

She spun around so quickly that her hair clip dislodged and fell to the ground. Ignoring the wave of hair settling around her shoulders, she propped her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “What do you know about my income?”

“I ran a thorough background check on you, Shayna. I know exactly how dismal your finances are. Damn it, why continue to struggle when you could be living the good life?”

“Who says I’m not living the good life? I have friends who love me, a career I care about, a community that supports me, a beautiful home that’s paid for and a dog who thinks I hung the moon. For me, that is the good life.”

“But you could afford so much more if you took Walker’s deal. You’d never have to worry about money ever again.”

Again with the money. He was beginning to sound like a broken record.

“I don’t worry about money now.”

“That’s obvious.” He raked his fingers through his hair, knocking the edge off his frighteningly polished look. “If you did, you’d have signed that agreement and snatched up the cash.”

“I’ve already told you that I can’t be bought. Walker can keep his guilt money.”

“Quit thinking of it as a payoff. It’s his responsibility to support and care for any children he brings into his world, and for twenty-five years, Walker has shirked that responsibility. You can’t allow him to get away with it any longer.”

With sudden crystal clarity, Shayna understood the root of his stubborn insistence. Her irritation gave way to empathy. Kyle Anderson, with all his dazzling charm and brusque confidence, wasn’t interested in making her father pay for his mistake. Deep down, he was striking out at his father.

Instinctually, she yearned to wrap him in her arms and gently share her insight, but that wouldn’t work. If she wanted this man to see reason, she’d have to knock it into him.

“What a load of hooey.”

As she’d hoped, her childish word choice took some of the steam out of his anger. “Did you just say ‘hooey’?”

“Yeah. This doesn’t have anything to do with my finances, or the center’s new van, or even Walker’s ridiculous payoff. You can’t punish your father so you want me to punish mine.”

Instantly, Kyle stiffened. His brilliant, sparkling blue eyes went dark, obscuring all his inner goodness. “You don’t know a damned thing about my father.”

“Nothing specific, that’s true, but I know enough deadbeats that I could paint an accurate picture. Ruthless, abusive, degrading, cruel. Part-time criminal, full-time jackass.”