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  She laughed, charmed by the twinkle in his eye as much as the outrageous compliment. "I'll try not to tempt you too much."

  They sat at the broad pine table in the kitchen, and talked for more than an hour while they waited for Lance to return. Louise learned that Alonzo had come to the United States on a whim, hearing that there was work for adobe makers, and had gradually drifted farther and farther north.

  "You have no family?" she asked.

  "Three children, but they are all married now. My wife, she died of the—" he tapped his chest "—I don't know the English. She could not breathe."

  "Emphysema?"

  "Yeah." He tsked. "She worked in a factory. It made her sick."

  "I'm sorry."

  He inclined his head. "I missed her very much for a long time, but it has been five years. It is not so sad anymore. My children are happy. That's good."

  In the long driveway, Louise finally heard Lance's car. He came in a moment later, wearing an expression she had not seen since his youth. It was sheepish, a sheepishness he tried to hide with a grin. With her alert mother's eyes, she took in the dishevelment of his hair and frowned.

  But when Tamara came in, unable to hide her blush, Louise saw Lance take her arm protectively.

  Louise smiled. "Did y'all have a good time?"

  Lance's hand slid down Tamara's arm and closed around her hand, as if to give the woman strength. "We sure did. Rode the Ferris wheel and got stuck."

  "Oh, no. Not at the top!"

  Tamara widened her eyes. "Too close for me." Her smile, shy and beautiful, flashed.

  "I'm afraid of heights."

  Lance chuckled. "So is Tamara." He nudged her. "Or at least she pretended to be."

  "He's so irresistible," Tamara replied dryly.

  Louise gave her a wink. "He's always thought so."

  "Hey, no fair ganging up on me." He looked at Alonzo. "Jump in anytime."

  Alonzo nodded sagely. "I will."

  "How is Cody?" Tamara asked.

  "Sound asleep. I gave them a snack and a quick bath and they went out like a couple of puppies. I promised I'd make French toast and strawberries for breakfast."

  Tamara looked abashed. "He's never had a grandmother. It's something I always wished for him."

  "Well, since none of my sons show any signs of giving me any more, it's a pleasure for me and Curtis, too. The only reason we have children is to have grandchildren, you know."

  "So I've heard."

  Louise wanted to ask questions, wanted to probe a little, to see if there had been some past connection between Lance and Tamara. Heaven knew, he sure seemed to like her.

  But Louise thought she'd know if Lance was hiding something. He was a terrible liar. If Cody was his son, he didn't know it, and that might doom the budding romance between Lance and Tamara. Whatever you said about her devil-may-care middle child, he'd always had a strong sense of fair play.

  Tomorrow, she'd see if she couldn't get a little more information. For tonight—

  Then she remembered. "Lance, you need to run down to the guest house and show Mr. Chacon how to light that old furnace before you run Tamara home."

  "Sure. If it's okay with you?" he looked at Tamara. Tamara went a shade or two paler as she cut an apprehensive look toward Louise. "I'll just go peek in on Cody."

  She was hiding something. Louise would stake her life on it. She stood. "I'll show you where he is."

  * * *

  Tamara walked alongside Louise, down a luxurious hallway, thickly carpeted and hung with family photos. Everything was neat and prim, and Tamara thought with despair of her own haphazard housekeeping. She was too busy to keep things this neat.

  "You have a beautiful home," she said politely.

  "Thank you. I wouldn't have picked it for myself, but I have an army of help, so it's not too bad. One thing my husband was good at was making money, I'll give him that."

  A lamp shaped like a bear glowed dimly in the bedroom, illuminating the two sleeping boys, side by side on a double bed. In sleep, the resemblance between them was not so marked, and Tamara realized once again that it was as much a matter of expression and carriage as physical similarities.

  "I just want to give him a kiss good-night," she whispered.

  Louise nodded. Tamara moved quietly over the floor, sidestepping stuffed animals and balls and a plethora of toy cars. Bending over, she pressed a light kiss to Cody's head.

  He stirred awake instantly. "I don't want to go home!" he protested. "We're having strawberries for breakfast."

  "Shh, you'll wake Curtis." She stroked his hair. "You don't have to go home. I just came to give you a kiss good-night."

  "Okay. Grandma heard my prayers."

  "Good." She gave him another soft kiss. "See you in the morning, slugger.

  "Night." He was already back to sleep before she left the room.

  "He's the sweetest child," Louise said. "We had a great time."

  "Thank you." She felt better about leaving him now that she'd seen how happy he was. She knew Louise Forrest's generous, loving reputation, and she'd known Tyler for a long time, but it was still strange to let her boy out of her sight—even if it was into the hands of his own blood grandmother. "I'm glad it worked out."

  "You know he's starting to read, don't you?"

  Tamara smiled proudly. "Yes. He's very bright."

  "My Lance read early like that. It was one of the reasons he got in trouble so much when he was in school. They couldn't keep the child busy enough."

  A fist struck Tamara's stomach. Louise was fishing. If she hadn't figured it all out, she wasn't far from the truth. As calmly as possible, she replied, "I'll have to remember that."

  "Where's his daddy? You divorced?"

  Tamara chose her words very carefully. She did not want to lie to this woman. "He hasn't been around for a long time."

  "I see. That can't be easy. Cody told us you go to school and I know you work at the Wild Moose."

  "Yes. But I don't mind, really."

  "We don't, do we, not for the children." Louise paused to look at Tamara. "I dropped out of college when Jake came along. I can't say I never regretted it, but I did finally get my degree, just four years ago."

  "That's wonderful!"

  Louise shrugged. "It was for me. It was the end of my marriage, but I think I made the right choice." She frowned, pursing her lips. "Seems to me I remember you—Flynn. Was it your mother who ran the cleaning service?"

  "Yes." Tamara let out a breath at the abrupt change of subject.

  "Well, of course. She did my house for quite some time. Used to brag about you all the time. You got scholarships left and right—weren't you studying at CU?"

  Tamara looked down. "I didn't finish."

  Louise said nothing. Her blue eyes, so much like her son's, seemed to penetrate deeply into Tamara's heart, to see the truth behind the simple words. Tamara felt ashamed for the resentment she still sometimes nursed over the loss of that dream, and felt it was written all over her face. She never, ever regretted Cody, but it was hard not to mind having to pay with her own life for someone else's mistakes.

  And yet, now, she would fight to the death to keep her son. She would wait tables the rest of her life to see him grow up strong and happy.

  "Things have a way of working out for the best if you don't give up," Louise said at last.

  Life had taught Tamara that was not true in the slightest sense, but she wanted to believe it was true for Cody, that finally the cycle of poverty and single-parent families would be broken. "I hope so," she said fervently. "I want a better life for him."

  "Don't forget about yourself in the bargain," Louise said, and led the way back to the kitchen.

  Suddenly, Louise paused and turned suddenly. "I know what I was trying to remember," she said.

  Tamara waited, a fist of apprehension in her stomach as she noticed the tightness of Louise's mouth.

  "Valerie was kin to you, wasn't she?"

 
"Yes. She was my cousin."

  Louise nodded thoughtfully. "It was sad, what happened to her."

  "It was." Tamara hoped Louise couldn't hear her heart. It sounded like rifleshot to her, or drums. Loud, anyway. If Louise put that much together, how much longer until she remembered Valerie had had a baby just before she died?

  And how long before she put Lance home that Christmas?

  "Poor girl," Louise said, pushing open the door. "I always felt sorry for her. She was crazy about Lance, that's for sure. I was glad to see in the papers when she got married. It must have broken her husband's heart when she died."

  Tamara let go of a breath and made a vague sound of agreement. She sometimes forgot that Valerie had been married just before that wild affair with Lance. Everyone assumed the baby she carried belonged to her husband—and he'd left town, so he wasn't there to defend himself.

  To Tamara's relief, Lance was waiting in the kitchen.

  "You ready?" he said, standing up with keys dangling in his hand.

  Was she ever!

  * * *

  He dropped her off at her house. They had been quiet on the way down the hill. Lance walked her to the door, and Tamara knew she wasn't ready for him to come in. Not with so many disturbing things to think about.

  He seemed to sense that. "I had a nice time with you tonight, Tamara," he said, smoothing her hair over her shoulders. "I'd like to take you dinner or something, if you'll let me."

  God help her, but she couldn't say no. Not with him looking like Thor in the moonlight, not with that promise of heady pleasure in his eyes. "Okay," she said.

  "I've got to go to Denver this week, but I'll call you next Sunday evening, and we can work something out."

  That slow, deep quiver stirred to life in her body as he bent down to kiss her. She'd never kissed anyone whose mouth seemed to fit hers so perfectly. Or been kissed with such a heady combination of slow passion and heartbreaking tenderness. He lifted his head, his hand on her face, and for a moment longer, he looked at her. "Good night, Tamara."

  "Good night."

  She tried to go straight to bed. It was late, and had been a very full evening, after all. After a half hour of fitful tossing, she gave up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Carrying it into the living room, she put Bach on the CD player, and curled up in her chair.

  To think.

  Valerie haunted her. Every variation of every emotion she'd ever had about her cousin rushed to the surface tonight, muddy and indistinct. Love, sorrow, regret, resentment—all were there, all in a tangle of hues.

  But foremost among them was guilt. And shame. Oh, yes, there was shame, a heaping scoop of it.

  Tonight, when Louise had spoken of Valerie, Tamara had remembered why she had wanted Lance Forrest to come home all these years—for revenge. She had remembered how Valerie suffered in her unrequited love, and how bitter she'd become at the end.

  How despairing Valerie had been at the last! Night after night, Tamara had tried to comfort her, tried to make her see reason. But Valerie wouldn't—or couldn't. She railed at the unfairness of a man running off and leaving a woman alone to raise their baby—even though she'd never tried to let Lance know she was having his child.

  She had complained bitterly of the fate of beautiful women who were used and cast aside. Tamara had had a little trouble with that one—Valerie's vanity had been a source of friction between them for a long time, and it never let up. Valerie had always thought she was the most beautiful, the most desirable, the most passionate woman on the planet.

  With a start, Tamara sat up straight, her tea sloshing over her hand. In the background, a minuet danced, making a mockery of her dark thoughts.

  Was it possible Tamara found Lance so compelling precisely because he'd once been Valerie's boyfriend? That somehow, after all these years, Tamara was taking a revenge of her own on the cousin who'd caused her so many problems?

  Maybe she hadn't wanted to get vengeance for Valerie at all, but upon Valerie.

  A cold sweat broke on her skin at the thought. Surely she couldn't be that shallow?

  She rubbed her chest, feeling there the knot of thick guilt pressing into her lungs, taking away her breath, stealing all her joy.

  Valerie had been selfish and vain and a gold digger. Tamara was old enough and wise enough that she couldn't deny any of that. But she had also loved Lance Forrest with something akin to obsession.

  Tonight, Tamara had held in her arms the man Valerie had adored. She had kissed him and touched him and let him cast his spell over her senses with a kind of hedonistic hunger she had never known.

  It had been sheer heaven.

  It had also been wrong.

  The truth was, Tamara had not given a single moment of thought to Valerie when Lance had so deliciously ravaged her senses. She had thought only of him, of Lance himself, with his jeweled eyes and gorgeous mouth and buoyant attitude. She had been thinking of herself, and the pleasure he gave so willingly.

  She closed her eyes. The whole mess was entirely too complicated, riddled with little sins that piled up and piled up until there seemed to be no possible answer.

  Lance had been wrong to allow himself to be drawn into an affair with Valerie a second time. But it had also been wrong for Valerie to blame her pregnancy on him, and then hide it.

  It had been wrong for Tamara to entertain thoughts of revenge against a man who, by all Tamara could see, was simply a charming womanizer. He didn't lie or cheat or make bold promises he wouldn't keep to reach his ends. He didn't have to—he had to only be himself.

  She sipped her cooling tea, frowning. Valerie always said that Lance seduced her with promises of marriage. Knowing him now, Tamara didn't see that he would have ever done that. It didn't jibe with the rest of him. Tamara hated to believe that Valerie had lied—but it wouldn't have been the first time. Her unstable cousin had lied quite boldly and without conscience if it suited her ends.

  But that didn't change one simple, inescapable fact. Whatever she'd done, Valerie had loved Lance, and it was wrong for Tamara to take now what her cousin had most wanted. It was a betrayal.

  It didn't matter that Tamara knew that if the situation were reversed, Valerie would have done whatever pleased her. Tamara's mother had taught her better than that, had taught her to adhere to her own moral code, no matter how others acted.

  That moral code had insisted that Tamara come home when Valerie fell apart. It had insisted that she take her cousin's child and raise him. It now insisted she could not indulge her longing for Lance Forrest. Not even for the brief, shimmering time he offered.

  Bleakly she carried her cup to the kitchen. She rinsed her cup and put it in the drainer, feeling the silence and loneliness of her house all around her. She wanted more than this. More than always being alone, always struggling, her only joy the few hours she could steal from the business of living to spend with Cody. She wanted the freedom to spend her days at work she loved, rather than work she only endured, and time to play once in a while, and freedom from the worry of wondering how she would make ends meet.

  Staring out the window at a pool of white cast by the streetlight, she pursed her lips. She was tired of doing everything alone. Tired of not having friends, tired of being afraid to dream of anything for fear it would be stolen like her dream of college.

  With a sudden burst of insight, she realized she wanted a husband and more children and the warm, rich family life she'd seen in other families while she'd been growing up. She wanted Cody to have brothers and sisters, and dogs and cats, and supper-times filled with love and arguments and laughter.

  What was stopping her?

  Why was she settling for an accounting degree when she hated numbers? If she was going to be a woman of modest means, why not shift her focus to something she would enjoy?

  Why not apply to Denver again, and return to her degree? Why not become the teacher she wanted to be, instead of an accountant who was miserable going to work every day?
r />   It made her almost breathless to think about it. And for the first time in almost five years, the mist of familial duty was swept away, to reveal the truth: Tamara herself had let herself be trapped into a life she didn't enjoy. While there had been reason to leave school, and she would not change that, her anger and resentment toward Valerie had been unbearable, and Tamara had shifted the blame inward.

  Only she could change her life. Only she held the key to her own dreams, to the life she wanted.

  It scared her. Shutting off lights as she went, she climbed into bed with a racing heart. Choices. She'd forgotten she had choices, and somehow the dilemma with Lance had reminded her.

  She still could not choose him. One day, she wanted a husband and a father for her children, but she didn't want one like Lance. He was a charming man, pleasant to be with, and she hoped they could be friends once she confessed the truth about Cody.

  But he wasn't marriage material. Nor would he ever be.

  Soon, she would work up her courage to tell him the truth, and she would also tell him she could not continue with their playful relationship.

  It was the right thing to do.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

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  She wouldn't see him.

  Lance called Tamara Sunday night. All the way home from Denver, his head had been filled with snapshots of her. Some were memories—her dark hair reflecting the colors of the neon lights at the carnival, her shy smile, her unexpectedly earthy laughter…

  And, well—her breasts. He couldn't help it. His mind returned over and over again to that moment high above the ground when he'd lifted his hand and found her breast had been made for him. He kept remembering the feel of her—supple and delectably sensitive to even the tiniest touch. He wanted to make love to her in the light, so he could see what he touched, and watch her face blur with passion as he cupped his hands around her luscious flesh once again.

  He hadn't forgotten the odd sensation he'd had when he got out of the car, that maybe he was in too deep, that maybe he had no right to he wanting this woman. Especially not with this kind of intensity. She deserved better.

  But maybe she deserved a little fun, too. Maybe it wasn't so bad to just want to please a woman—especially one who seemed to come alive to his touch like she did. Especially when it seemed life had not been particularly kind to her.