Lady With A Past

Lady With A Past Ryanne Corey Ever since she' d escaped the high-pressure fashion world, Maxie Calhoon had become a pro at dodging the spotlight– until a dashing reporter bent on getting an exclusive with the former supermodel stormed her peaceful ranch. Even worse, she was finding it impossible to refuse reporter Conor Garrett' s ardent kisses…Conor was used to getting his way, so when the enchanting model-turned-dairy-farmer declined his offer for an interview, he turned up the heat. But he didn' t anticipate the fiery urges Maxie stirred in him, or his sudden desire to expand his offer to include a lifetime of love… “I Have A Picnic In The Car,” Connor whispered, as if confiding a great secret. “Not just your ordinary picnic either…it’s a chocolate picnic.” “I’ve never had one of those before,” Maxie gasped. She was becoming weak all over from the achingly pleasurable sensation of his breath stirring in her ear. “I’m taking you away from your ranch, your garden and your cows,” Connor told her, rubbing his nose lightly against the baby-soft skin of her neck. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a chocolate picnic.” “Have you?” “Lived?” “Had a chocolate picnic?” “No.” He kissed her forehead lightly, then forced himself to step back from her. Her incredible eyes never lost their spellbinding appeal. “I guess that means I’ve never lived before today, either.” Dear Reader, As we celebrate Silhouette’s 20 anniversary year as a romance publisher, we invite you to welcome in the fall season with our latest six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire! In September’s MAN OF THE MONTH, fabulous Peggy Moreland offers a Slow Waltz Across Texas. In order to win his wife back, a rugged Texas cowboy must learn to let love into his heart. Popular author Jennifer Greene delivers a special treat for you with Rock Solid, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion, BODY & SOUL. Maureen Child’s exciting miniseries, BACHELOR BATTALION, continues with The Next Santini Bride, a responsible single mom who cuts loose with a handsome Marine. The next installment of the provocative Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Mail-Order Cinderella by Kathryn Jensen, in which a plain-Jane librarian seeks a husband through a matchmaking service and winds up with a Fortune! Ryanne Corey returns to Desire with a Lady with a Past, whose true love woos her with a chocolate picnic. And a nurse loses her virginity to a doctor in a night of passion, only to find out the next day that her lover is her new boss, in Doctor for Keeps by Kristi Gold. Be sure to indulge yourself this autumn by reading all six of these tantalizing titles from Silhouette Desire! Enjoy! Joan Marlow Golan Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire Lady with a Past Ryanne Corey www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) For the star that watched over me and the man who waited. RYANNE COREY An author of bestselling romance novels, Ryanne Corey lives in Idaho in the shadow of the Teton Mountains, “the best place in the world to write and write and write.” She has written over twenty novels and is recognized for the true-to-life humor and sensuality of her characters. She has received several awards over the last few years, including Romantic Times Magazine’s Lifetime Achievement Award and award for Best Series Novel. She has long believed that life is too serious to be taken too seriously. In her writing she enjoys creating appealing and amusing characters that take their first breath on page one, endearing themselves to the readers long after the book is finished. “For me,” Ryanne says, “bringing a smile to someone’s face is what life is all about.” Nothing is more satisfying to her than hearing from readers who share her enjoyment of “love and laughter.” You can write to her at P.O. Box 328, Tetonia, ID 83452. Please include a SASE if a reply is desired. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Epilogue One Connor Garrett was the first to admit he enthusiastically spoiled himself. He liked his little creature comforts, enjoyed his no-limit credit cards, sent all his clothes, including his undershorts, out to be cleaned and had magnificent houses on both coasts. He couldn’t make peace with his microwave, but that hardly mattered since his housekeepers—one capable gray-haired lady per house—handled the cooking on the few occasions he actually ate in. In fact, with the exception of the mysterious microwave oven, he couldn’t think of a time in recent memory when he’d come up against anything that had disrupted his cheerful existence. Until now. First of all, his six-foot-plus frame was folded into a very irritating rental car. He was too tall for the sporty little number that had looked so appealing at the Jackson Hole airport. This necessitated him driving with the sunroof open, which would have solved the problem nicely…if it hadn’t started to rain. His dark, golden-brown hair was well on its way from damp to drenched. He’d also discovered the terrible habit Wyoming’s wild animals had of using the highways as their own private crosswalks. Since leaving the airport he’d seen elk, moose and a terrifying number of skunks strolling down the center line. This was not the way things were done in Los Angeles, and the only wild animals that frequented New York streets were taxi drivers. Still, Connor’s black mood had less to do with the driving conditions than it did with a certain woman the world knew only as Glitter Baby. Connor was looking for her and had been for the past ten days. She didn’t want to be found. So far, she was winning. He glanced down at the rain-spotted photograph on the seat beside him. It was a haunting picture, a full-length shot of a reed-thin woman with heavily shadowed violet eyes and cascades of glorious, golden-blond hair. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent; it was hard to tell where she ended and her sheer ivory dress began. Her wide lips shimmered wetly with cinnamon gloss, sulky and shaped for sin. For a time, hers had been the most famous face in America. “Where the hell did you disappear to, lady?” Connor muttered. “How could someone with a face like yours disappear without a trace?” He turned his attention back to the road just in time to avoid flattening yet another slow-moving skunk. Connor was tired of traveling constantly. He was tired of staying in motels with names like Fairly Reliable Bob’s. He particularly disliked hopping on tiny little tinfoil airplanes to fly over great big mountains. He had a sinking feeling he was on a wild-goose chase, but he refused to give up. That would be admitting defeat, and in this particular circumstance, Connor couldn’t afford to fail. The mobile phone in his jacket pocket rang, and he fished it out, keeping a wary eye on the road. Only one person had this particular number, his assistant Morris Gold. “Speak to me, Morris. Any luck in Texas? I know it’s a big place…no, I don’t want to interview Alan Greenspan for the show. Who wants to hear about interest rates for sixty minutes? I told you before, this interview is for sweeps week and it has to be something special. No one has been able to find this lady for two years. It’ll be a real coup if Public Eye is the first.” There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of raindrops hitting the leather upholstery. “No, I’m not trying to be difficult. I have a damn good reason for going to all this trouble, but you don’t need to know it. What do you mean, you’re starting to dream about her? No, you can’t fall in love with a picture. I’m an expert at not falling in love, Morris—I know these things. You’re losing your focus. Call me if anything turns up, all right?” Connor tossed the phone down on the seat with a weary sigh. He had worked as a highly successful television journalist for over six years now, but had never come up against a challenge quite like this. Glitter Baby had dominated the fickle world of high fashion for nearly eight years. Even at the age of fourteen, when she had first begun modeling, she had radiated a powerful combination of innocence and sexuality that left women envious and men gasping for air. When she had abruptly retired two years ago at the venerable age of twenty-two, there had been no announcement of future plans. Even with Connor’s research staff scrambling in all directions, there was scant information available on who the woman really was, why she had vanished or where she might have gone. She had been born Frances Calhoon in Redfern, Wyoming, and her father had farmed there until his death six years earlier. Her mother had moved away since, although none of their former neighbors in Redfern knew where. End of story. Connor had an infallible sense of what the public hungered for, and the true story behind the disappearing supermodel had the makings of a dynamite show…not to mention the fact he had a promise to keep. But first he had to find her. Every lead his office could come up with was being investigated. Someone claimed to have seen her at a health club in Palm Beach. Another tip claimed she had gained 150 pounds and joined a nunnery, while yet another maintained she had opened her own tattoo parlor in the Philippines. Connor himself was following up on a tip that she had recently been seen at a cattle-judging competition at the Western Wyoming State Fair. He was dogged, if not particularly hopeful. Cows and supermodels did not compute. Again and again he found himself sneaking sideways glances at her photograph. The camera adored her; he could understand why she had achieved such astonishing notoriety. Unlike the vacuous gazes of other ennui-drenched models, her eyes shone wetly with fire and fantasy. Part waif, part siren, and the combination was a powerful commercial aphrodisiac. He wondered what it would be like to hold her. After a restless night at the small motel in Oakley, Wyoming, Connor again went through his routine of visiting shops and caf?s, showing Frances Calhoon’s picture and hearing the same comments over and over: “Of course I know who she is. I’ve never seen her around here, though.” Then, if Connor happened to be talking to a member of the male sex over the age of thirteen: “I wish I had.” Somewhat of a celebrity in his own right, Connor wore his usual semi-disguise of sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his choppy mane of golden-brown hair. Unrecognized, he followed the western-style boardwalk up one side of the main street and down the other. He was oblivious to the female eyes that followed his rolling, somewhat cocky gait, lingering wistfully on his broad shoulders and snug-fitting faded jeans. Since his college days as a football star, women had enthusiastically appreciated Connor’s golden-boy good looks and he liked to think he did his part by appreciating them right back. When a knee injury had derailed his promising professional football career and left him in career limbo, he had crossed his fingers and accepted a job offer from his godfather, Jacob Stephens, the head honcho at a television cable network. Jacob had assured him that he had the presence to hold his own while interviewing celebrities, athletes and anyone else who was making news. Connor discovered the job was far less stressful physically and mentally than football had ever been. What it boiled down to basically was flirting with pretty women, trading war stories with egotistical men and asking whatever question came to mind. Connor felt a little guilty about the generous salary he was making, since he never actually broke a sweat, but the powers that be seemed enormously pleased with his “work.” Truth be told, Connor was amazed at his own success. He knew his looks and manner were not quite the norm for a television journalist. Where others were suitably somber, he was boyishly spirited. Where others were spritzed and polished to perfection before air time, Connor threatened the life of any makeup artist who approached him with a powder puff or a can of hairspray. Still, Public Eye managed to consistently top the ratings, which Connor modestly attributed to the luck of the Irish. Female members of the viewing audience, however, attributed its popularity to his longish, beautifully dishevelled hair, heavy-lidded amber eyes and a look so sweet you could pour it on a waffle. In fact, Morris liked to razz Connor by referring to him as “eye candy.” Actually, Connor didn’t enjoy the emphasis put on his looks, but he was basically an easygoing fellow who didn’t like to make waves. Consequently, he collected his paycheck twice a month and resigned himself to enjoying the ride while it lasted. If he was occasionally bored, he told himself all men who couldn’t play football for a living were probably bored. Then he went over his financial portfolio and felt much better. Still, this particular assignment was something out of the ordinary and a far cry from boring. Normally, Connor would have been content to let his staff and field investigators do the footwork, but time was growing short and none of his leads so far had panned out. This had become a challenge, and the former quarterback often found himself yearning for a challenge—not to mention the fact he owed Jacob Stephens a tremendous debt of gratitude for seeing him through a difficult time in his life. Jacob had long been making plans to buy out a struggling network, and ruling the ratings during sweeps week would put the icing on a lucrative acquisition. Connor owed his godfather that much, and a great deal more. When he came to an establishment called Howdy-Do Farm & Feed, he rolled his eyes and nearly passed by it. Then he recalled the cattle-judging competition, sighed and tugged his ball cap further down on his head. More than likely he was going to make a damn fool of himself. In his experience, celebrities did not hang out in feed stores. It was a bustling day at the Howdy-Do, probably because of the fertilizer sale advertised on a sign at the checkout counter. For the most part, shoppers appeared to be of the middle-aged, bow-legged and leathery variety. The aroma of fertilizer hung heavily in the air. Connor pulled off his sunglasses and, holding up Glitter Baby’s photograph, approached the teenage clerk at the checkout. The young fellow’s jaw dropped like a hinge had broken. “Sorry to interrupt you.” Connor smiled. “I’m looking for someone. Have you seen this woman around town?” “I’m looking for her, too,” the boy mumbled, eyes stretched to a breaking point. “Have been all my life. Hot damn…why can’t someone like that come into this store, that’s what I’d like to know? Man, around here, it’s the same girls over and over, the ones you go to school with, the ones you see at church—” “Sounds like a bummer,” Connor interrupted, rubbing a weary hand over his eyes. “I take it you haven’t seen her, then?” “Believe me,” the clerk said earnestly, “I would know if she’d ever been in Oakley. She’s that model, right? Spice Baby or somethin’?” “Glitter Baby,” Connor corrected, tugging the photograph out of the boy’s clinging fingers. “Thanks anyway, pal.” “If you want I could tape her picture up and ask folks—” “That’s not necessary,” Connor said. “Do you know which road I take to get to Riverside?” “Highway 33 east,” the boy replied, somewhat crestfallen. “Take a right at the next stop sign and you’re on your way. Hey, you don’t happen to have an extra picture, do you? I’d give anything to have one for my bedroom.” “No,” Connor snapped, finding this teenager and his raging hormones a little irritating. He turned on his heel, colliding chest to chest with a shopper who had just come up behind him. A light bulb went on in Connor’s brain: generous breasts, very female. The luck of the Irish strikes again. “My fault,” the woman apologized, bending over to scoop up her cowboy hat that had fallen on the floor. She wore jeans, a denim shirt and dusty boots, apparently the official uniform of Wyoming. Her glossy chestnut hair was pulled back into a swinging ponytail, her eyes shaded by a silky fringe of bangs across her forehead. Connor thought the wide smile she gave him was fresh and quite charming. Her figure was full and luscious; even a heavy work shirt couldn’t disguise her generous womanly curves. No wonder farmers’ daughters had a reputation for being quite fetching in a milk-and-honey sort of way. He grinned and shook his head, white teeth flashing in his California-tan face. “No, it was absolutely my fault. Are you all right?” She laughed, low and throaty, fitting the cowboy hat firmly on her head. “I’m hardy. I’ll survive.” “Well, as long as I’ve got your attention…” Connor held out his photograph, noticing that the edges were becoming dog-eared. “I’m looking for this woman. Do you remember ever seeing her around town?” “She’s famous, Maxie,” the clerk put in, shamelessly eavesdropping. “Remember that model who disappeared a couple of years ago? That’s her.” The woman studied the picture for several seconds, then scratched her sunburned nose and shrugged. “Sorry I can’t help you. I’ll tell you,” she added, her voice tinged with the lilting western twang Connor was becoming familiar with, “someone like that wouldn’t go unnoticed for long in this town. Robby, I need three bags of fertilizer. Put it on my account and I’ll pull the truck around back to load it.” Connor touched her elbow as she turned to walk away. “You’re sure? Someone thought they saw her at the tri-county fair last month.” “Everybody goes to the fair,” she replied dismissively. “I was there, and I didn’t see any famous faces in the crowds.” “Miss Rodeo Wyoming was there,” Robby said hopefully, as if offering a substitute. “I saw her…she was real pretty.” “If I was looking for Miss Rodeo Wyoming,” Connor replied flatly, “that news would make me the happiest of men.” The young woman chuckled on her way out the door. “I don’t hold out much hope for you, buddy, but good luck just the same. See you ’round the back, Robby.” The muscles in Connor’s shoulders were bunched with tension. He was tired. He was frustrated. Somewhere in the background he could hear Robby offer him five bucks for Glitter Baby’s picture. Connor advised him to get a life and walked out into the parking lot. It looked like rain again, and the wind was picking up. He was so discouraged he was seriously considering calling Morris and telling him to track down Alan Greenspan. Lord knew he would be easier to find than one Frances Calhoon. A dusty white pickup pulled out of the parking lot, tires spitting gravel. The brunette named Maxie, Connor thought absently, was in a hurry. She must be looking forward to getting that fertilizer home and doing whatever it was country people did with fertilizer. Except… Connor’s flesh started prickling, from his toes to his scalp. A dawning realization kicked his heart into double time. Except Maxie hadn’t driven around the back to load her fertilizer. She had sped out of the parking lot as if all the hounds in hell were after her. Connor sat down abruptly, right there on the front steps of the store. His mind was spinning. He brought Glitter Baby’s picture out of his jacket pocket and stared with fierce concentration. The chin, that stubborn chin was less angular in Maxie’s face, but still similar. They were both of the same height. Frances Calhoon was a blonde and Maxie a brunette, but that meant nothing. The sultry waif in the photograph looked to be little more than a hundred pounds. Maxie had filled out her jeans with a mature woman’s figure. Still…. Connor had another memory, an echo of something only his subconscious had registered at the time. He recalled seeing a split-second flash of Maxie’s eyes before she’d replaced her hat, his subconscious noting an unusual color. Not brown, not hazel… Violet. Glitter Baby’s trademark, soul-stabbing violet eyes that rendered even the most jaded arbiters of beauty completely smitten. Connor had studied a hundred photographs, screened hours of videotapes. He knew her eyes better than his own, was intensely familiar with every mood, every subtle, sensual nuance they could project. He was no more immune to her powerful charisma than any other red-blooded man. One look from her eyes and the world stopped, shifted, and began spinning in a new orbit. Maxie had those eyes. “Hot damn,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile touching his mouth. Busted. The important thing was not to panic. She panicked anyway. Frances Maxine Calhoon paced her front porch from one end to the other and back again, wringing her hands and whimpering. Her dog Boo, an enormous black lab who preferred naps to exercise, waddled loyally behind, now and then offering sympathetic whining and struggling for air. Boo had never seen his owner in a state of extreme agitation. Maxie hadn’t been in a state of extreme agitation for two years. It had been blissful, wonderful, healing, therapeutic…and she was terrified it was over. This little ranch in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming, had been her refuge, her heaven-sent second chance. She knew without a shadow of a doubt it had saved her life. Two years ago she had weighed ninety seven pounds, smoked incessantly and slept less than an hour or two a night. She had debilitating migraines, her hands shook dreadfully and she neglected to eat for days at a time. Her agent sent her to a series of doctors who prescribed sleeping pills, tranquilizers and anti-depressants. Her trainer advised colon-cleansing, aromatherapies and a nicotine patch. Her friends borrowed her clothes and her pills and her money and always made sure they were standing next to her when tabloid photographers closed in for yet another shot. After eight years in the glare of the spotlight, Maxie was spent, coming apart at the seams, and no one seemed to realize or care how close she was to a complete breakdown. It was almost too late before she realized the creation known as Glitter Baby was first, last and always a stepping stone for others’ interests. If she was to survive, she had to save herself. She had been twenty-two-years old. At the time, her widowed mother had started a new life in Oakley, Wyoming, running an antique shop in the nondescript little town. It was the perfect place for the runaway supermodel to start over, to learn to breathe and sleep and hope again. She retired without warning, used her savings to buy out her endorsement contracts and disappeared without a trace. She’d exchanged her first name for her middle name and become Maxie Calhoon. She had never looked back. Until today. She hadn’t realized the stranger in the feed store was Connor Garrett of television fame until he had spoken directly to her. She knew at that instant, even before she had looked at Glitter Baby’s photograph, that the jig was up. This man was from the world she used to inhabit, a world she knew only too well. If he could benefit from publicizing her whereabouts, he would. She became conscious of poor Boo’s exhausted wheezing and stopped her frenzied pacing. Sweet dog, he had no idea the sky was falling in on them. He only knew he’d missed his mid-morning nap and his mistress had suddenly gone crazy. Maxie sat on the porch swing and scratched Boo under the chin until his big brown eyes began to droop. “That’s it, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Go to sleep and dream about big fat kitty cats…that’s right, lie down.” Boo was asthmatic, overweight and incurably lazy, but he was her first true friend. She had confided in him all the regrets and mistakes of the past, and together they had celebrated her little accomplishments, such as learning to eat without guilt. Boo was a very good listener and fine company, particularly if she shared her SpaghettiOs with him. He didn’t know or care who she had been in her previous life. Heaven help her, she didn’t want to lose it all now. Connor Garrett could so easily put an end to her peaceful exile. Maxie wasn’t at all sure she had fooled him with her careless indifference, either. There had been something in his dark eyes when he looked at her, a burning intensity that contrasted with his boyish baseball cap and casual L.A. Lakers sweatshirt. Sooner or later he was bound to put one and one together. For Maxie, that would mean the beginning of the end. She gazed out at her sunwashed pasture, her eyes growing misty as she watched the newest addition to her fledgling herd of Holsteins frolic through the dandelions. Glitter Baby, that naughty darling of the high-fashion set, was raising cows. She fed them, milked them and read endless books about them. Granted, her new career put her in a much lower tax bracket than when she’d been modeling. Much, much lower. Fortunately, it looked like her struggling hand-to-mouth operation was going to get a desperately needed shot in the arm. While in town, she’d stopped by the bank and filled out papers for a loan that would see her through the coming winter. If it was approved, she would be home-free. Still, should the truth about Glitter Baby’s new occupation get out, the tabloids would have an absolute field day. For the first time in a long, long while Maxie found herself worrying about what people would say. Did anyone test her DNA to positively identify her? Have you seen the mud-colored thing she did with her hair? And the weight she’s put on…talk about heifers…. Maxie stopped herself, putting a chokehold on her negative thoughts. She was letting her imagination run wild, imagining consequences that might never happen at all. She closed her eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath. What other people thought of her was no longer a concern, vital to neither her professional nor her private life. These days Maxie Calhoon pleased herself, and by doing so, had finally begun to build a healthy self-esteem. She wouldn’t allow herself to go backward, not when she’d worked so hard and come so far. It could very well be that Connor Garrett had no idea who she was, would never dream of connecting Glitter Baby with Maxie at the feed store. Heaven knew the two women had nothing whatsoever in common…though they were one and the same. What a tangled web we weave, Maxie thought, rubbing her throbbing temples. All she could do was hope and pray for the best. Maybe someday she would think back to that morning in the feed store when she had come face-to-face with her past and smile at her own paranoia. And maybe someday her cows would sprout wings and fly. She would go inside, heat up a bowl of SpaghettiOs, make some peanut-butter toast and have a nice lunch. Then she had chores to do. The lawn needed to be cut and the vegetable garden needed to be fertilized and turned under…. Damn. No fertilizer. For a man she had never actually met, Connor Garrett was doing an excellent job of ruining her entire day. Two Could it be the wrong address? Connor got out of his car and took off his sunglasses, blinking at the modest log cabin set a half mile back from the main road. Granted, it had a Little House on the Prairie kind of appeal—each of the windows had flower boxes crowded with cheerful yellow blooms, the front yard was nicely kept and a thick row of pine trees edged the gravel driveway. A wooded creek cut through the front of the property at an angle, sparkling in the sunset like so many diamonds flowing by. Beyond the house was a weathered red barn and a small pasture where several cows grazed. It was a nice enough setting, but hardly the sort of place he would have imagined a woman like Glitter Baby would choose as home. Connor had done his homework on his mercurial subject. He knew she had owned luxury apartments both in America and abroad, but never had the time or interest to fully furnish any of them. She seldom stayed in any one place for more than a week at a time, and had often professed herself to feel most at home in four-star hotels. Still, perhaps this unassuming ranch house was Glitter Baby’s way of hiding in plain sight. Robby at the feed store had given Connor very clear directions to Maxie’s place. It hadn’t been at all difficult obtaining the information; Connor had traded his photograph of Glitter Baby for the address. Fortunately, he had a portfolio of over 200 pictures in his rental car, along with files of dozens of interviews from magazines. He felt he could spare one to enrich Robby’s fantasy life and further his own research. He returned to his car and coasted slowly down the gravel drive, preferring not to give advance notice of his arrival. The white truck parked in the shade of an aspen tree told him she was home. He didn’t want her bolting out the back before he had a chance to talk to her. He was surprised at his quietly labored breathing and the erratic rhythm of his heart. He had never found himself quite so fascinated with any of his subjects as he was now. Knowing that he was so affected was unnerving, particularly for a man who had survived repeated sackings by humongous homicidal defensive linemen. Connor actually had no idea what he would say when he saw her. He didn’t know what to expect, so at this point, he was taking things one step at a time. He couldn’t stop thinking that whatever the next few minutes held for him, good or bad, they would be different from anything he’d ever experienced before. In the past two years, Maxie had become an avid fan of sunsets. She never missed one if she could help it; possibly because she couldn’t recall actually taking the time to enjoy a sunset in all the years she had modeled. Fluorescent lights had surrounded her day and night, artificial, hot and dry. Photographer’s lights, neon lights in smoke-filled clubs and incessant flashing lights from the ever-present press. Bright, empty and blinding. But a good sunset…now there was true magic, and something she had never appreciated until moving back to Wyoming. Perched on the top rail of the corral, Maxie studied the world slipping into night with a dreamy intensity. She knew how quickly a brilliant watercolor sunset faded to the comforting blue shadows of night. No two sunsets were alike, but each was a work of art in its own way. How lovely it would be, she thought wistfully, if the world looked at people the same way, knowing each was different and wonderfully unique. Maxie’s eyes had been acclaimed, her cheekbones envied, her haircut widely imitated. And yet, when all was said and done, she had realized, the world knew nothing about her at all. How could they? Maxie had known so little about herself at that point. She wondered how long it would be before people like Connor Garrett realized Glitter Baby no longer existed. Her demise was the best thing that had ever happened to Maxie Calhoon. No longer was she the neurotic woman who cried over a broken nail or insisted on weighing herself three times a day. These days she couldn’t care less what the scales told her she weighed. Ah, and best of all, food had taken its rightful and revered place in her life, from SpaghettiOs to Lucky Charms to crackers and milk in bed. She ate. She slept. She worked with her hands and her mind and her heart. This journey of finding out who she was was turning out to be the most satisfying trip of her life. Why did that damned Connor Garrett want to ruin it all? Didn’t he have anything better to do than make life miserable for a humble dairy farmer? She heard footsteps on the gravel, looked over her shoulder and realized she could ask him herself. He was walking towards the corral in a crimson haze of late-afternoon sunlight. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his sneakers kicked up little clouds of dust as he walked. Creating disturbances, it seemed, came naturally to Connor Garrett. The baseball cap was missing and his longish golden-brown hair moved over his forehead with the restless evening breeze. His head was tilted quizzically as he approached, his bright-eyed gaze never leaving her face. And Boo, that traitorous canine, was bobbing along beside him like a drooling, furry welcome committee. No place to hide, Maxie thought miserably. Which left her no alternative but to bluff. She climbed off the fence, slapping her palms clean on her jeans. “Well, this here’s a surprise,” she drawled. “I didn’t expect to see you again. You lost, or somethin’?” “Save the country-girl accent,” Connor suggested. “It’s overdone, anyway. You forgot your fertilizer, Maxie. Young Robby at the feed store gave me your address, so I thought I’d bring it out to you. I put it on your porch.” “Such a good Samaritan.” Maxie forced a tight smile. “And what did you give young Robby in exchange for my address?” “A picture,” he said softly, “of you.” In truth, Connor thought it a miracle he could make any sound at all. He’d stood face-to-face with any number of celebrities, had wined and dined them and cheerfully pushed the necessary buttons to get a good story. This was different. Connor couldn’t quite get away from the fact that he was a fully functioning male and she was…hell, she was Glitter Baby. Two years, he realized, had changed her in remarkable ways…and yet not at all. Her eyes, completely free of makeup, were intensely violet against her sun-browned skin. Her shoulder-length hair, glossy brown with deep auburn highlights, had been freed from its ponytail and washed over her shoulders in no particular style. The impossibly generous shape of her dusky rose lips had inspired many a male fantasy, an understandable reaction. Connor was somewhat inspired himself at the moment. How on earth had this unforgettable lady escaped recognition? Was everyone in this town blind? Maxie watched him with the cool composure of one who was used to being the focus of attention. “Your mother should have taught you better manners. It’s rude to stare.” “My mother was a politician’s wife. She paid people to stare at her. It made her very happy. Besides, it couldn’t bother you too much. You spent eight extremely profitable years being stared at.” “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.” Connor grinned, admiring her pluck. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.” “You poor confused man. Do you have a short-term memory problem? How old are you, forty-five or so? That’s quite young to be going senile.” “Thirty-four,” Connor corrected. “And I still have all my own teeth, too.” Maxie shrugged. “You look much older in person than on television.” “You know who I am?” Pleased, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and began rocking back and forth on the heels of his sneakers. “I’m flattered. Why didn’t you say something when I met you at the feed store?” “I said I knew who you were, Mr. Garrett,” Maxie retorted. “I didn’t say I was a fan. Thank you for delivering my fertilizer. Having said that, I’m now going to walk you to your car and wave enthusiastically while you drive away.” “I’m beginning to feel unwanted.” Connor lagged behind as she marched towards the house, a blissful smile on his face as he thoroughly appreciated the indignant rhythm of her rounded derriere. “We need to talk. Can’t you spare me a minute? I promise, it could be well worth your while.” “My mother told me never to talk to strangers. You’re very strange, therefore I don’t want to talk to you.” “Now who’s being rude? I’ve done nothing to—” He gave a low whistle. “Will you look at that? Holy cow…!” Ever mindful of her Holsteins’ health, Maxie stopped and looked back. Connor Garrett was down on his haunches in front of the vegetable garden in the side yard. Boo had crouched down likewise, his head tilted inquisitively. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her patience wearing thin. He looked up at her, his finger jabbing in the direction of the cabbages. “I just saw a rabbit.” “And your point is?” “It had bent ears,” Connor stressed. “Like they were broken or something. I swear, it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. He just ducked under the cabbages.” Maxine rolled her eyes. “His ears are supposed to look like that. That’s Harvey. He’s a lop-eared rabbit. He lives in the garden and helps me eat the produce. You don’t get out to the country much, do you?” Connor stood up, a wave of color rising in his face. “Hey, very few of my acquaintances keep rabbits as pets, bent-eared or otherwise. When I saw him, I thought the poor guy was crippled or something. Why the name Harvey?” “I’m a big Jimmy Stewart fan.” “So why didn’t you name it Jimmy Stewart?” “Didn’t you ever see the play Harvey? Or the movie? Jimmy Stewart had this imaginary rabbit—” She broke off abruptly. Connor Garrett was the enemy, and it wouldn’t be smart to strike up any sort of friendship. “Never mind, Mr. Garrett. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk about my rabbit.” “Not really. Why won’t you call me Connor?” She gave him a killer smile, a weapon left over from her life in the fast lane. “I treat all people of your advanced age with respect, Mr. Garrett. Let’s get moving. It’s getting cold out here and you’re keeping me from my dinner.” Connor dropped in behind her again, making a soft “meow” sound deep in his throat. She glared at him over her shoulder, but kept walking. Connor’s low-slung canary-yellow rental car looked quite ridiculous next to her rugged power-wagon. It also appeared…locked. With the keys in the ignition. “Are you kidding me?” Maxie walked around the car, trying both doors. “What kind of idiot locks his keys in the car?” “I resent that,” Connor said in an injured tone. “Are you implying I did it on purpose? You have a definite ego problem if you think I want your story that bad.” “What about the sunroof? Maybe we could slide it—” Connor tried to look suitably mournful. It was difficult, considering he was enjoying himself enormously. “The sunroof doesn’t work. It’s broken. I plan on giving that rental company a piece of my mind when I return the car. I was assured this car was in perfect working—” “Oh, shut up.” She stared at him, murder in her violet eyes. “You probably worked this whole thing out in advance. Locked the keys in the car, glued the sunroof closed—” “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Besides, you told me to shut up.” Connor tried both doors himself, grunting as if exerting great effort. “Well, this is a stroke of poor luck.” “Luck has nothing to do with it.” “I’ll have to call a locksmith. Do you mind if I use your phone?” Maxie was getting a migraine, her first in two years. “I’ll tell you something, Garrett. Even if I was your missing model, which I’m not, I would never, ever, ever consent to an interview with a sneaky, opportunistic, underhanded, oily—” “Oily?” Sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded Connor could live with. Oily was a slur on his personal hygiene. “That was below the belt, Ms. Calhoon. You know, I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to come out here. If I could get in my car, I’d say good riddance and leave this very minute.” Maxie deeply regretted never training Boo to kill on command. How could so much go so wrong in such a short period of time? Life had been so wonderfully uncomplicated when she’d walked into Howdy-Do Farm & Feed that morning. She’d just come from the bank and felt optimistic about her loan. Knowing both she and her cows would have money for food during the coming winter was a tremendous relief. She’d stopped at the donut shop and enjoyed the best apple fritter of her life. She was a contented woman. And then Connor Garrett had stuck that lousy photograph under her nose and the bubble had burst. “I don’t like you,” she told Connor succinctly, eyes narrowed. “You have no redeeming qualities.” “You don’t know me yet,” Connor pointed out. “It’s much too soon to make a judgment call.” “Believe me, I know you as well as I’m going to.” He gave her a slow smile, a light of challenge in his dark eyes. “Wanna bet?” While Maxie fortified herself with a Twinkie, Connor called a locksmith, but had to leave a message on his voice mail. When he hung up the phone, he looked at Maxie’s stormy expression and shrugged helplessly. “What am I supposed to do? Is it my fault he’s the only locksmith in Oakley? I’m sure he’ll get back to me as soon as possible.” Then, glancing beyond the kitchen window, he said, “I suppose I could wait outside. It looks like it might start raining again, but I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Why don’t I just wait on the porch swing? With any luck, the locksmith will get the message before I freeze to death. I’ll just leave you in peace, all right? I don’t want to be a bother….” His wounded-puppy-dog act had no effect on Maxie. Still chewing, she shepherded Connor to the front door, pulling an afghan off the sofa along the way. “How considerate of you. Here, take this blanket. Wrap up snug and tight, and you probably won’t freeze to death.” The glint of humor in Connor’s expression faded abruptly. “The hell you say! You actually expect me to wait outside?” “It was your idea, Mr. Garrett,” Maxie said cheerfully. “I’ll turn on the porch light so you won’t be scared of the mutant rabbits. Bye-bye.” “Wait just a damn min—” She shut the door on his protest without even the tiniest qualm of conscience. Then with an evil smile she turned on the porch light as promised. She knew how happy all the mosquitoes in a five-mile radius would be to have fresh meat on the porch. She went back to the kitchen, choosing a juicy red apple from her fruit basket on the table. As she crunched on it, she found left-over roast chicken in the fridge and popped it into the microwave. She noticed the wind was turning rather fierce outside, rattling the kitchen windows in their frames. What a shame, she thought. This would certainly ruin the last of her petunias in the garden. She took her dinner back to the living room and flicked on the television. She always looked forward to Friday nights. There was a wonderful show on cable called A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian. It was very educational. She had a pad of paper and pencil standing by in case she wanted to take notes. Tonight’s episode dealt with “The Lurking Peril of Brucellosis.” And speaking of lurking perils…. For the first timesince shoving Connor out the door, she glanced outside. There he was, huddled on the swing, the afghan pulled up to his eyeballs. He caught her eye and lifted the tips of his fingers far enough over the edge of the afghan to give a pathetic little wave. His new tangled dreadlocks gave evidence of the night wind’s ferocity. Maxie pulled a face as she heard the first drops of rain on her tin roof. Darn. Even she couldn’t leave the man out in a rainstorm. She had a hard enough time leaving her cows outside during poor weather. Scowling, she gestured for him to come inside. He hopped off the swing with the speed of a naughty little boy who’d been forced to sit in a corner, dashing across the porch and inside with the blanket held over his head. A freezing spray of rain and wind came inside with him. “It’s l-l-like a hurricane out there.” His lips were frozen, the color faded to an interesting pale blue. “I hope you’re happy.” “Of course I’m not happy,” Maxie replied. “I hate to see any animal suffer.” Then, grudgingly, she gave up her place on the couch. “Sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Connor burrowed into the sofa cushions, staring at the plate of chicken bones on the coffee table. “You had chicken.” “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.” “I love chicken.” “I ate it all.” “Of course you did,” he muttered. Maxie glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t worry about feeding me. I could stand to lose a few pounds.” She took a deep breath. “You do like playing the martyr, don’t you? How on earth did a delicate soul like yourself ever survive playing professional football?” He brightened considerably. “You watched me play pro football?” “Never. I just heard somewhere you played football before you became a reporter.” “Well, I didn’t play much,” he admitted. “Two games and I was out for the count. I blew out my knee when—” “Do you want something to eat or not?” Sitting there on the sofa with his wet mop of hair, melting brown eyes and touching tale of woe, he was almost endearing. Maxie couldn’t afford to feel sympathetic. “If you’re really hungry, I’ll fix you a plate of…something.” He smiled weakly. “Before you go…would you mind covering me with the blanket? I’m still a little chilled.” “Fine.” She whipped the blanket out of his fingers, spreading it over him. “There we go, Mr. Garrett. All tucked in, nice and cozy. Is there anything else I can get for you? A hot-water bottle? Earmuffs? Perhaps a mustard poultice?” “You wouldn’t happen to have any brandy, would you?” “Brandy? I can barely afford hay for my cows!” “Don’t get all prickly on me,” he said. “You’re probably tired. When you’re well-rested, I’m sure you have a very nice personality.” “Nope,” she retorted, heading for the kitchen. “This is as good as I get.” “And that’s good enough,” Connor murmured. He nearly snapped his neck following her exit. She had the most provocative sway to her hips, languid and sassy at the same time. He could just imagine her strutting the runway in a wispy dress that began late and ended early, her luscious hips rolling like thick honey, violet eyes half-closed, that swollen, edible mouth painted the sumptuous color of late-summer roses…. He grew conscious of a heated tightening in his groin. He tugged the blanket away from his body, sucking in a deep breath of air. For a man who’d just spent an hour in the deep freeze, he was suddenly and suffocatingly hot. Three While Maxie was in the kitchen, Connor took the opportunity to nose about the room. Other than a single photograph on the mantel above the fireplace, there were no items of a personal nature, certainly no mementoes from Maxie’s former life in the limelight. The lone photograph on the mantel was slightly yellowed; a picture of a young bride and groom posing in front of a tiny, white-spired country church. The groom looked highly uncomfortable. His mouth was pinched tight and the arm he had placed around his bride’s waist looked as if it was made out of cardboard. The bride, however, was smiling lovingly at her husband, her dark curls loose and dancing in the sunlight. Her beauty was staggering. Like Maxie, she possessed incredible cheekbones, a generous mouth and stunning, wide-set eyes. Like mother, like daughter. “What are you doing?” Maxie demanded. Connor turned on his heel, flushing slightly. His reluctant hostess was standing in the doorway bearing a tray of food and a ferocious scowl. “Nothing,” he said, perhaps a shade too quickly. “Nothing? You’re snooping.” “Don’t be silly.” Connor avoided her accusing eyes, reclaiming his seat on the sofa. “Why did you put that picture on the mantel if you didn’t want anyone to look at it?” Maxie slammed the tray down on the coffee table. “I put it there so I could look at it. No one else, just me.” “That’s your mother and father,” Connor said, as if daring her to deny it. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.” “My mother still is a beautiful woman. Not that it’s any concern of yours.” “Is this the way you treat all your visitors? It’s not very hospitable, I’ll tell you that.” “I’ve never had—” Too late, Maxie realized what she had been about to say. As did Connor, judging by the look of stunned incredulity on his face. “No visitors?” he said. “Ever? That’s a little tough to believe. Glitter Baby didn’t exactly have a reputation as a loner. How long have you lived here?” Maxie closed her eyes and counted to three. She was going to count to ten, but she lost her temper at three. “How long I’ve lived here is none of your damned business!” she snapped, stamping one booted foot on the floor. “I’m none of your business! My photographs are none of your business! Now eat your SpaghettiOs before I pop you one.” “Before you pop me one?” Connor’s answering laughter died an abrupt death as he looked down at his dinner. “You weren’t kidding,” he said slowly. “You fixed me SpaghettiOs.” “Let me guess,” Maxie said flatly. “You’ve never eaten SpaghettiOs.” “Well, of course I…no, actually I think you’re right.” Connor thought back to his mother’s legendary Washington dinner parties. Never once did he recall seing SpaghettiOs on the menu. “This is a first for me. When I think of you out there in the kitchen, slaving over a hot pan of SpaghettiOs just for me…well, it does my heart good.” “You have quite an imagination, do you know that?” Maxie sat down on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. “I guess that’s a prerequisite for your job.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You don’t deal in facts. You deal in fabrication, anything to make a story more interesting.” Connor shrugged, making a production out of stirring his SpaghettiOs. “If you say so. You’re quite defensive, do you know that? I think I understand why you never have visitors. Do you have any pepper to go with this?” “Who on earth puts pepper on—” Maxie stood up, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.” The instant Maxie left the room, Connor put his bowl of SpaghettiOs on the floor. Boo, who had been snoring beneath the coffee table, immediately sprang to life, gobbling down the major portion of Connor’s dinner. “What a good boy,” Connor murmured. He took the bowl back just as Maxie walked into the room. “I decided it didn’t need pepper after all,” he apologized. “Thank you, that really hit the spot. Now that I know what I’ve been missing all these years, I will certainly add SpaghettiOs to my—” “Oh, save it,” Maxie interrupted impatiently. “Boo has your dinner all over his face. I should have known you were a picky eater the moment I saw your jeans.” Dumbfounded, Connor stared at her. “My jeans? What about my jeans?” “They’re ironed,” she retorted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who irons a crease in their jeans.” “I do not iron my jeans,” Connor said quite truthfully. His housekeeper did, albeit on his orders. Maxie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet you starch your undershorts and wear little suspenders to keep your socks up.” “Of course I don’t starch my undershorts. What do you take me for?” There was nothing Connor could say about the “little suspenders.” He owned several pairs for formal occasions. “Why am I the one being interrogated? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.” “Ask away,” Maxie said. “Just don’t expect me to answer.” They stared at one another while the silence lengthened. Her expression was defiant, his frustrated. Connor decided to go for his trump card. “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “A quarter of a million just for letting me tape one little interview. I don’t know how much hay costs, but that’s got to cover your expenses for quite a while.” There had been a time in her life when a quarter of a million dollars was practically chump change. Maxie had no trouble remaining unimpressed. “No thanks,” she said. “I can take care of my own money problems. I’d rather mortgage my land than sell my soul. Besides, why would you want to interview an obscure dairy farmer? You’d be a laughingstock.” This time Connor was the one counting to ten. “I know who you are,” he said tightly. “You know I know who you are! Why keep playing this stupid game?” “You’re right,” she said, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “It’s a stupid game and I don’t want to play any more. I’m going to get my jacket, then I’m driving you back to town. You can arrange to pick up your car tomorrow. Our discussion is over.” Maxie left the room in an indignant huff. Connor’s thoughtful gaze followed her exit, then he stood up with a sigh and walked to the tiny coat closet and removed a metal hanger. He went outside and had the lock on his car open in less than two minutes. He walked back into the living room just as Maxie reappeared. She was wearing a denim jacket with sheepskin lining and had her cowboy hat planted firmly on her head once again. “Where did you go?” she asked suspiciously. “I thought I’d try opening the lock with a coat hanger,” he explained, holding the bent hanger up like a trophy. “It worked, can you believe it? The rain has stopped, too. I guess my luck is turning.” “I’m happy for you,” Maxie said acidly. “Why didn’t you try to open the damn door before now?” Connor grinned, his eyes lingering on her beautiful mouth. “Because I didn’t want to open the damn door until now.” In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere between them changed. What had been impersonal suddenly became quite personal. The air in the small living room seemed to change as well, becoming thicker and oxygen-sparse. Maxie was having trouble breathing. She stared at the boyish tangle of damp hair across his forehead and had the inexplicable urge to smooth it back. He looked like a mischievous child standing there with his dancing brown eyes and that stupid hanger in his hand. Her gaze dropped lower, to the snug jeans slung low on his narrow hips. A whisper of pure sensuality reared its dangerous head, sending a prickle of goose bumps over her skin. “I want you to go now,” she said hoarsely. Connor nodded thoughtfully. “You’re going to make this a struggle, aren’t you?” “I’m going to make it impossible. No interview, not now, not ever.” “I wasn’t talking about the interview, pretty girl.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re enchanting, Maxie Calhoon. Prickly…but enchanting.” Maxie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her brain was stalled in neutral. “I’m staying at the motel in Oakley for a couple of days,” Connor said. “If you change your mind about the interview—” “I won’t.” “Here.” He moved closer to her, then smiled as she nearly jumped out of her boots. “I just wanted to give your hanger back,” he explained, as if talking to a three-year-old. “I’ll leave it on the sofa here, all right?” “Fine. Go away.” Connor walked to the door, then paused. “You are Glitter Baby, aren’t you?” he said without turning to look at her. “Just admit that much.” Strangely, Maxie’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how far she ran, her alter ego still haunted her. She would never be judged for her own merits; she would always be Glitter Baby. “I’m no one special,” she said in a choked voice. “No one at all.” Connor hesitated, then walked outside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Connor called Morris as soon as he returned to his motel room. “I found her,” he said without preamble. His assistant’s voice was groggy with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time…what did you say?” “I found her.” “I hope this isn’t a dream,” Morris said fervently. “Texas doesn’t agree with me. They grow mosquitoes here the size of cocker spaniels. I want to go back to Los Angeles. I miss the smog.” “Don’t get too excited. She was less than enthusiastic about the interview.” “Less than enthusiastic? What does that mean?” “It means she told me I was sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded. Oh, yeah…and oily.” “Oily? That’s really low. What about the money you offered?” “She turned it down. I was surprised, because she obviously needs some quick cash. She was talking about mortgaging her house to get through the winter.” “Damn. There’s got to be something else we can do.” “I’ll give it another shot tomorrow, but I’m not hopeful.” “What’s she like?” Morris ventured. “Was it a letdown meeting her? There’s no way she could be as gorgeous in person as she is in a photograph.” “She’s actually quite amazing,” Connor said quietly. “And no photograph could possibly do her justice.” Morris whimpered. “You dog. You have all the luck. I mean…you actually met her! Glitter Baby. What I wouldn’t give to spend just one night with—” “It’s late and I’m beat,” Connor said abruptly. For whatever reason, he didn’t care to hear Morris fantasize about Maxie Calhoon. “I’ll try my luck tomorrow and let you know what happens.” “Try your luck? You mean you’re actually going to make a move on her?” “Hell, Morris, get a grip. I meant I would talk to her about the interview. No wonder the woman disappeared. She was probably trying to get away from men like you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Connor hung up, then for reasons he couldn’t fully explain to himself, pulled out his portfolio of Glitter Baby’s photographs. He spread the pictures on his bed like an erotic quilt, studying them with intense new eyes. No man with a pulse could claim immunity to Glitter Baby’s magnetic appeal. But suddenly Connor was seeing someone else, a living, breathing soul with fears and human frailties, who was even more appealing. He knew what her husky velvet voice sounded like, and how it cracked when she got emotional. He knew how her hips moved when she walked and how her violet eyes darkened to blue fire when she lost her temper. Now she was something more than a heartbreakingly beautiful face and elegant body. She was a lady who could dress like a cowboy and look like an angel. She didn’t seek admiration, attention or approval. She loved SpaghettiOs and animals and her independence. She drove a truck, for Pete’s sake. As far as Connor knew, there wasn’t another woman of his acquaintance who drove a truck. Jags, Corvettes, Mercedes…but not a single truck. The more he knew about Maxie, the more intriguing she became. What had made her turn her back on a hugely successful career? Even more fascinating was the quiet new life she had created for herself. Obviously finances were a concern, but she seemed unwilling to lean on her former fame to ease the burden. Connor wondered if he would have had the courage to set off alone, leaving everything and everyone he had ever known. Even when he had been forced to quit football, his godfather had been right there for him, handing him a cushy job with a sweet paycheck. Truth be told, Connor had been spoiled rotten from day one, an only child who had always had whatever he wanted almost before he asked for it. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d waited for anything, much less worked for it. Football had been physically taxing, but he’d never considered it work. It had always been a game, and a game he was damn good at playing. Connor shook his head, disturbed by the troubling stroll down memory lane. Where had all this damned introspection come from? Just because his life was easy didn’t mean it lacked meaning. He’d done meaningful shows before. He’d interviewed a Nobel Prize winner once, a fellow who had managed to clone a goat. Surely that was worthwhile? Then there was the expos? on a certain television evangelist who had sticky fingers and a roving eye. That was public service by anyone’s definition. So why did he suddenly feel inadequate? What was it about Maxie Calhoon that prompted him to question his own values? Again he let his gaze feast on the photographs on his bed. She was by far the most physically appealing woman on God’s green earth. And yet…it had been the unexpected things that had touched him, the small surprises. The faint dusting of freckles on her sunburnt nose. The crooked little rows of vegetables in her rabbit-occupied garden. He’d set out to find the phenomenon known as Glitter Baby and instead met Maxie Calhoon, bless her feisty little soul. Morris had been right. Connor was incredibly lucky. The following morning, Maxie padded around her house in her pajamas, crouching like a commando and peering through each and every window. As far as she could see, she was alone. Still, she was nursing a bad case of the jitters. If one person could find her, other people could as well. Not to mention the fact that Connor Garrett could come back any time he pleased. Sometime during the sleepless night, paranoia had moved in. Strangely enough, Maxie had never felt paranoid when she was modeling. Crowds, reporters, autograph seekers…they were all part of the charade. It was all make-believe. Her life now was anything but a game. Every second was precious, every second mattered. She had responsibilities to take care of now, the most pressing of which were several cows who badly needed to be milked. Boo needed to be fed and the dishes from last night were still in the sink. At noon she was expected at the bank to sign the final papers on her mortgage. She told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted by what was probably a minor inconvenience, no matter how attractive that minor inconvenience had been. Bolstered by her personal pep talk, she changed into her overalls and milked the cows, shared a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast with Boo, then attacked the dirty dishes. She was feeling much more optimistic when the time for her appointment at the bank neared, and the sky still had not fallen in. Obviously she’d been overreacting. Life was good, and was going to get much better once she had expenses for the long Wyoming winter covered. She exchanged her overalls for khaki pants and a black knit top, tugged a comb through her hair and left for the bank. It was a lovely day, the gold sunlight of autumn gilding the aspen and pine forests. Maxie slipped a Garth Brooks recording into the cassette deck and sang along at the top of her voice. Oh, if only her A-list former “friends” could see her now. Oakley’s bank was like every other establishment in town, small and personal. Maxie knew all three tellers, and smiled a friendly hello before poking her head into the bank manager’s office. “I’m here to sign my life away, Mr. Beasley,” she said cheerfully. “Just hand me a pen and stand back.” Mr. Beasley wasn’t smiling. He motioned for Maxie to sit in the chair opposite his desk. “There’s been a problem,” he said bluntly. “As I told you when you first filled out your papers, we run a last-minute credit check on anyone signing a mortgage loan. A lien has been placed on your property, Maxie. It’s for quite a sizeable sum, almost ten thousand dollars.” Maxie blinked at him, stupefied. “What are you talking about? I have no debts whatsoever. I don’t even possess a credit card.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/ryanne-corey/lady-with-a-past-39896474/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.