over to the truck and leaned into the passenger window. "Hey, sweet thing," she said brightly to Amalie, Tony's three-year-old. "I haven't forgotten you, even if Daddy has."
Amalie smiled back, her teeth like little white pearls against the dusky tone of her skin. Amalie was born and bred of true Gold Rush stock. Her mother, Sylvia, was descended from the Mexicans who were the very first to mine La Veta Madre - the Mother Lode - while Tony's ancestors were among the many Hawaiian people who had sought their fortunes in the area as well.
"That's right, that's right." Tony latched onto the new topic and hustled over to open the passenger door. "You've not met my girl." He unbuckled Amalie from her car seat and carried her over to Dylan. "Isn't she the prettiest ever?" With one swinging movement, he deposited the child in Dylan's arms.
Kitty's breath caught. Rather than looking awkward or uncomfortable, as she expected he might, Dylan hitched the little girl against his chest. His distant expression was banished by a slow, warm smile. "Hi, there," he said softly. "I'm Dylan."
The little girl appeared to melt. She let out a very recognizable, very feminine giggle, the oh-my-is-this-a-man-or-what? giggle that must be the theme song to Dylan's life. "Me's Amalie," she said. Then her gaze sharpened and she reached out one pudgy baby finger to hook it under the gold chain at Dylan's neck.
"What's dis?" she asked, pulling free a small medallion from beneath his shirt.
He cupped the gold circle in his palm, holding it up to her. "It's Saint Barbara."
"Church lady." Amalie nodded wisely.
He smiled again, and a sweet shiver rolled over Kitty's skin. "That's right. A legendary church lady. She was given to me by the mother of a very pretty little girl like you. A very lucky little girl who I found when she was ... lost."
Amalie frowned, looking uncertain about this mention of other little girls. "My mommy's Sylvia," she said.
"And Sylvia is going to be just as mad as me if you don't stop by soon, Dylan," Tony declared. "We'll throw a party for you. A welcome-home party."
Amalie wriggled and Dylan set her down. "I'm only going to be here a very short ti - "
The shriek of another set of brakes interrupted. An SUV screeched to a halt behind Tony's truck, and this time two men jumped out to, by turns, curse Dylan's long absence and pound his back in exuberant welcome.
Edging away into the shadows, Kitty sat on the low wall encircling a nearby house and smiled as she watched the meeting of the old friends. It was full dark now, but the tableau of Dylan and company was well lit by the headlights of Tony's truck. She wasn't surprised when another vehicle pulled up and a passel of teenagers piled out.
In a small town, excitement was where you found it, and even the youngest of the newcomers had heard of Dylan Matthews. Of course, there were the athletic trophies inscribed with his name in the glass case at the school, but his exploits as an FBI agent were no less fodder for town pride.
Nothing ever changes, he'd said, and he'd been right.
After a few minutes, he was still encircled by men and Kitty figured she'd lost her shot at him for the evening. There was talk of that welcome-home party, of a game of poker, of meeting for billiards and beer the next evening. Relief ran through her. With the kind of calendar-filling his friends were doing, he'd be too booked to be sheriff.
Rising from her place on the wall, Kitty managed to catch Amalie's eye and give the little girl a one-fingered wave good-bye. Then, with a last look at the knot of excited males, she smiled to herself and silently started past them toward Aunt Cat's.
A hard hand snaked out and caught her wrist. She was reeled backward, until her shoulder bumped against Dylan. "Where are you going?" he asked.
All the men were looking at her, questions in their eyes. They wanted to know why the heck Kitty Wilder was with Dylan, of course. Even Tony still looked puzzled by the notion.
She cleared her throat. "I'm going back to Aunt Cat's."
"Not in the dark. Not by yourself."
She half smiled, trying to slip her wrist out of his grasp. "You've been living in the big city too long, Dylan. I'm perfectly safe here."
"No," he said. Then he looked at the men around them. "Sorry, guys, but I have to