several hundred yards before pulling up in front of a huge old three-story Victorian home. Lights illuminated the wraparound porch, and she could see decorative gingerbread trim. A huge, cheerfully lettered sign read, WIDOWS’ BOARDINGHOUSE.
Emily glanced at Nate, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t name it,” he said impassively. “They think it’s funny.”
Except for the porch lights, there was no illumination in the house. With a glance at the dashboard clock, she realized it was past one in the morning.
“Nate . . .” she began.
“Most of them wear hearing aids, and your room is on the first floor in the back.”
“But—”
He got out of the pickup, and this time Scout followed him to do his business at the base of the sign before bounding up on the front porch to watch them alertly. Emily at last got a good look at the dog, all black-and-white irregular patterns in his furry coat, a cute pointed nose that almost looked delicate, and eyes that watched Nate with adoration and readiness.
Like every woman he met, she thought with sarcasm. Herself included.
“Stay, Scout,” Nate said, pulling her suitcase out of the pickup and closing the door.
“I can carry my own—”
He strode past her. With a sigh, she followed him onto the porch and all the way around to the rear of the house. After letting himself in with a key, he led her through a neat kitchen, lit only with a dim light above the sink. She thought she could smell the lingering scent of pumpkin pie, and it gave her a stab of homesickness for the world she’d left behind. She didn’t have time to examine the kitchen, her favorite room in any house, but had to follow him through a door and down a small hall to another door. He opened it and turned the light on, leading the way into a small sitting room.
He pointed to a key ring on a table next to the door. “A set of keys for this room and the outside doors. You don’t have a private kitchen—this is more of an ‘assisted living facility,’ or so I’ve heard people call it. The widows share the kitchen. A woman comes in to do their laundry and the general cleaning. There’s a bedroom through that door, and a bathroom beyond. The linen closet will have sheets and towels.”
He set down the suitcase and turned to leave.
“Nate!” She caught his arm, and he stopped, looking down at her. Her mouth seemed to dry up every time those green eyes captured her, and such weakness made her furious. She’d conquer it if it were the last thing she did. “Thank you, but your grandmother—”
“I’ll leave her a note. She’ll be tickled pink.”
She almost smiled. “ ‘Tickled pink’?”
“Her words, not mine. We’re only about a mile from Main Street, so you’ll be able to come and go until your car is fixed.”
When he turned away, she called to him once again. “Nate, please!”
He stopped, but only glanced over his shoulder.
“You don’t know me,” she said tensely. “Why are you doing this?”
“For the sex, of course.”
Her mouth fell open.
He sighed and shook his head, looking amused for the first time in several hours. “You’re gullible. Hard to believe you’re the one from the big city.”
“Be serious,” she said harshly.
His smile faded. “If my sister found herself in this predicament, I’d want someone to help her. Now go to sleep. You look exhausted.”
And, like a stupid teenager, she put a hand to her hair in distress, but he was already gone.
After preparing for bed, she lay a long time staring into the darkness. She didn’t want to remember the evening, but every time her eyes drifted closed, she saw the intensity in Nate’s face, the hungry way he’d looked at her, like she was the only one who would satisfy him. She could still remember his hand cupping her breast and the pleasurable ache he’d roused in her.
Even though she was ashamed by her drunken behavior, part of her was relieved. At least her ability to feel passion hadn’t died with her marriage.
Chapter Three
Nate loved the privacy of the log cabin he’d renovated on the edge of the Silver Creek Ranch, which had been owned by his family for generations. He’d torn down walls, creating a large open living space with a bedroom at the back, and a loft above for his office. Though he spent most of each day at the ranch, his free evenings were in his own private sanctuary, where he