gotten a little silly, and then gotten "married" in one of those Heritage Day weddings. It was supposed to be a joke, a last Hot Water hurrah. Not a lifetime!
He tamped down another flare of temper. "And it doesn't explain why you made it legal - "
The trill of his cell phone interrupted.
Setting his back molars, Dylan fumbled in the front pocket of his jeans for the phone, which apparently gave Kitty the idea she could slip away from him. But just as she skirted the table, wearing a fake, let-me-give-you-some-privacy half smile, her mistaken impression was quickly and effectively corrected. He grabbed her wrist.
"Not so fast, wife," he said, ignoring that odd tingle in his fingers again. Then he flipped open the phone with one hand and brought it to his ear. The voice coming through the receiver was as familiar as Dylan's own face.
"Judge," Dylan acknowledged. It was his father.
At the sound of the older man's undeniable pleasure, a sudden pang of guilt added to Dylan's lousy mood. For eight years he'd been as detached from D. B. Matthews as he'd been from the women who had come into his life and then gone.
Worse, that detachment was almost the only damn thing Dylan was glad about when he woke up in the mornings.
"Yes, sir, I made it," he assured the judge. Apparently Dylan's former first-grade teacher had spotted him on his way into town and called his father. Though how the hell she'd recognized him under his helmet and tinted visor, he didn't know. That was Hot Water for you.
"Tell Mrs. Macy I appreciate her phoning you, Judge. Yes, tell her I noticed those True Heart roses growing over her front trellis too. Sure. That I'm not surprised she won first place in the county fair last month."
He listened again, then gave a little squeeze to the slender wrist in his hand, putting the woman whom it belonged to on notice. "I'll stop by the courthouse as soon as I conclude a little ... business," he said, smiling down at Kitty wolfishly. Plucked nerves usually provided quicker answers.
Then he thumbed the phone off and slid it back into his pocket. Still holding Kitty's arm, he rocked back on his heels and gave her his full attention. "Now, where were we?" He smiled again, the wolf still prowling.
The pulse at her wrist kicked up, beating against his thumb like frantic but useless moth wings. "H-how's your father?" she said quickly. "I'm sure he's glad you're home."
Dylan shook his head. "No, babe, that's not where we were at all."
"Still." She tried tugging her arm from his grasp, but he hung on as a faint breath of warmed rose perfume tickled his nose. "You have to know the whole town will be delighted by your visit."
Which was the reason in a nutshell, Dylan thought, that he'd never visited before. He didn't want them killing the fatted calf, thank you very much. He didn't deserve it. "I'm only here because of you, Kitty."
Her baby blues widened a fraction. "I'm, uh, flattered."
He ground his teeth. "I take it back," he told her. "Number eighty-eight is a method for wusses. Three-thirty-two is much more satisfying. So unless you want to learn firsthand how satisfying..."
Her gaze hastily fell to a point just below his throat, and, smart woman that she was, she started talking hastily too. "The thing is, Dylan, I'd like to explain everything, I really would, but I can't discuss this right now."
Not so smart after all.
Yet she valiantly pressed on, at the same time trying again to ease her arm from his grasp. "Perhaps some other time, some other day, but, well, now, you see, I need to lock up and - "
"The front door's already locked." He halted her sly attempts to get away from him by hauling her close, so close that he could feel the heat from her body and almost taste the spicy-sweet perfume rising from her flesh. "It's just you and me, Kitty. So talk."
He could see the wheels spinning inside her head, searching for another diversionary tactic. "What do you want?" she finally demanded. "An apology? Okay. So I'm sorr - "
"An apology!" he exploded.
She jerked, causing the stupid ostrich feather in her hair to catch on his afternoon whiskers. He reached to brush the thing aside at the same instant she did, and their hands met, merged. This time he felt more than a tingle. Like a hornet's sting, her touch pricked him, sending a