Watching a frail old man, who looked to be around ninety, help his equally fragile wife to a seat, Megan wondered what memories they shared, the births and deaths, the unexpected joys, the deep sorrows—

“You expecting anyone?” a male voice asked.

She stared up at Kyle.

“Okay if I join you? The place seems to be full.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s fine.”

He removed his Stetson and hung it on the back of a chair before taking a seat opposite her. He checked out the lunch special listed on the chalk-board. “You ordered?”

“Not yet. I’m going for the special.”

The waitress came over and plopped down two glasses of water from a tray. “You know what you want?”

“The special with iced tea. Cornbread instead of dinner rolls,” he said after she ordered the same thing but with the homemade yeast rolls.

“Got it.” The waitress hurried off.

Their table was an island of silence surrounded by a sea of babble, Megan realized. No conversational tidbits came to mind.

He had no such problem. “It’s going to be hot this afternoon. Again.”

“Yes.” She recalled the store. “You must have plans for some hard work.”

Kyle looked a question at her. He watched the way the light picked out the red-gold tones of her hair and glistened like dew on her lips, which were outlined in a subtle color, then filled in with gloss.

She pressed her lips together.

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it. If he made her uncomfortable, tough.

“For what?” She looked truly perplexed.

“For staring. You have a tempting mouth.”

He heard the hardness in his voice, but also the huskiness, the lover-like intonations. The tightening in his gut served as a warning; there was an attraction here…and it wasn’t all on his side. There was awareness in her eyes, too. It made him angry, this unexpected hunger that throbbed in him.

What the hell was it about the Windom women that proved so irresistible to the Herriot men?

She ignored his statement. Looking straight at him as if he hadn’t mentioned her mouth at all, she said, “But then, ranches always have lots of hard chores, don’t they?”

“Usually,” he agreed.

“Did you catch any fish this morning? You were out on the lake. I saw you,” she added at his sharp look.

“Are you keeping track of my comings and goings?”

“Hardly. I was outside. I heard the motor. Sound carries across water.”

He debated telling her what the compressor was for. The wreckage was on her side of the lake. Each landholder owned a section of the water that bordered their place. The Windoms, with the longest stretch along the waterfront, laid claim to the largest portion. But what he did was none of her business, he decided.

“No, no fish.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I enjoyed the ride,” he said, keeping his tone casual while he wondered if she’d seen where he went.

“My father always said that, too. He said sometimes catching a fish was an annoyance when all he wanted to do was relax and not have to work.”

Her laughter was unexpected, a gift like a perfect sunset after a hot, tiring day. It spiraled around inside him, then dipped into a secret, sensitive place.

Forcing his way past the strange sensations, he reminded himself it was her mother who had lured his father to his death. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he would find out. He’d bring the sailboat up and maybe discover the truth….

The light in her eyes died. He watched her chest lift and drop in a sigh as the laughter faded.

“You’re sad again,” he said, feeling it in that secret place, “the way you were last night.”

Her hand jerked, splashing several drops of water on the table as she lifted her glass. “I’ve been thinking about the past. I don’t remember—”

She stopped abruptly, her eyes darting to his, then away. He recalled adults whispering about the tragedy and shutting up when he came near. The sheriff had questioned him, of course, but he really hadn’t known anything, except that he was the last person to see his father and Megan’s mother alive.

For a second, he felt as he had last night when tears had suddenly filled her eyes, as if he needed to protect her. He wanted to gather her close and dispel the lost look in those beautiful eyes. He wanted to know this lovely, complex woman in a way he hadn’t other females. Odd.

“You don’t remember what?” he questioned.

“Anything. Nothing of my past before my mother’s funeral.”

He’d heard the rumors about her amnesia. If that’s what it was. “Does your uncle know about this?”

“Of course.”

“It isn’t generally known.”

“My grandfather ordered my cousins and me not to discuss the incident with anyone.”

“Did you and your father talk about it?”

“Some. Later. He told me not to worry about my memory, that losing my mother was a traumatic experience, and I shouldn’t be surprised that my mind had blocked it out.”

“Huh,” Kyle muttered.

The hair prickled on the back of his neck. A lot of secrecy had gone on about this case. His mother, because she thought her husband was cheating on her. Megan’s grandfather, because he was a proud, stubborn old man who wouldn’t allow a hint of scandal to touch his family. And Megan’s father, because…

Because he’d killed them and made it look like an accident?

It was a thought that had occurred to Kyle before now. But not one he wanted to discuss with the woman across the table from him.

The waitress brought the two specials. She plunked a basket of rolls and cornbread muffins on the table between them. Kyle wondered what other things he and Megan Windom would share before this adventure he was contemplating was finished. He had a feeling their lives would become entangled, and that was a dangerous thing.

The blood throbbed through his body, making him tense and heavy in certain areas, lighting fires he wasn’t sure he could control. The path ahead was murky, an adventure into the unknown, but he was going to pursue it to the bitter end, wherever that turned out to be.

M egan went through the usual rigors of the week. Horse-training actually meant training the owners, which was a lot harder than dealing with their mounts. On Friday, she controlled her impatience with an effort as she guided seven girls and three boys through their paces.

Kyle was on the lake. She’d heard the powerboat shortly after three and seen him heading out from the boathouse toward the narrow end of the lake.

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him out in his boat. He’d been fishing every day that week, having acquired a great enthusiasm for the sport, it seemed. And he always went toward the narrows, the place where dangerous boulders and rocky outcroppings barred the way of easy cruising.

The place where the sailboat had gone down.

Suspicion sliced into the low spirits that plagued her. It crossed her mind that he might be exploring the wrecked sailboat. Why, after all this time?

Thinking of the tragedy reminded her she still had tasks to perform. Tomorrow she would definitely go through Grandfather’s things and clean out his closet.

Or tonight.

Why put it off? This afternoon, as soon as the class was over. Yes, that’s what she would do.

“Head him straight, Kathy,” she called to one of her students, who couldn’t seem to get any commands across to her horse. “Let up. You’re holding him in too much.”

The girl was afraid of all animals, yet her parents insisted she not only learn to ride, but to train for show-jumping. Megan worried about the twelve-year-old who was trying so hard to please the two most important people in her life.

The sadness hit her again as she thought of parents and what they did to their kids. However, her father had been wonderful after her mother died. He’d held her each time she woke from the terrible nightmares, confused about what was real and what wasn’t. Each time, he’d assured her it was only a bad dream and that it would soon go away.