www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For dear friend, writer, horsewoman

      M. Gail Reed who lost her beloved husband during the writing of this book. “Doc Mike” one of the finest, most respected veterinarians Texas A&M ever produced. “Death be not proud …”

       Chapter One

      “Oh, no—Help!”

      Of course, she didn’t expect any. Eve Easton had come alone into the kitchen and was reaching into the commercial-size refrigerator with its double, glass doors to pull out the carved-crystal punch bowl, made heavier by pounds of chipped ice and boiled shrimp. But just when she turned toward the counter, the unwieldy thing had started slipping from her grasp.

      Miracle of miracles, strong arms wrapped around hers in support, and a mellow, male voice assured her, “Got it.”

      Too relieved to have avoided catastrophe to yelp from surprise that someone had actually heard her, Eve held her breath as, together, she and her mystery hero jointly hoisted the thing to the counter. Unfortunately, their combined momentum made it land with a sharp thud.

      “Don’t shatter,” she entreated the bowl. “Glass shards aren’t a digestible garnish.” That was the problem with helping out here; everything in the place was genuine, gorgeous and breakable.

      “Do you always reprimand inanimate objects?”

      As her foolishness sunk in, she chuckled self-consciously—feeling increasingly so for their awkward positioning. “Oh, ignore me. I’ve spent most of my life either swimming upstream, ignoring logic, or otherwise trying to defy physics.”

      “Eve? Eve Prescott … It is you.”

      Already remaining stiff enough to shatter herself, Eve willed herself to faint. She was 99.99 percent sure she wasn’t dreaming, so there was no other escape from this moment. And the man who held her against the counter so tightly that they were as close as two people could get—short of sexual intimacy—sounded eerily similar to one of three people she’d hoped never to see again in this lifetime. The fact that he addressed her by her married name confirmed the impossible had happened.

      God, leaving Texas wasn’t enough? In case you’ve forgotten, you don’t let Southwest fly to Mars yet.

      Lifting her gaze to stare at their reflection in the glass cabinets at the end of the kitchen counter, she managed to eke out on a thin breath, “It’s Easton now, Mr. Roland. I took back my maiden name.” She didn’t dare turn her head what with him being so close, his breath already a lover’s caress against her ear and cheek.

      “Of course. Sorry.”

      It was then that his gaze lifted, seeming to follow hers, and they were staring at each other in the glass. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

      “I was invited—well—by a friend of an invited guest. Then by our hostess herself when my friend checked with her.”

      Responding literally to her question also confirmed her conclusion—like she needed that. Derek Roland was nothing if not a stick-to-the-facts guy. What else would you expect from a government man? “I meant what are you doing in Colorado? Wait. First, would you mind—?” She bobbed her head to the right, signaling him to let go and give her some space. “If we get any closer, you’ll be able to describe my birthmark.”

      With an understated clearing of his throat, he did exactly that, stepping around the kitchen bar to grasp the back of a brass-and-wood chair instead. “I live here now. Apparently you do, as well, or are you visiting relatives? You don’t resemble either of the Graingers.”

      Wearing a new champagne-colored cashmere dress that felt like a second skin—something she intended to let Rae Grainger know was not her best wardrobe recommendation to date—Eve ran her hands over her hips where she could still feel his body heat. Yes, it was him—Derek Roland. Mr. Tall, Groomed and Stern. Even the perpetual frown between his eyebrows was exactly as she remembered; nevertheless, he was an attractive man, and she didn’t actually hold any resentment toward him. To be fair, she’d concluded him to be as much an injured party to what had occurred as she was. His offense was simply to be here and, therefore, was a reminder of the humiliation she’d fled Texas to forget.

      “I’m not related to either Rae or Gus,” she replied, acutely aware of the visual study he was conducting of her. “Rae is my boss. Denver Events Planning.”

      “From PTA fairy godmother and Booster Club organizer to events planner. That makes all the sense in the world and probably keeps you as busy as ever. You have to love the wardrobe upgrade?”

      “It’s … different.” And keeping busy was the idea. She’d needed to stay as active as possible during her awake hours so she didn’t drown in a pity party for one when she should be sleeping. The paycheck was