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graying head was ducked low as she engaged Christina Montgomery, the mayor’s younger daughter, in a quiet conversation.
    From different tables of the packed café he heard the name Kincaid mentioned several times.
    “Six of ’em, can you believe it?” Lily Mae was saying. “All with different mothers, aside from the twins, that is.” She was spouting off to a woman Jordan didn’t recognize. “And there’s talk of another one. I tell you, say what you will about Larry Kincaid, he was certainly a charmer.”
    Jordan snorted and finished his coffee.
    He’d heard enough. Larry Kincaid’s bastard sonswere about to descend upon the town. He left several bills, including a healthy tip, and tossed his napkin onto the table. That’s just what the town needed. More Kincaids, and bastards at that.
    Well, really, he thought bitterly as he jaywalked, dodging a sports car that was speeding down Center Avenue, weren’t they all?
     
    Why did he let the woman get to him? Trent wondered as he helped unload a sack of feed and stacked it in the stables. So she’d sneaked around, so she’d lied to him, so he hadn’t been able to resist her that one hot night in Dallas. So what? Forget her. He just had to put up with her for a few days here in Whitehorn and then he’d fly out and leave her forever.
    Right?
    He gritted his teeth and using his body, slammed the sacks of feed nearer the wall, straightening each stack. He tried to ignore the feeling that Gina was different, that she wasn’t just the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of woman he associated with one-night stands. His jaw clamped tight. Years ago he hadn’t thought one way or the other about meeting a woman and bedding her. But as he’d aged, he’d become more selective, more careful, restraining himself. He’d learned that people, women included, always wanted something from him, something more than he was willing to give.
    So he’d been cautious. Until that damned night in Dallas.
    “Something wrong?” Garrett asked as he draggedthe last sack from the truck and flung it on top of the pile. For an old man he was strong, a hard worker, though Trent did detect a hint of a limp and glimpsed the sweat that ran down the back of his neck. Garrett yanked off his battered leather gloves and set them on top of a barrel of oats. “You look like something’s eating at you.”
    “Got a lot to think about.”
    “Don’t we all?” Together they strode through the fading sunlight to the main house. They kicked off their boots on the back porch and walked into the kitchen where a pretty woman with dark upswept hair was overseeing boiling pots on the stove and peering into the oven. “The chicken’s about done,” she said, looking up at Garrett with dark, shining eyes. “I’ll just whip these potatoes and you can gather in the dining room. Oh, hi.” She spied Trent, wiped a hand on her apron and extended it. “I’m Suzanne.”
    “Rand’s wife,” Garrett said quickly. “My grandson, Trent Remmington. I called Suzanne in to pinch-hit with the cooking until I can find someone to take over. Suzanne, here, is an accountant in town.”
    “That is when I’m not playing Julia Child,” she teased, then laughed at the pseudo-consternation twisting Garrett’s features.
    “Actually, I don’t mind,” she said as she found a couple of pot holders and carried a kettle of boiled potatoes to the sink. She poured most of the water down the drain, saving a little in a smaller bowl. “Since my baby, Joe, was born, my career’s slowed down. I just dothe books for a few people now. There.” She set the pot of potatoes on the counter and, opening the oven door, retrieved a couple of golden-brown chickens. “I’ll make the gravy, then serve up in about fifteen minutes. After that I’d better hurry home. I left Joe with my brother.” She rolled her eyes and grinned.
    “Mack’s a good kid, but there’s only so much ‘quality time’ he can stand with his nephew.” She