Thirteen years after their mother Shelby died, Asa had gone off one day and came back with a baby. He'd told them that Dusty was orphaned, the child of a friend. He'd adopted her and stuck to his story, but the boys had been old enough to know better.

Dusty was the spitting image of the rest of the McCalls and obviously some love child of Asa's, although they'd never known who Dusty's mother was. They didn't blame the old man for being lonesome. They'd never understood why he hadn't remarried.

"After being married to Shelby, I would never dream of marrying again," he'd said the one time Rourke had broached the subject.

Rourke couldn't even remember what his mother looked like. He'd only been three when she'd died, Brandon just a baby. There were no photos of her in the house. Asa said it was too hard on him having her photo around. But J.T. remembered her and maybe Cash. They'd both kept flowers on her grave all these years.

"You know Dad was hoping you'd come back and ranch," Cash said, turning from the desk.

Rourke gave his brother a give-me-a-break look. "He didn't mention that when I saw him earlier today. Maybe he didn't go through with legally disinheriting me but-"

"Who do you think put up the money for your appeal?" Cash said. "I'd hoped you'd come home a little smarter."

"Prison is such an educational place," Rourke quipped, trying to hide his surprise. The old man had paid for his appeal? "I thought Brandon and Dusty-"

"Dad paid for all of it. He just didn't want you to know," Cash said. "Stubborn pride. Obviously you inherited it from him."

He handed Rourke a key ring with two keys on it. "That's the key for the cabin. The other one's for the boathouse. Seriously, go fishing. Finding Forrest's killer can wait another few days. After all, you've waited eleven years, right? And I'll see what I can do about getting you a copy of your file."

"Thanks." He really meant it. He took the keys, suddenly exhausted. It had been a long emotional day and a d.a.m.ned surprising one. He knew he needed sleep more than anything else. The very last thing he should do was confront the other other cowgirl he'd been thinking about for eleven years. cowgirl he'd been thinking about for eleven years.

BLAZE WAITED at the office until almost seven o'clock for Rourke. She'd worn her s.e.xiest silk blouse, an expensive suit and her highest heels this morning, the ones that flattered her legs, legs encased in the finest silk hosiery money could buy.

And she knew she smelled and looked divine. She'd seen Easton's reaction every time he looked at her or came near her. It did her heart good that he'd been acting jealous all day. He knew she'd only dressed this way for Rourke and it had been killing him.

Except Rourke hadn't shown. Maybe he didn't know where she worked. Maybe he'd gone by her apartment.

But she knew that wasn't the case. Rourke would know where to find her. He just hadn't.

She considered that he might have gotten over her. After all it had been eleven years.

She quickly rejected the thought.

He had written her a letter right after his trial, asking her to write him and to wait for him. She'd written back that it wouldn't be fair to either of them for her to wait and that writing would only make it more painful, but that he would always have a place in her heart. He hadn't written her again. Nor she him.

She had thought about writing him just before he got out. But she hadn't wanted to give Rourke any ammunition in writing that he could use against her. She might want to make Easton jealous, but she didn't want to blow it entirely with him. He was still her best bet for an easy life.

She just hoped Rourke would be as simple to manipulate. She needed him to give Easton that little push he obviously had to have to ask her finally to marry him. She'd given up on using Cash to make Easton jealous. Cash was still hung up on some rich gal he'd met at college who'd disappeared. Even Blaze Logan couldn't compete with a ghost.

And J.T.... she didn't want to think about him. He'd made it very clear he wasn't looking for a wife unless she was interested in being a ranch wife, which meant she was to cook and clean and play mama not only to any children they would have, but also his little sister-and he hadn't minced words about it. He'd had a bad experience with some city girl who had soured him on city girls-and women with careers outside the home.

Blaze, who had no intention of being a career woman or or a ranch wife, had informed J.T. that if he wanted her, he'd have to hire a cook, a nanny and a housekeeper, because he wouldn't be marrying one. a ranch wife, had informed J.T. that if he wanted her, he'd have to hire a cook, a nanny and a housekeeper, because he wouldn't be marrying one.

He hadn't given her the time of day after that. Not that he'd done the pursuing in the first place. All he cared about were his stupid cattle.

But Rourke...well, Rourke should be flattered and grateful for her attention. Especially after all those years in prison. He'd boost her ego and make Easton delirious with jealousy. Rourke couldn't have gotten out of prison at a better time.

She glanced at her watch. Clearly Rourke wasn't coming by. She swore under her breath. As ridiculous as it was, it seemed she would have to do the pursuing. Turning out the lights and locking up the office, she walked out of the building and headed for her car.

That's when she saw him. He was just getting out of his pickup. He stopped and she saw his expression and realized this wasn't the man she used to keep curled around her little finger. Easton was right. Rourke had changed. It crossed her mind that she might be playing with a fire she could no longer control.

But that had never stopped her before, she thought, smiling as she walked toward him. Anyway, this wasn't about Rourke. This was about Easton and her goal to marry him come h.e.l.l or high water.

"Rourke," she said in her most seductive tone as she stopped so close to him she could feel his body heat and smell the masculine scent of him. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt, boots and a straw cowboy hat. All looked new.

He was more muscular, his body a man's, no longer a boy's, and there was a hardness in his eyes. She couldn't imagine how he could be any s.e.xier even if he tried. And Rourke never had to try.

"Blaze," he said, and gave her a slow, almost calculated smile.

She'd hoped for a little different reaction and felt disappointed that Rourke hadn't burst into her office earlier, swept her up in his arms, kissed her madly and told her that he'd thought about nothing but her all those years in prison. She'd hoped he would carry her off to ravage her as only Rourke could do.

Easton would have just died and word would have spread all over town faster than a wildfire.

Blaze wasn't merely disappointed, she was miffed at Rourke. There wasn't a soul here to see them together. His timing couldn't have been worse. Where had he been? She'd seen him go into the Longhorn Cafe earlier in the afternoon. If she hadn't decided to pretend to work late, she might not have seen him at all.

She was miffed enough that she decided she wouldn't go anywhere with him when he asked-especially to bed. Not tonight. It probably wouldn't hurt to play hard to get. Look what it did for Ca.s.sidy. Blaze had seen the way Cash McCall was always trying to strike up a conversation with her-and Ca.s.sidy not even noticing his interest.

"Working late?" Rourke asked, his tone almost mocking as if he knew she'd waited around for him.

"When did you get back?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Earlier." He leaned against the front of his pickup as if waiting for her to make the first move.

She glanced at her watch. This wasn't going anything like she'd hoped.

"You have someplace you need to be?" he asked. He did have a wonderful voice, deep and s.e.xy. h.e.l.l, maybe she would let him take her to bed tonight after all.

"Just home. I have an apartment not far from here." How subtle was that?

"What are you driving?" he asked, looking around. She was driving another ADC Suburban parked next to his pickup.

"I walked to work today." A little white lie but one that might get her a ride home, and once Rourke walked her to her door- "Nice evening for a walk," he said. "I should let you get going." He pushed himself off the front of the pickup, not even touching her as he started around to the driver's side door.

"Did you stop by for something?" she asked plaintively.

He paused to look back at her. "Just wanted to see you. You're not married."

"No." She licked her lips.

"I hope you didn't wait for me," he said smoothly.

She bristled. "We agreed that was the best thing."

"Did we? Funny, I thought it was your decision." He shook his head. "I guess I forgot."

"I'm glad you're back," she called to him as he started to get into his pickup.

"Are you?" He was smiling over the top of the door, then he ducked inside, closed the door and started the engine.

She stood on the sidewalk and watched him drive off. He hadn't offered to take her home. h.e.l.l, he hadn't even touched her. Was he angry that she'd broken it off eleven years ago? Like she was going to wait eleven years for him.

Or was he just plain not interested?

No way. He was interested. He was a man. He was Rourke McCall. He was just ticked at her for not writing him or visiting him while he was in prison. He'd be back. Probably later tonight. She wished she'd given him her address. Then she realized her own foolishness. He'd find her. He always had before.

She glanced at the dark green Suburban just feet away and then down at her high, high heels. No contest. She wasn't walking home. She pulled out the keys and headed for the Suburban.

Rourke would have to be punished for not falling all over himself to be with her. She would give him the cold shoulder for a while before she let him make love to her when he showed up at her door tonight. She'd make him park out front. That way Ca.s.sidy would see his truck when she drove to work in the morning. So would Easton.

That made Blaze feel better. It wasn't like Rourke had rejected rejected her. He couldn't do that. Not as crazy as he'd been about her before he went to prison. her. He couldn't do that. Not as crazy as he'd been about her before he went to prison.

She was deciding what to wear after her shower as she drove to her apartment a few blocks down Main. It should have been a nicer apartment, but her father was still being a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and insisting she make her own way.

Which made marriage to Easton Wells look better all the time. But first she deserved one last wild fling with Rourke McCall.

OUT AT THE SUNDOWN RANCH, Asa woke to darkness and the phone. The clock read 3:11 a.m. Nothing but bad news at this time of the morning. He fumbled for the receiver, already shaking, already scared. Rourke. It was his first thought. He hadn't had a call in the middle of the night since Forrest Danvers was murdered.

Heart hammering, he put the receiver to his ear. "h.e.l.lo?" His voice sounded scratchy, tight. "h.e.l.lo?" he said a little louder, and pushed himself up in the bed.

He could hear breathing. Not the heavy breathing of an obscene caller but definitely someone on the line. And there was music in the background. A song he recognized.

"Who is this?" he demanded, suddenly more worried. He listened to the soft breathing, holding his own breath. There was a click, then nothing.

He sat for a long moment holding the phone, trying to understand why his heart was racing. It hadn't been about one of the kids. It had been a wrong number.

He hung up the phone, fell back in the bed. Nothing to worry about. His heart pounded as he stared up at the dark ceiling and felt the world around him start to crumble. The soft breathing, the song in the background. He could almost smell her perfume. Shelby. If he didn't know better, he'd think he just had a call from a dead woman.

Chapter Seven.

Early the next morning, Rourke heard a vehicle coming up the road to the cabin. One of the reasons he'd chosen this place to stay was because he could hear and see anyone coming. No surprises. He went to the back porch and watched Cash's patrol car wind its way up the mountainside.

The other reason he'd wanted to stay here was the solitude, the beauty, the stark difference between this country and a prison cell.

Having spent too many nights locked up, he'd slept under the stars last night in a bedroll on the beach in front of the cabin. The moon had been almost full. He'd watched it rise over the lake in a kind of breathless awe, feeling the night breeze against his face, feeling alive for the first time in more years than he could remember.

But it had proved to be a restless night, haunted with memories. He'd dreamed about Blaze. And worse, Ca.s.sidy. He regretted not taking Blaze up on her offer. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Morning," Rourke called in greeting to his brother as Cash climbed out of the patrol car. "Tell me you brought doughnuts."

Cash smiled as he pulled a large box out with him and headed up the steps. "You realize that's a cliche, cops and doughnuts." He handed Rourke the box.

"Right." Rourke could smell the doughnuts in the bag perched on top of the stacks of papers in the heavy box. "Chocolate covered with sprinkles?" He let out an oath as Cash nodded. "I could kiss you."

"Don't," Cash warned as he pushed open the door for Rourke and followed him inside.

"I made coffee," Rourke said. "You have time for a cup?"

Cash shook his head. "There's a copy of the case file in the box, along with copies of the trial transcript."

Rourke shot him a look. There was no way Cash could have gotten his hands on a copy between last night and this morning. That meant he'd had it all along, had searched, as Rourke planned to, for the real killer.

"Listen," Cash was saying, "I've been doing some thinking."

Rourke put down the box on the table and turned to his brother. Cash and J.T. had always been the serious ones, the McCalls who worried and stewed, the responsible, sensible ones. "If you're going to tell me not to look into the murder-"

"No, that would be a waste of my breath," Cash said with a rueful smile. "Just...just be careful."

Rourke stared at his brother. "You think the killer is still around, don't you."

"I just know there were a lot of hard feelings over Forrest's death and some of what came out at the trial," Cash said. "Digging that all up again could be dangerous. You remember how Forrest's brother was? Well, Cecil's crazier now."

Rourke smiled. "Why can't you admit you don't believe I killed Forrest?"

"Because I'm a cop and I go by evidence, Rourke. Bring me some evidence to the contrary," Cash said, and turned to leave. "Enjoy the doughnuts."

And Rourke was the bad boy McCall.

After Cash left, Rourke ate the doughnuts as he considered the huge box full of paper. The doughnuts took him back to a time when he and his brothers would roughhouse in the mornings, having pillow fights and squirt-gun battles, which Martha, the ranch's longtime housekeeper, would break up with the promise of chocolate doughnuts.

He cherished the memory as he finished the last crumb, the smell, the taste, taking him back to his boyhood.

Finally he looked in the box on the table. It contained the reasons he'd gone to prison. Was it possible it also contained some missed fact that would clear his name and free him from the past? He knew the chances weren't good or Cash would have already found it.

For the better part of the day, Rourke went through every sc.r.a.p of paper in the box. Head aching, he realized as he turned over the last sheet that he'd exhausted the possibility of finding a missed clue.

No wonder no one had believed his innocence.

He put everything back into the box and stared at it. The plan came out of nowhere and yet he knew it had probably been percolating for eleven years. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Ca.s.sIDY WENT INTO work as if it was just another day. Her eyes were puffy from crying and she felt horrible, but she put on a little makeup to try to cover it, and a smile. While she probably didn't fool anyone, she was glad she'd come in to work.