The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes

When Tamra sat next to her, the child wiggled with familiarity. The dog got excited, too, slapping his tail against the splintered wood. Was the mutt a stray? A hungry soul Michele’s abundant family had taken pity on?

Walker moved closer and crouched down. Tamra told him the girl’s name was Maya. A bit shy, she banged her knobby knees together, ducked her head and gave him a sweet hello.

He wanted to scoop her up and take her home, spoil her with clothes and toys and fancy ribbons for her hair.

But at this point he wanted to take Tamra home, as well. He envisioned spoiling her, too, making up for her past, for the hardship she’d endured.

As she turned to look at him, he considered kissing her. Just a soft kiss, he thought. Something that wouldn’t alarm the child.

The front door flew open, and Walker’s heart jack-hammered its way to his throat. Romancing Tamra was a crazy notion. They’d already agreed they weren’t going to sleep together.

A young, full-figured woman came out of the house and greeted Tamra. Like most of the people on the rez, she had distinct sound to her voice—a flat tone, an accent Walker was still getting used to.

“Why are you sitting on the stoop?” she asked. “Why didn’t you come in?”

“We wanted to visit with Maya first,” Tamra told her, rising so they could hug. A second later she introduced Walker.

But the other woman, the infamous Michele, had already taken a keen interest in him. He shook her hand, and she flashed a smile that broadened her moon-shaped face.

“Where did Tamra find you?” She tossed a glance at her friend. “You show up with this yummy

iyeska

 and leave me in the dark?”

Yummy

iyeska?

It was better than being a stupid one, Walker supposed. But since that Lakota word still eluded him, he wasn’t sure how to react.

Tamra didn’t react, either. “He’s Mary’s son.”

“No shi—” Michele started to cuss, then caught herself. Her little girl was watching the adults like a fledging hawk.

Dark eyes. Rapt attention.

“So you’re the boy who was stolen by that mean

wasicu,”

 Michele said to Walker.

He tried not to frown, to let his emotions show.

Wasicu.

 White man, he thought. That was easy enough to translate. “Uncle Spencer raised my sister and me.”

Michele stuffed her hands into the pockets of threadbare jeans. “Well, it’s good to have you here.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at the kids playing in the grass, then at Maya, who still sat on the steps with the big mangy dog. “I live in San Francisco. And I’ll be going home in a few weeks.”

“Too bad.” Michele bumped Tamra’s shoulder.

“Ennit,

 friend?”

Tamra nodded, then made eye contact with Walker. But he knew she wasn’t challenging him. It was a look of confusion, of an attraction that was sure to go awry.

Michele guided Walker and Tamra into the house, looping her arms through theirs. Maya popped up and followed them. In no time the other kids came inside, too, joining their parents, who gathered around a TV set with snowy reception.

Two of the older women bounded into the kitchen and began preparing a snack of some kind. Walker hadn’t expected them to cook for him. With all the mouths they had to feed, he felt awkward about being fussed over. But he appeared to be an honored guest.

Mary Little Dove’s son.

Maya warmed up to him, sitting beside him in a tired old chair. He moved over to accommodate her, and the lopsided cushion sagged under his weight, making him even more aware of his run-down surroundings. The faded brown carpet was worn to the bone, and sleeping mats were stacked in every corner.

He glanced across the crowded room and noticed the exchange of a twenty-dollar bill going from Tamra to Michele. The birthday loan. Walker tipped bellmen at hotels more than that.

He thought about the stocks Spencer had willed to him. Was it blood money? Payment in full? Or was he just lucky that his uncle had given a damn about him?

The Ashton patriarch. The mean

wasicu.

The snack was a platter of fry bread, a staple among most Indian tribes, accompanied by bowls of

wojapi,

 a Lakota pudding made with blueberries, water, sugar and flour.

Following young Maya’s lead, Walker dipped a piece of fry bread into the

wojapi

 and realized he was surrounded by people who seemed genuinely interested in him. Still seated in the sagging chair, with Maya by his side, he talked and laughed with Tamra’s friends.

And for a few surprisingly stress-free hours, he actually enjoyed being in Pine Ridge.

The sun had begun to set, disappearing behind the hills, painting the sky in majestic colors.

For Tamra, this was home. The land, the trees, the tranquility. The impoverished reservation. A place she used to hate. But she would never hate it again. She knew better now.

Maka Ina,

 she thought. Mother Earth.

She glanced at Walker. He sat next to her, watching the horizon. They occupied a rustic porch swing at his mom’s house that complained every so often, the wood creaking from age.

He hadn’t said much since they’d left Michele’s house, but he seemed reflective.

Sticking to their original plan, they’d gotten a pepperoni pizza. But instead of eating it, they’d put it in the fridge, saving it for later, waiting for Mary to come home from work. But for now, their bellies were still full of fry bread and

wojapi.

“What’s an

iyeska?”

 Walker asked.

“A half-breed.”

“That’s it? That’s all it means?”

“Yes. Do you want me to translate yummy, too?”

He smiled, just little enough to send her heart into a girlish patter.

When his smile faded, she sensed the hurt inside him, the pain that often came with being a mixed blood. “Michele wasn’t trying to insult you.”

He gazed into the distance, at the land of his ancestors. Tamra waited for him to respond. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped, preparing for their evening roost.

“I know Michele wasn’t putting me down,” he said. “But the first day I arrived, a wino called me a stupid

iyeska.

 It never occurred me that it meant half-breed. In San Francisco, people think I’m this major Indian. No matter how much I downplay my heritage, they still notice, still comment on it. But here I’m not Indian enough.”

“It’s the way you carry yourself, Walker.”

He shifted on the swing, scraping his lace-up boots on the porch. He wore comfortable-looking khakis and a casual yet trendy shirt. A strand of his hair fell across his forehead, masking one of his eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s always been dissention between the full bloods and the mixed bloods on the reservation.” A war she understood all too well. “But sometimes

iyeska

 refers to someone’s attitude, not his or her blood quantum. Full bloods can be

iyeskas,

 too. Indians who think white.”

Edgy as ever, he frowned at her. “Fine. Then that’s what I am.”

“You didn’t seem like an

iyeska

 once you got to know Michele’s family. You seemed like a full blood.”

“I did?” He smoothed his hair, dragging the loose strand away from his forehead. Then he laughed a little. “I really liked Michele’s family, but they weren’t totally traditional. I don’t know if I could handle that.” He released a rough breath. “I’m too set in my

wasicu

 ways.”

“Maybe so.” She grinned at him. “But you’re starting to speak Lakota.”

He grinned, too. “A few words. My uncle is probably rolling over in his grave.”

For a moment she thought his good mood would falter. That his grave-rolling uncle would sour his smile. But he managed to hold on, even if she saw a deeply rooted ache in his eyes.

“What does

ennit

 mean?” he asked.

“It’s not a Lakota word. It’s an interjection a lot of Indians use.

Ennit?

 instead of

isn’t it?”

“You don’t say it.”

“I’ve never been partial to slang.”

“Thank God,” he said, and made her laugh.

She looked up at the sky and noticed the sun was gone. Dusk had fallen, like a velvet curtain draping the hills. Beside her, Walker fell silent. She suspected he was enjoying the scenery, too. The pine-scented air, the summer magic.

He interrupted her thoughts. “I almost kissed you earlier.”

Her lungs expanded, her heart went haywire. Fidgeting with the hem on her blouse, she tried to think of something to say. But the words stuck in her throat.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Beneath her plain white bra, her nipples turned hard—hard enough to graze her top, to make bulletlike impressions.

“Would you have kissed me back?”

“No,” she lied, crossing her arms, trying to hide her breasts.

“I think you would’ve,” he said.

Tamra forced herself to look at him. A mistake, she realized. An error in judgment. Now her panties were warm, the cotton sticking to her skin. “We’re supposed to get past this.”

“Past what?” He leaned into her, so close, his face was only inches from hers. “Wanting each other?”

She nodded, and he touched her cheek. A gentle caress. A prelude to a kiss.

She waited. But he didn’t do it.

He dropped his hand to his lap and moved back, away from her. “We are.” He brushed his own fly, tensed his fingers and made a frustrated fist. “We’re past it.”

She stole a glance at his zipper, looked away, hoped to God she wasn’t blushing. “Then let’s talk about something else.”

“Fine. But I can’t think of anything.” He spread his thighs, slouching a little. “Can you?”

“Not really, no.” And his posture was making her dizzy, ridiculously light-headed. She could almost imagine sliding between his legs, whispering naughty things in his ear.

He cleared his throat. “How about San Francisco?”

She fussed with her blouse again. “What?”

“We can discuss San Francisco.”

“You want to compare notes?” She told herself to relax, to quit behaving like a crush-crazed teenager. “About what? Our alma mater?”

He shook his head. “I went to UC Berkeley.”

“Then what?”

“I want to know what happened in San Francisco. Why you didn’t stay there.” A slight breeze blew, cooling the prairie, stirring the air.

She squinted, saw a speckling of stars, milky dots that had yet to shine.

“Will you tell me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, drawing the strength to talk about her baby, the infant she’d buried in Walker’s hometown.

Four

T

amra

 took a deep breath, fighting the pain that came with the past. Walker didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to speak.

“I had a baby in San Francisco,” she said. “A little girl. But she was stillborn.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He reached over to take her hand, to skim his fingers across hers.

She closed her eyes for a moment, grateful for his touch, his compassion. “She’s still there. In a cemetery near my old apartment.”

“Do you want me to visit her when I go home?” he asked. “To take her some flowers?”

Tamra opened her eyes, felt her heart catch in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to make such a kind offer. “That would mean a lot to me. Sometimes I worry that she’s lonely, all by herself in a big city. I know that’s a crazy way to feel, but I can’t help it.” She looked up at the sky again. “I should have buried her here. But at the time, I was determined to stay in San Francisco, to prove I could make it.”

“But you changed your mind?”

She nodded. “After a while, I realized I was spinning in circles. Mourning my baby and trying to be someone I wasn’t.” She looked at him, saw him looking back at her. “Mary and I went to San Francisco because we were defying our heritage, because we wanted to be white. But we’re not. We’re Lakota. And this is our home.”

He released her hand, but he did it gently, slowly. “What about your baby’s father? How does he fit into all of this?”

“He doesn’t, not anymore.”

“But he did. He gave you a child.”

When her chest turned tight, she blew out the breath she was holding. “He broke up with me when he found out I was pregnant. He wasn’t her father. He was a sperm donor.”

Walker searched her gaze. “Did you love him?”

“Yes.” She shifted in her seat, causing the swing to rock. “His name is Edward Louis. I met him through JT Marketing, the firm I worked for. He’s one of their top clients.”

“A white guy?”

“Yes. A corporate mogul. The president of a wheel corporation. You know, fancy rims and tires.”

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Walker paused, frowned. “Is it Titan Motorsports? Is that the company he represents?”

“No. Why? Does it matter?”

“I have Titan wheels on my Jag. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t supporting the enemy.”

She smiled, leaned against his shoulder, decided she liked him. “Your Jaguar is safe.”

“Good.” He leaned against her, too. “I don’t understand how a man could leave a woman who’s carrying his child.”

“He thought I trapped him. That I got pregnant on purpose. He didn’t love me the way I loved him. But I’m not blaming that on his race. It doesn’t have anything to do with him being white. Plenty of Indian men walk away, too.”

“Like your dad?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m still having a hard time with my mom,” Walker said. “It bothers me that she didn’t fight to keep her children. That she let us go. But on the other hand, I’m grateful that I’ve lived a privileged life. That I wasn’t raised here.” He made a face. “I realize how awful that sounds, but I can’t help it. It’s just so damn poor.”

“That was part of Mary’s reasoning, I think. Why she didn’t fight. Why she let Spencer take you.”

“So it was more than him just threatening her?”

Tamra nodded. “It was the hopelessness she felt, the fear of not being able to provide for you and Charlotte. Eighty-five percent of the people on Pine Ridge are unemployed. There’s no industry, technology or commercial advancement to provide jobs.”

“She has a job now.”

“Twenty-two years after she let you and your sister go. Mary has come a long way since then.”

“But Pine Ridge hasn’t.”

“Maybe not, but we keep trying. Mary knows she was wrong. That she should have fought to keep her kids. We have to believe in ourselves, to teach our young to battle the hopelessness, to rise above it.”

“That’s a noble concept. But how realistic is it?”

“Come to work with me tomorrow and find out.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a dare?”

“You bet it is.” She wasn’t about to let him leave the reservation on a discouraging note. She wanted him to be proud of his birthright.

“Then what choice do I have?” He gave her a playful nudge. “I’m not the kind of man who backs away from a challenge. Especially from a pretty girl.”

She didn’t flirt back. At least not in a lighthearted way. She was too emotional to goof around, too serious to make silly jokes. In the waning light, she touched the side of his face, absorbing the texture of his skin.

His chest rose and fell, his breathing rough, a little anxious. “Being nice to me is going to get you into trouble, Tamra.”

“Maybe. But you’ve been nice to me tonight. You offered to visit my baby. To bring her flowers.”

“What was her name?” he asked.

“Jade.”

“Like the stone?”

“When I was pregnant, Mary bought me a figurine for my birthday. A jade turtle that fit in the palm of my hand. It was my protector.”

“Do you still have it?”

She shook her head. “I buried it with my baby. I gave it to her.”

He leaned forward. “Jade was lucky to have you.”

She tried not to cry, but her eyes betrayed her. They burned with the threat of tears, with the memory of her daughter, with the little kicks and jabs that had glorified her womb. “I wanted her so badly. But toward the end, I knew something was wrong. She wasn’t moving inside me anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.” He touched her face, the way she’d grazed his. And then he brushed his lips across hers. A feathery kiss, a warm embrace.

Desperate for his compassion, she slid her arms around his neck and drew him closer. His tongue touched hers, and she welcomed the sensation, the slow, sensual comfort of his mouth.

He tasted like blueberries, like Lakota pudding. Masculine heat, drenched in sugar. She couldn’t seem to get enough. Desperate for more, she deepened the kiss.

And then a car sounded, moving along the road, coming toward the house.

Like kids who’d gotten caught with their pants down, they jerked apart.

“My mother’s home.” He grabbed the chain on the swing, trying to keep it from rattling, from making too much noise. “I guess we should reheat the pizza.”

“Yes, of course.” Tamra stood, smoothed her blouse, wondered if Walker’s prediction would come true. That they would, indeed, end up in bed.

And be sorry about it afterward.

Walker, Tamra and Mary sat in the living room, the coffee table littered with napkins, sodas and leftover pizza. They’d eaten their meal, and now they battled a round of silence.

Walker wondered what Tamra was thinking, if she was as confused as he was. With each passing hour, he became more and more protective of her. Not that he was happy about it. In some ways, arguing with her was easier. But he wasn’t about to pick a fight.

If anything, he should cut his trip short and go home. But he knew he wouldn’t. Not until he figured out what to do about Tamra. If he walked away too soon, he would feel like a coward.

“Would you like to spend the night here?” his mother asked, catching him off guard.

He reached for his drink and took a hard, cold swig. Sleep under the same roof as Tamra? Was his mother daft? Couldn’t she see what was happening? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Because I want to have sex with your non-Hunka daughter, he thought. “Because I don’t have anything with me. All of my stuff is at the motel. My rental car, too.”

“Then how about tomorrow night?” Mary gave him a beseeching look. “It’s been so many years since I’ve had my boy with me. I just hate to let you go.”

Guilt clawed at his conscience. He hadn’t come to Pine Ridge to get hot and bothered over Tamra. He’d arrived in South Dakota to search for his mother. And now that he’d found her, he hadn’t given her the time or the consideration she deserved. He hadn’t given her a chance.

“Sure,” he said. “I can stay tomorrow.”

“And the next night after that?” she pressed, her voice much too hopeful.

He nodded, feeling kind of loopy inside. Walker wasn’t used to maternal affection. Spencer’s wife, Lilah, had all but ignored him, especially when he was young.

Of course, he’d been too enamored of Spencer to worry about getting attention from Lilah. Besides, he’d always seen her as a tragic character, lost in a socialite world, a place with no substance. And from what he’d observed, she wasn’t the greatest mother to her own kids. So why would she treat him or his sister with care?

He’d survived without a mom, something he’d gotten used to. And now here he was, sitting next to Mary on her plain blue sofa, with boyish butterflies in his stomach.

The longing in her eyes made him ill at ease. Yet somewhere in the cavern of his lost memories, in the depth of his eight-year-old soul, he appreciated it. He just wished he could return the favor. But as it was, she still seemed like a stranger.

“Walker is coming to work with me tomorrow,” Tamra said, drawing his attention. “So he should probably drive his car over in the morning.”

“That’s a great idea,” Mary put in.

Yeah, great. He was being prodded by two decision-making females. He addressed Tamra. “You still have to take me back to the motel tonight.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I know.”

Curious, he gauged her reaction. Was she wondering if he would kiss her again? If once they were alone, they would pick up where they’d left off?

Well, they wouldn’t, he concluded. He was going to keep his hands to himself, control his urges, even if it killed him. What good would it do to pursue a relationship with her? To get tangled up in an affair? He was the up-and-coming CEO of a company that had been his life’s blood, and she was dedicated to her reservation, to a place that would never fit his fast-paced, high-finance lifestyle. One or two heart-felt moments on Pine Ridge wouldn’t change him. He would always be an

iyeska.

 And he would always be connected to Uncle Spencer—the tough, ruthless man who’d raised him.

“Do you want to see some old family photos?” Mary asked.

Walker glanced up, realizing he’d zoned out, gotten lost in troubled thoughts. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Pictures of you and Charlotte when you were little,” she said. “They were the first things I packed. After I was released from the hospital, Spencer told me to grab a few belongings and he would send the rest. But I didn’t trust him, so I took mementos I didn’t want him to destroy.”

His lungs constricted. “Sure. Okay. I’d like to see the pictures.”

Mary smiled, her dark eyes turning bright. “I’ll get them.” She rose from the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”

After she left the room, he locked gazes with Tamra, who sat across from him in a faded easy chair. The golden hue from a nearby lamp sent shadows across her face, making her look soft, almost ghostly.

A Lakota spirit.

He rubbed his arm, fighting an instant chill. Suddenly he could hear voices in his head, the cry of a woman and a child being gunned down, running from the cavalry, falling to the frozen earth. A playacted scene from an Indian documentary he’d caught on the History Channel a few months ago.

“What’s wrong?” Tamra asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re frowning.”

He tried to relax his forehead. “It’s not intentional.”

“Here they are.” Mary returned with two large photo albums.

Walker broke eye contact with Tamra, thinking about the baby she’d buried, the child he’d assumed responsibility for. Flowers on a grave.

His mother resumed her seat, handing him the first album. He opened the cover, then nearly lost his breath.

“That’s your father and me on our wedding day. It wasn’t a fancy ceremony. We went to the justice of the peace.”

“You look just like Charlotte, the way she looks now.” Stunned, he studied the picture. He hadn’t noticed the resemblance until now, hadn’t realized how much his sister had taken after Mary. But then, his mother had aged harshly, the years taking their toll.

“Really? Oh, my.” She seemed pleased, thrilled that her daughter had grown up in her image. Especially since Charlotte had called Mary earlier, promising that she would return to the States next week. They’d talked easily, almost as if they’d never been apart.

Walker had been a tad envious, wondering how his sister had managed to carry on a conversation like that. Within a few a minutes she’d accomplished more than he had in two full days.

And over the phone, no less.

Mary turned the page. “Here you are. On the day you were born. Look at that sweet little face.”

Sweet? He wasn’t an authority on newborns, but he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “I look like a prune.” A dried plum, he thought, with a cap of dark hair.

When his mom swatted his shoulder, he scrunched up his features, mocking the picture.

And then suddenly he felt sad. He noticed Tamra, sitting alone in her chair, ghostlike once again.

Was she thinking about Jade?

Trying to hide her emotions, she gave him a brave smile. But it was too late. He was already affected by her, already wishing he could hold her, take away her pain.

Too many lost children, he thought. Too much heartache. Now his mother was watching him with anticipation, waiting for him to look at the next picture.

To remember his youth.

But the only thing that came to mind was the documentary he recalled on TV. The woman and her child stumbling to the ground. A depiction of someone’s ancestors.

Bleeding in the snow.

Walker rode shotgun in Tamra’s truck, traveling from Rapid City, South Dakota, back to the reservation. They’d spent the morning in Rapid City, where she’d given him a tour of the warehouse that stocked food donations. The Oyate Project, the nonprofit organization she worked for, was a small but stable operation. She claimed there were bigger charities in the area, but she’d been involved in the Oyate Project since its inception.

Oyate,

 Walker had learned, meant “the People” in Lakota. Her people, his people, she’d told him.

He glanced out his window and saw a vast amount of nothingness—grassy fields, dry brush, a horizon that went on forever. Rapid City was about 120 miles from Pine Ridge, a long and seemingly endless drive and they were only halfway through it.

“So this is the route your delivery trucks take?” he asked.

“Yes, but because of the distance, the weather can vary, particularly in the winter. Sometimes a truck leaves Rapid City, where it’s sixty degrees and hits the reservation in the middle of a whiteout.”

“A blizzard?”

She nodded, and he pictured the land blanketed in snow. “Some of the homes aren’t accessible during heavy snows or rain, are they?”

“No, they’re not. We try to provide propane fuel and heating stoves. We haul firewood, too. But there are so many people to reach, so many families who need to keep warm.”

He thought about the years Tamra and her mother had spent dodging the cold. “Do you have any extended family? Anyone who’s still alive?”

“I have some distant cousins on my dad’s side, but we don’t socialize much. They tend to party, drink too much.” She heaved a heavy-hearted sigh. “I’ve tried to help them get sober, but they shoo me away. They think I’m a do-gooder.”

“No one could say that about me,” he admitted.

“You’ve never offered to help anyone?”

“Not firsthand. I send checks to charities, but I’ve always thought of them as tax write-offs. I don’t get emotionally involved.”

She slanted him a sideways glance. “You will today.”

He tried to snare her gaze, but she’d already turned back to the road. “So where exactly are we going?”

“To meet one of the trucks at a drop-off location. It’s my home base, where my office is.”

They arrived about forty-five minutes later. The drop-off location was a prefab building equipped with garage-style doors. A group of cars were parked around the structure, where volunteers waited for the delivery truck.

Michele and her daughter, Maya, were among the volunteers, ready to help those less fortunate than themselves. Walker was impressed. Michele was living in an overcrowded home, trying to make ends meet, yet she was willing to drive her beat-up car to other communities on the rez, delivering food to hungry families. He suspected the Oyate Project was paying for her gas, but she was offering her time, her heart, for free.

She greeted him and Tamra with a hug. Maya looked up at them and grinned. Soon another volunteer engaged Tamra in a conversation and she excused herself, leaving Walker with Michele and her sweet little girl.

As casually as possible he removed some cash from his wallet and slipped it into Michele’s hand.

She gave him a confused look.

“For Maya’s birthday,” he said, as the child played in the dirt, drawing pictures with a stick.

Michele thanked him, giving him another hug, putting her mouth close to his ear. “I hope you hook up with my friend. She needs a guy like you.”

He stepped back, felt his pulse stray. “I’m not hooking up with anybody.”

“You sure about that?”

Was he? “I’m trying to be.” He’d been doing his damnedest not to touch Tamra, not to kiss her again.

Michele angled her head. Her long, straight hair was clipped with a big, plastic barrette, and a bright blue T-shirt clung to her plus-size figure. “Maybe you shouldn’t fight it.”

He shifted his feet. They stood in the heat, with the sun beating down on their backs. “It would never work. I live in California.”

“Yeah, but you’re here now.” She gave him a serious study. “And my friend is getting to you.”

So he was supposed to live for the moment? Make a move on Tamra? Have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am with a woman who’d been through hell and back? Somehow he doubted that was what Michele had in mind. “You think I’ll stay. You think that if I hook up with her, I’ll make this place my home.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

Not that strange, he thought.

Tamra returned and invited him into her office. He entered the building with her, eager to escape. As much as he liked Michele, he didn’t need to get side-tracked by her hope-filled notions.

Determined to keep his distance, he refrained from getting too close to Tamra. But once they were in her office with the door closed, he didn’t have a choice. Her workspace put them in a confined area: a standard desk, a narrow bookcase, a file cabinet that took up way too much room.

She dug through the top drawer, removed a folder and sorted through it, gathering the papers she needed. Walker took a deep breath, and her fragrance accosted him like a floral-scented bandit. If he moved forward, just a little, just three or four small steps, he could take her in his arms.

Damn the consequences and kiss her.

The phone on her desk rang, jarring him back to reality.

She answered the call, and he cursed Michele for messing with his mind, for encouraging him to be with Tamr