Maybe

There had been times in her life—even after enduring Carlo’s possessiveness— when Cara had deeply regretted the lack of a man who’d be there when she woke up and when she went to bed at night, a man who cared more about spending time with her than about his career. Now it seemed she had one.

It wasn’t nearly as much fun as she’d anticipated.

Rafe O’Donnell was everywhere she turned, his expression remote, his gaze cool. The nonstop surveillance wasn’t exactly what she’d dreamed of. In fact, it was all too reminiscent of Carlo. The fact that Rafe was so blatant about it grated on her nerves. She hated that everyone in town knew he was there to keep an eye on her for some reason that neither of them had revealed.

Other than her one conversation with Tony, Cara had refused to discuss Rafe’s presence with her friends or her family. Only Lauren knew part of it—that she had to give a deposition when she got back to New York and that she wasn’t looking forward to it. Cassie, Karen and Emma were studying her almost as intently as Rafe was, but their motive was concern, his was distrust.

He’d been at it for nearly two weeks now, though he’d stayed true to his word and remained mostly in the background ever since that chance meeting at Henderson’s Toy Store over a week earlier. For some perverse reason Cara found that even more annoying and nerve-racking than having to deal with him. She was constantly on edge, continually reminded of the times they’d kissed and just how much she wanted him to kiss her again. For a few minutes in his arms she’d been able to forget why he was here. In fact, she’d forgotten almost everything, including her name.

His unexpected admission that he, too, had been affected by those kisses, had thrown her. Not that it made any real difference. He might be attracted to her, but he wasn’t happy about it. In fact, Rafe didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would violate his own ethical standards on a regular basis. Kissing a suspect, no matter how unjustly accused, was bound to be a breach of those ethics. No wonder he was keeping his distance.

Right now, for example, he was sitting in the booth next to hers at the diner, sipping coffee and pretending to read the morning paper. She knew it was only

pretense, because his gaze rarely shifted away from her long enough for more than a glimpse of the headlines. She sighed heavily.

“You might as well come over here and join me,” she said finally. Maybe they could discuss this like two reasonable people and find a way to peacefully coexist, since it was evident that nothing was going to make him go away.

He stared at her, clearly surprised by the invitation. “You sure about that?” “Lately I don’t seem to be sure about much of anything, but you’re getting

on my nerves over there, so, what the heck?”

A grin came and went so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. It was probably a good thing he didn’t smile too often. She had a hunch the effect could be devastating, even more devastating than the rare hint of vulnerability she’d seen on his face as he and Caitlyn had played with the toy trains. Wondering what that was about had kept her awake for several nights, despite repeated lectures to herself that Rafe’s past was none of her concern.

Carrying the paper and his cup of coffee, Rafe slid into the booth opposite her. Cara tried to pretend he was someone who’d come into her restaurant for a good meal, someone deserving of friendly conversation. She’d certainly been forced to be polite to a lot of arrogant, exasperating people over the years. What was one more?

“Still enjoying your visit to Winding River?” she asked politely, as if he were just another tourist instead of a man with an agenda.

“It’s been interesting,” he said. “Finding much to do?”

He regarded her with amusement. “You know the answer to that, since I’ve pretty much been doing whatever you’re doing. Are you bored?”

“I’m never bored when I’m home, especially with so many of my friends around.”

“If you’re so fond of this place, why did you leave?”

“I wanted to be a chef, a really good one. Tony ran out of recipes.” It was a simplistic answer, but true enough.

“So you left here and went to New York?”

“Not right away. I trained all over at a series of culinary institutes here and in Europe,” she said.

“Must have been expensive.”

She had a hunch his interest in the cost had less to do with curiosity than with his desire to build a case that she’d needed Café Tuscany money to pay off old debts. She leaned forward and met his gaze evenly.

“I was very good. I received several scholarships,” she told him. “Is that how you met Rinaldi, at one of those cooking schools?”

“Yes,” she said. “But before we go too far along that particular path, let’s agree here and now to save all those nasty deposition questions for New York.”

“It might not leave us much to talk about,” he said, that grin sneaking back. “Consider it a challenge. You look like the kind of man who thrives on

challenges.”

“I do,” he agreed. “Okay then, you pick a nice, neutral topic. What shall we talk about?”

“Let’s talk about you,” she suggested. “Why did you decide to become a lawyer?”

“To protect the little guy from swindlers and crooks,” he said readily.

Cara laughed. “Didn’t take long to get back to your low opinion of me, did

it?”

“That’s your interpretation,” he said. “Guilty conscience?”

“Not me.” She regarded him intently. “Tell me something. Why did you take

this case? Usually your firm is involved in much more lucrative, high-profile cases. You don’t actually work for the little guys. You work for corporate America. Yet here you are up to your neck in a case that involves peanuts. Even if you recover every missing dollar that Bobby allegedly stole, your cut won’t amount to much by your firm’s standards. And just think of all the billable hours you’re missing while you hang around out here keeping me under surveillance.”

He shrugged. “I was due for a vacation, anyway.”

“But you wouldn’t have chosen to take it here, would you?” “No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”

“So why did you take a case that was going to cost so much for such little reward?”

“It was personal,” he said, his expression turning grim. “Oh? In what way?”

“My mother was among those Rinaldi swindled out of their money.” There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I imagine you can see why I’d want him caught.”