Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  "I had my reasons for settling quietly here." He set the half-empty glass down on the counter with a little clink. "I don't care for the idea of my neighbor interrogating my daughter, or digging into my business."

  "Interrogating?" She nearly choked on the word. "Interrogating Jessie? Why would I?"

  "To get to know a little more about the rich widower in the next house."

  For one throbbing moment, she could only gape. "How unbelievably arrogant! Believe me, I enjoy Jessie's company, and I don't find it necessary to bring you into the conversation."

  What he considered her painfully transparent astonishment made him sneer. He'd handled her type before, but it was a disappointment, a damned disappointment, for Jessie. "Then it's odd that you'd know my name, that I'm a single parent, and my line of work, isn't it?"

  She wasn't often angry. It simply wasn't her nature. But now she fought a short, vicious war with temper. "You know, I doubt very much you're worth an explanation, but I'm going to give you one, just to see how difficult it is for you to talk when you have to shove your other foot in your mouth." She turned. "Come with me."

  "I don't want-"

  "I said come with me." She strode out of the kitchen, fully certain he would follow.

  Though annoyed and reluctant, he did. They moved through an archway and into a sun-drenched great room dotted with the charm of white wicker furniture and chintz. There were clusters of glinting crystals, charming statues of elves and sorcerers and faeries. Through another archway and into a cozy library with a small Adam fireplace and more mystical statuary.

  There was a deep cushioned sofa in raspberry that would welcome an afternoon napper, daintily feminine lace curtains dancing in the breeze that teased through an arching window, and the good smell of books mixed with the airy fragrance of flowers.

  Ana walked directly to a shelf, rising automatically to her toes to reach the desired volumes. "The Milkmaid's Wish," she recited as she pulled out one book after another. "The Frog, the Owl and the Fox. A Third Wish for Miranda.'' She tossed a look over her shoulder, though tossing one of the books would have been more satisfactory. "It's a shame I have to tell you how much I enjoy your work."

  Uncomfortable, he tucked his hands in his pockets. He was already certain he'd taken a wrong turn, and he was wondering if he could find a suitable way to backtrack. "It isn't often grown women read fairy tales for pleasure."

  "What a pity. Though you hardly deserve the praise, I'll tell you that your work is lyrical and valuable, on both a child's and an adult's level." Far from mollified, she shoved two of the books back into place. "Then again, perhaps such things are in my blood. I was very often lulled to sleep by one of my aunt's stories. Bryna Donovan," she said, and had the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen. "I imagine you've heard of her."

  Thoroughly chastised, Boone let out a long breath. "Your aunt." He flicked his gaze over the shelf and saw several of Bryna's stories of magic and enchanted lands alongside his. "We've actually corresponded a few times. I've admired her work for years."

  "So have I. And when Jessie mentioned that her father wrote stories about fairy princesses and dragons, I concluded the Sawyer next door was Boone Sawyer. Grilling a six-year-old wasn't necessary."

  "I'm sorry." No, actually, he was much more embarrassed than sorry, but that would have to do. "I had an- uncomfortable experience not long before we moved, and it's made me overly sensitive." He picked up a small, fluidly sculpted statue of an enchantress, turning it in his fingers as he spoke. "Jessie's kindergarten teacher- she pumped all sorts of information out of the kid. Which isn't too hard, really, since Jessie's pump's always primed."

  He set the statue down again, all the more embarrassed that he felt this obligation to explain. "But she manipulated Jessie's feelings, her natural need for a mother figure, gave her all sorts of extra attention, requested several conferences to discuss Jessie's unusual potential, even going so far as to arrange a one-on-one with me over dinner where she- Suffice it to say she was more interested in an unattached male with a nice portfolio than she was in Jessie's feelings or her welfare. Jessie was very hurt by it."

  Ana tapped a finger on the edge of one of his books before replacing it. "I imagine it was a difficult experience for both of you. But let me assure you, I'm not in the market for a husband. And, if I were, I wouldn't resort to manipulations and maneuvers. I'm afraid happy-ever-after has been too well indoctrinated in me for that."

  "I'm sorry. After I get those feet out of my mouth, I'll try to come up with a better apology."

  The way she lifted her brow told him he wasn't out of the woods yet. "I think the fact that we understand each other will do. Now I'm sure you want to get back to work, and so do I."

  She walked past him into a tiled foyer and opened the front door. "Tell Jessie to be sure to drop by and let me know how she likes school."

  Here's your hat, what's your hurry, Boone thought as he stepped out. "I will. Take care of those scratches," he added, but she was already closing the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 3

  Good going, Sawyer. Shaking his head, Boone sat down in front of his word processor. First his dog knocks her down in her own yard, then our blundering hero barges into her house uninvited to play with her legs. To cap it, he insults her integrity and insinuates that she's using his daughter to try to trap him.

  All in one fun-filled afternoon, he thought in disgust. It was a wonder she hadn't pitched him bodily out of her house rather than simply slamming the door in his face.

  And why had he acted so stupidly? Past experience, true. But that wasn't the root of it, and he knew it.

  Hormones, he decided with a half laugh. The kind of raging hormones better suited to a teenager than a grown man.

  He'd looked up at her face in that sun-washed kitchen, feeling her skin warm under his hand, smelling that serenely seductive scent she exuded, and he'd wanted. He'd craved. For one blinding moment, he'd imagined with perfect clarity what it would be like to drag her off that curvy little chair, to feel that quick jerk-shudder of reaction as he devoured that incredibly soft-looking mouth.

  That instant edge of desire had been so sharp, he'd needed to believe there was some outside force, some ploy or plot or plan to jumble his system so thoroughly.

  Safest course, he realized with a sigh. Blame her.

  Of course, he might have been able to dismiss the whole thing if it hadn't been for the fact that at that moment he'd looked up into her eyes and seen the same dreamy hunger he was feeling. And he'd felt the power, the mystery, the titanic sexuality, of a woman on the point of yielding.

  His imagination had a great deal of punch, he knew. But what he'd seen, what he'd felt, had been utterly real.

  For a moment, for just a moment, the tensions and needs had had that room humming like a harp string. Then he'd pulled back-as he should. A man had no business seducing his neighbor in her kitchen.

  Now he'd very likely destroyed any chance of getting to know her better-just when he'd realized he very much wanted to get to know Miss Anastasia Donovan.

  Pulling out a cigarette, Boone ran his fingers over it while he thought through various methods of redemption. When the light dawned, it was so simple he laughed out loud. If he'd been looking for a way into the fair maiden's heart-which he wasn't, exactly-it couldn't have been more perfect.

  Pleased with himself, he settled down to work until it was time to pick up Jessie at school.

  Conceited jerk. Ana worked off her temper with mortar and pestle. It was very satisfying to grind something-even if it was only some innocent herbs-into a powder. Imagine. Imagine him having the idea that she was- on the make, she decided, sneering. As if she'd found him irresistible. As if she'd been pining away behind some glass wall waiting for her prince to come. So that she could snare him.

  The gall of the man.

  At least she'd had the satisfaction of thumbing her nose at him. And if closing a door in anyone's face was out of character fo
r her, well, it had felt wonderful at the time.

  So wonderful, in fact, that she wouldn't mind doing it again.

  It was a damn shame he was so talented. And it couldn't be denied that he was a wonderful father. They were traits she couldn't help but admire. There was no denying he was attractive, magnetically sexual, with just a dash of shyness tossed in for sweetness, along with the wild tang of untamed male.

  And those eyes, those incredible eyes that just about stopped your breath when they focused on you.

  Ana scowled and tightened her grip on the pestle. Not that she was interested in any of that.

  There might have been a moment in the kitchen, when he was stroking her flesh so gently and his voice blocked out all other sound, that she found herself drawn to him.

  All right, aroused by him, she admitted. It wasn't a crime.

  But he'd certainly shut that switch off quickly enough, and that was fine by her.

  Beginning this instant, and from now on, she would think of him only as Jessica's father. She would be aloof if it killed her, friendly only to the point where it eased her relationship with the child.

  She enjoyed having Jessie in her life, and she wasn't about to sacrifice that pleasure because of a basic and very well justified dislike of Jessie's father.

  "Hi!"

  There was that pixie face peeping through Ana's screen door. Even the dregs of temper were difficult to hold on to when she was faced with those big smiling eyes.

  Ana set the mortar and pestle aside and smiled back. She supposed she had to be grateful that Boone hadn't let the altercation that afternoon influence him to keep Jessie away.

  "Well, it looks like you survived your first day of school. Did school survive you?"

  "Uh-huh. My teacher's name is Mrs. Farrell. She has gray hair and big feet, but she's nice, too. And I met Marcie and Tod and Lydia and Frankie, and lots of others. In the morning we-"

  "Whoa." With a laugh, Ana held up both hands. "Maybe you should come in and sit down before you give me the day's events."

  "I can't open the door, 'cause my hands are full."

  "Oh." Ana obligingly pushed open the screen. "What have you got there?"

  "Presents." On a huff of breath, Jessie dropped a package on the table. Then she held up a large crayon drawing. "We got to draw pictures today, and I made two. One for Daddy and one for you."

  "For me?" Touched, Ana accepted the colorful drawing on the thick beige paper that brought back some of her own school memories. "It's beautiful, sunshine."

  "See, this is you." Jessie pointed out a figure with yellow hair. "And Quigley." Here a childish, but undeniably clever, depiction of a cat. "And all the flowers. The roses and the daisies and the lark things."

  "Larkspur," Ana murmured, misty-eyed.

  "Uh-huh. And all the others," Jessie continued. "I couldn't remember all the names. But you said you'd teach me."

  "Yes, I will. It's just lovely, Jessie."

  "I drew Daddy one of our new house with him standing out on the deck, because he likes to stand there best. He put it on the refrigerator."

  "An excellent idea." Ana walked over to center the picture on the refrigerator door, anchoring it with magnets.

  "I like to draw. My daddy draws real good, and he said my mommy drew even better. So I come by it naturally." Jessie slipped her hand into Ana's. "Are you mad at me?"

  "No, sweetheart. Why would I be?"

  "Daddy said Daisy knocked you down and broke your pots, and you got hurt." She studied the scratch on Ana's arm, then kissed it solemnly. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right. Daisy didn't mean it."

  "She didn't mean to chew up Daddy's shoes, either, and make him say swear words."

  Ana bit her lip. "I'm sure she didn't"

  "Daddy yelled, and Daisy got so nervous she peed right on the rug. Then he chased her around and around the house, and it looked so funny that I couldn't stop laughing. And Daddy laughed, too. He said he was going to build a doghouse outside and put Daisy and me in it."

  Ana lost any hope of taking it all seriously, and she laughed as she scooped Jessie up. "I think you and Daisy would have a great time in the doghouse. But if you'd like to save your father's shoes, why don't you let me help you work with her?"

  "Do you know how? Can you teach her tricks and everything?"

  "Oh, I imagine. Watch." She shifted Jessie to her hip and called Quigley out from his nap beneath the kitchen table. The cat rose reluctantly, stretched his front legs, then his back, then padded out. "Okay, sit." Heaving a feline sigh, he did. "Up." Resigned, Quigley rose on his haunches and pawed the air like a circus tiger. "Now, if you do your flip, I might just open a can of tuna fish later, for your dinner."

  The cat seemed to be debating with himself. Then-perhaps because the trick was small potatoes compared to tuna-he leapt up, arching his back and flipping over to land lightly on his feet. While Jessie crowed with laughter and applauded, Quigley modestly cleaned his paws.

  "I didn't know cats could do tricks."

  "Quigley's a very special cat." Ana set Jessie down to give Quigley a stroking. He purred like a freight train, nuzzling his face against her knee. "His family's in Ireland, like most of mine."

  "Does he get lonely?"

  Smiling, Ana scratched under Quigley's jaw. "We have each other. Now, would you like a snack while you tell me about the rest of your day?"

  Jessie hesitated, tempted. "I don't think I can, 'cause it's close to dinner, and Daddy-Oh, I almost forgot." She rushed back to the table to pick up a package wrapped in candy-striped paper. "This is for you, from Daddy."

  "From-" Unconsciously Ana linked her hands behind her back. "What is it?"

  "I know." Jessie grinned, her eyes snapping with excitement. "But I can't tell. Telling spoils the surprise. You have to open

  "Jessie picked it up and thrust it at Ana. "Don't you like presents?" Jessie asked when Ana kept her hands clasped tight behind her back. "I like them best of anything, and Daddy always gives really good ones."

  "I'm sure he does, but I-"

  "Don't you like Daddy?" Jessie's lower lip poked out. "Are you mad at him because Daisy broke your pots?"

  "No, no, I'm not mad at him." Not for the broken pots, anyway. "It wasn't his fault. And, yes, of course I like him-That is, I don't know him very well, and I-" Caught, Ana decided, and she worked up a smile. "I'm just surprised to get a present when it's not my birthday." To please the child, Ana took the gift and shook it. "Doesn't rattle," she said, and Jessie clapped and giggled.

  "Guess! Guess what it is!"

  "Ah- a trombone?"

  "No, no, trombones are too big." Excitement had her bouncing. "Open it. Open it and see."

  It was the child's reaction that had her own heart beating a shade too fast, Ana assured herself. To please Jessie, she ripped the paper with a flourish. "Oh."

  It was a book, a child's oversize book with a snowy white cover. On the front was a beautiful illustration of a golden-haired woman wearing a sparkling crown and flowing blue robes.

  "The Faerie Queen," Ana read. "By Boone Sawyer."

  "It's brand-new," Jessie told her. "You can't even buy it yet, but Daddy gets his copies early." She ran a hand gently over the picture. "I told him she looks like you."

  "It's a lovely gift," Ana said with a sigh. And a sneaky one. How was she supposed to stay irritated with him now?

  "He wrote something inside for you." Too impatient to wait, Jessie opened the cover herself. "See, right there."

  To Anastasia, with hopes that a magic tale works as well as a white flag. Boone.

  Her lips curved. It was impossible to prevent it. How could anyone refuse a truce so charmingly requested?

  Which was, of course, what Boone was counting on. As he shoved a packing box out of his way with his foot, he glanced through the window toward the house next door. Not a peep.

  He imagined it might take a few days for Ana to calm down, but he thought he'd made a giant stride in
the right direction. After all, he didn't want any antagonism between himself and Jessie's new friend.

  Turning back to the stove, he lowered the heat on the boneless chicken breasts he had simmering, then deftly began to mash potatoes.

  Jessie's number one favorite he thought, as he sent the beaters whirling. They could have mashed potatoes every night for a year and the kid wouldn't complain. Of course, it was up to him to vary the menu, to make sure she got a healthy meal every night.

  Boone poured in more milk and grimaced. He had to admit, if there was one part of parenting he would cheerfully give up, it was the pressure of deciding what they were to eat night after night.

  He didn't mind cooking it so much, it was that daily decision between pot roast, baked chicken, pork chops and all the others. Plus what to serve with it. Out of desperation, he'd begun to clip recipes-secretly-in hopes of adding some variety.

  At one time he'd seriously considered hiring a housekeeper. Both his mother and his mother-in-law had urged him to, and then they'd gone into one of their competitive huddles on how to choose the proper woman to fit the bill. But the idea of having someone in the house, someone who might gradually take over the rearing of his daughter, had deterred him.

  Jessie was his. One hundred percent his. Despite dinner decisions and grocery shopping, that was the way he liked it.

  As he added a generous slice of butter to the creamy potatoes, he heard her footsteps racing across the deck.

  "Good timing, frog face. I was just about to give you a whistle." He turned, licking potatoes from his finger and saw Ana standing in the doorway, one hand on Jessie's shoulder. The muscles in his stomach tightened so quickly that he nearly winced. "Well, hello."

  "I didn't mean to interrupt your cooking," Ana began. "I just wanted to thank you for the book. It was very nice of you to send it over."

  "I'm glad you like it." He realized he had a dishcloth tucked in his jeans and hastily rugged it out. "It was the best peace offering I could think of."

  "It worked." She smiled, charmed by the sight of him hovering busily over a hot stove. "Thanks for thinking of me. Now, I'd better get out of your way so you can finish cooking your dinner."