“You’re nothing and you come from nothing. You’ve got nothing to offer my daughter. No future. No skills. Hell, you couldn’t even finish school. All you got is a trailer full of drugs, an addict for a father, and shit for brains.”

Perversely, he’d been happy for Evie, thinking at least her father cared, despite the fact that he spent very little time with her. But then Zane said the words that started the whole devastating chain of events. Angry words. Four words he wished he could take back the moment they dropped from his lips.

I know about you.

Zane had known that Evie’s father was on the take for years. Once a month, Sheriff Monroe showed up at his dad’s trailer to pick up a few kilos of coke and then transport them across state lines in his cruiser. And it wasn’t just drugs. He had his hands in the underground arms trade, too, not to mention all the nights he spent in the massage parlors in Stanton’s red light district.

But Zane had never told Evie about her dad’s extracurricular activities. Not because he felt any loyalty to his old man, and not because he was scared of Sheriff Monroe. But because Evie adored her father. She thought he was a hero. An honorable man. She forgave him all the nights he left her alone with her alcoholic mother because she thought he was out protecting Stanton’s citizens and saving the day. Zane couldn’t take that away from her, couldn’t bear to hurt her by shattering the illusion.

It was only the night Sheriff Monroe showed up at his trailer with a gun, that Zane realized his mistake. A man without honor or compassion wouldn’t understand that Zane would keep the secret from his daughter. Desperation drove a man who was afraid.

“Thanks.” She put down the spray gun. “I never made it to college, and I sort of fell into custom painting when one of my friends asked if I could paint something on her husband’s motorcycle as a surprise for his birthday. He recommended me to his friends and it sort of spiraled from there. I never thought about it as a career until I went to a motorcycle show in Helena with a couple of my pieces and met Bill. He offered me a job in Conundrum, and…” She bit her lip, hesitating. “It was the right time for me to leave Stanton.”

“Ever think about setting up on your own?” Zane leaned against the table, all thoughts of a paint job disappearing when she pulled out her elastic and rubbed a hand through her hair.

So beautiful. He wanted to run his fingers through those red-gold strands, feel that silky softness in his palm. And then he wanted to twist her hair in his fist and hold her head still so he could ravish her mouth, or better yet, her body. She had curves that could bring a man to his knees.

Her cheeks flushed and she looked down as if she knew what he was thinking. “Um … no. I’m comfortable where I am. This setup gives me a good source of customers. Plus, now that I’m a part owner, it’s my shop, too.” Pride shone in her eyes and Zane smiled. She had never been one to hide her emotions.

“So what do you think happened to Bill?” He gripped the tabletop behind him to keep from walking toward her and enacting his fantasy right here, right now. What the hell could he talk about that would keep his desire at bay?

Her smile faded. “I’m not sure. Connie and I thought maybe the Jacks scared him away. He was—” She cut herself off with a grimace. “Never mind.”

Zane filed that one away for later. Only way the Jacks would scare a man away from his business was if he’d done something to piss them off. Was he paying them protection money or had he got something going on the side? Damn stupid if he did, and even more stupid if he had put Evie in danger. The minute Bill showed up again, Zane would be taking him out for a little talk about keeping Evie safe.

“You got a bike?” He was scrambling now, trying to avoid the real reason he’d brought her here, and it wasn’t for paint.

“No. Can’t afford it. One day though. Maybe when I make it big I’ll buy myself a present. Mark has a Harley Fat Boy, which is a pretty sweet ride.”

Ah. Mark. Now that effectively killed his desire. Zane released the table and folded his arms. “What does he do?” Middle manager? Sportscaster? Or was he still a coach after all these years?

A pained expression crossed her face. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You don’t know what your husband does?”

“Ex-husband. I left him a few years ago to move out here.”

“You’re not married?” His voice cracked and he drew in a ragged breath. She wasn’t married. His Evie was … free. “What about his boy? Doesn’t he come to see him?”

Her voice tightened. “No.”

Their eyes met and the air crackled between them, as if her last word fanned the flames that had been smoldering since that moment on the porch when all he wanted was to drown in her arms.

“What kind of father doesn’t want to see his son?” For all that Zane hated his father, and for all the abuse he had taken, when Zane needed him most—the one and only time in his life—his father had been there for him.

Evie tilted her head to the side and stared at him, considering. Then she twisted her hair around her finger. Around and around and around. Zane remembered that little quirk—something she always did when she was anxious.

“A stepfather,” she said, finally.

“He’s not Mark’s boy?”

A gunshot cracked the silence, and then another. Zane’s heart pounded and he slid his hand into his cut, closing his fingers around his gun. “Stay here until I come back for you. Hide.” He ran back into the store and spotted Shooter just outside the front door, firing his gun into the trees.

“Who is it?” He shouted from the cover of the doorway. “You see Axle? One of the Jacks?”

“Squirrel.” Shooter yelled. “Red tail. Tricky little bugger but I got him trapped in that bush.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Zane ran over to Shooter and grabbed his wrist. “Put the weapon down.” He unleashed all his tension in a volley of curses directed at Shooter, his mental state, his mother, and his dubious parentage. “This is a surveillance mission. That means you don’t draw attention to yourself. You don’t shoot things. Gunfire has a nasty tendency to rile up civilians and then they call the cops. And right now the ATF are camped out in the sheriff’s office. You want to explain to the fucking ATF why you’re shooting squirrels on private property?”

“He was on your bike, gnawing on your seat.”

“Gimme that gun.” Zane grabbed the weapon and fired three shots into the bush. “Take that, you goddamn fucking bastard,” he hollered. “You wanna eat my leather? Now you’re gonna be eatin’ crow.”

“You missed.”

Zane handed him the gun. “You got a new job now, prospect. Clean my seat, fix the leather, then bring me that fucking squirrel’s hide.”

“Yes, sir.”

Adrenaline pounded through his veins as he returned to the store, whether from the shoot-out or finding out Evie had split with Mark he didn’t know, but damned if he could get himself under control. He took a few deep breaths as he crossed through into the shop, clenching and unclenching his fist by his side.

“Evie?”

“Here.” Her voice was faint. “Can I come out now?”

He followed her voice to a storage closet at the far end of the shop and found her reaching for something on the top shelf.

“I figured I’d tidy up while I was in here and I saw a box of paint I’d forgotten about. Could you get it down for me?” Half in the shadows of the small, musty room, she looked back over her shoulder. “I’m not quite tall enough.”

Zane walked up behind her and grabbed the box. His body brushed up against her, his hips against her ass, his chest to her back, his chin brushing over her floral-scented hair.

Walk away. Walk away. Walk the hell away.

He slid his free hand around her waist and pulled her against his body. So perfect. So right.