Rock Solid

The boy bounding up the mountain path, yelling for Cash, was easy to identify as a McKay. He had Cash’s same tawny hair and long legs. The urchin was maybe eight? Nine? Not so old that he cared a hoot if his hair was wind-tangled or his jeans dirt-dusted from the bottoms up.

And right below her bedroom window, Lexie suddenly saw the child leap in the air—obviously trusting without question that he was going to be safely caught. And Cash was suddenly there, swinging him around and high as if the boy weighed nothing. She heard the child’s joyous, “Guess what, Cash? Guess what?”

And then Cash’s low, rumbling laughter before both of them lowered their voices and ducked out of sight.

For a few moments, Lexie couldn’t seem to budge from the window. Something old and aching swelled in her throat, the way listening to an old love song could trigger potent longings sometimes. There’d been so much love and laughter in Cash’s voice…and so much trust and love in the little boy’s voice, the same way.

With a sudden impatient sigh, Lexie pushed away from the window and forced herself to finish the unpacking job. There was no excuse for letting that longing feeling get to her. God knew, she’d been blessed in her life. Sometimes, though, as much as she adored her adoptive parents, she still remembered her mom and dad, remembered that kind of secure, natural, joyous love, remembered feeling as if she belonged. Once upon a time, she’d been a fearless, sassy kid who’d never doubted for a second that she owned the whole world.

She was still fearless. Still sassy—or so the investment guys she worked with regularly teased her. And she’d always been loved, even if she had lost her real parents at a vulnerable young age. But somehow, since that time, she’d never gotten back that feeling of belonging.

As she finished the last of her unpacking, her gaze drifted around the room, from the oil lantern on the bureau to the rag rug to the big, varnished door with the thick brass latch. It was a good, sturdy room. Comfortable. Safe-feeling. But she didn’t belong here any more than she did anywhere else. And at twenty-eight, sometimes, the feeling of loneliness just seemed to overwhelm her.

Lexie headed for the door, doing what she always did when old, disturbing shadows started chasing her. She thought about money. It was the one subject on the planet that she was unquestionably fabulous at. Making it. Hoarding it. Amassing it. Other women dreamed of lovers. Lexie dreamed of taking a bath in silver dollars, luxuriating naked in all that cool, smooth silver, letting it rive and flow and tickle and cool her overheated skin.

Sure, love was nice. But when you lost people, it ripped out your soul. Money was far more effective security. Lose some money, and there was always more to be made.

Of course, for the next few weeks, she was stuck in this godforsaken wilderness and couldn’t make a dime. But as she glanced at her watch and then headed downstairs for dinner, she thought that at least there was no possible threat to her of any kind here—unless one could overdose on too much fresh air.

And both McKay males looked as if they were going to be interesting company and a lot of fun.

No worry for her, in any possible way.

Two

Talk about trouble.

Cash scooped up another serving of lasagna, even though he’d barely tasted the first serving. All through dinner he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Ms. Alexandra Jeannine Woolf. Any other time, that big name of hers would have amused him. The first time he’d heard it—on the phone—he’d unconsciously assumed that she’d be physically substantial like the size of her name. Instead Lexie couldn’t weigh much more than a sack of potatoes…but that wasn’t to say she wasn’t one potent female package.

One worrisome potent female package.

He’d already inhaled the physical details. Lips like ripe-soft peaches. Eyes like luscious, liquid chocolate. Nothing exactly unusual about her hair—it was short and wildly curly—but the color was a glossy raven-black, a striking contrast to her porcelain pale skin.

Cash gulped down some iced tea. He’d been baby-sitting executives and business hotshots for almost a decade—long enough to recognize the labels she was wearing. More men than women came to Silver Mountain, but the women who chose to stay here invariably had The Look. Expensive. Tasteful. Whatever they wore, you never saw on anybody else. And nothing, naturally, was ever practical for outdoor mountain life.

Because he never forgot his responsibilities, Cash glanced around the dining table. A half hour before, dishes were heaped groaning-full, scents steaming around the long trestle table. A quiet was starting to fall, though, as the group filled up. Instinctively he picked on his shyest guests and said something to Mr. Farraday—the banking mogul seated to his left—and then something else to Stuart Rennbacker, the CEO on his third stay at Silver Mountain, who was still wolfing down the lasagna as if there was no tomorrow.

Cash wasn’t about to neglect the guests, and dinner was when everyone loosened up and got to know each other. Still, part of his attention never left Lexie.

For the third time since dinner began, she dropped a fork. On this cool May night, she was wearing a white angora sweater that snuggled her breasts better than a guy’s fantasy…but no pricey sweater was going to help make her unklutzy.

She laughed at something his son said, and Cash felt his stomach clench. Not with nerves—because he was never nervous—but with worry.

Maybe she was wearing two-hundred-buck slacks, but there was nothing about her laugh that sounded snobbish. She was skinny, short and built skimpy upstairs and down—which, damn it, happened to be his favorite shape on a woman. Even more aggravating than that, she laughed from the belly. In fact, her laugh took up her whole face, crinkled her eyes, showed off a mouthful of superb white teeth—except for the tiny crook in her eyeteeth, which actually only made her look more adorable. And that damn laugh could make any guy’s head spin around—even if it weren’t for the cute little boobs and the dark-chocolate eyes and that sexy mouth. She laughed like she meant it. She laughed like she loved life. She laughed like she would exuberantly let go once the lights were out with the right man.

Get a grip, McKay.

He tried. He said something to Farraday and Rennbacker again—then Whitt, one of the guests who was leaving tonight. By the time his gaze strayed back to Lexie, she was dribbling a forkful of peas, half on her plate, half on the floor, because she was bent down, giving all her attention to his son. She didn’t care about the peas. She looked straight at Sammy when she talked to him. Other people didn’t always do that to a kid. Grown-ups—especially the executive type of upper class grown-ups—had a habit of saying nice, polite things to a child while their eyes wandered around the room seeking more adult interests. Not her.

She liked kids.

Hell, Cash thought morosely. She wasn’t just a little trouble. She was potentially Serious Trouble.

He never had to warn himself to be careful around women. The female of the species had always been the bane of his life. That wasn’t to say his hormones couldn’t go into a wild tailspin for a woman with looks and brains—and brains were usually his worst downfall. He did turn on for a woman with a quick mind. But he was thirty-four, after all. Women-battle-scarred enough to recognize heartache before it had the chance to level him.

His weakness, though, was how people treated Sammy. And Lexie, so far, was treating Sammy like he was the most terrific boy she’d ever laid eyes on. As if the kid were more important and more interesting than anything or anyone else on the planet—which he was, Cash thought. Only what that half-pint brunette didn’t know was that Sammy never—repeat, capital n Never—took to a strange woman.

Sammy, at age eight, was as woman-battle-scarred as Cash was.

Suddenly Keegan stood up at the far end of the table, his ponytail neatly clipped at his nape, a kitchen towel hooked in his belt loop in lieu of an apron. “Anyone up for dessert? I’ve got a big fancy chocolate mousse. Or a blackberry pie.”

Although Lexie demurred from dessert, the others nearly rioted with enthusiasm—no surprise. Everyone except Lexie knew that Keegan could bake dirt and make it taste delicious. The kid was being wasted, working on his Ph.D., when guys were paying a fortune for someone with his old-fashioned wife qualifications. But once dessert came in—typically—the room instantly quieted down, which enabled Cash to watch her in action with Sammy again.

And again, worry started pumping adrenaline through his veins. It wasn’t that he minded her talking to Sammy in any way. The problem was that the inconceivable was happening. Sammy was actually initiating conversation with her, too. And seemed happy to be talking to her besides.

Cash had to strain to catch some words, and finally hooked into part of their conversation. Lexie was obviously answering a question.

“Well, sure, I’ve got a picture of my family that you could see…just a second.” When she started digging in her wallet, naturally, her napkin whisked down to the floor. Then a spoon dropped.

Sammy filched the photo she handed him, and then blinked in surprise. “Like this is your mom and dad? Are you kidding? You look way different than everybody else.”

Cash happened to accidentally glance over just then, and he blinked, too. Usually there was nothing exciting in anyone’s family photos, but this one really was startling. The snapshot framed a family picnic in suburbia somewhere, summer, a hot day, with Lexie sitting cross-legged on the grass. She was flanked by four people her own age—two young men, two young women—and then two older adults standing up. Everyone looked related except Lexie. The others were all Nordic blondes, unusually tall and noticeably athletic and broad shouldered. And then there was Lexie—small, slight and dark, a changeling with those exotic oval-shaped eyes….

“Well, Sammy, the reason I don’t look like them is because we’re not related by blood. I’m adopted. I lost my mom and dad when I was really little, like three years old.”

“You’re adopted?” Sammy repeated, making Cash immediately tense, his slice of blackberry pie forgotten. She had no way of knowing this was an uneasy subject for the kid, but he did.

“Yes, hon.”

“So…what happened to your mom and dad? Did they die or leave you or what hap—?”

“Hey, champ.” Cash’s voice was as lazy and easy as a western summer breeze, not clipped, not showing even a trace of nerves. “I’m sure Ms. Woolf understands that you’re just being curious, but it makes most people uncomfortable to be asked personal questions. You can ask her where she lives, stuff like that. General questions.”

Cash tried never to duck a parenting issue just because there were outsiders around, because outsiders were around their lives all the time. So when he had to correct Sammy, he did his best to teach and explain a reason rather than to make him feel criticized. This time, though, Sammy wasn’t up for hearing any lessons.

“But Cash, I just wanted to know how she got to be adopted—”

“It’s all right,” Lexie said swiftly, before Cash could say anything else. And to Sammy, she bent her head again. “It’s not a secret or uncomfortable thing for me, hon, even though your dad’s right. It could be for some people. But I don’t mind answering you. My mom and dad died. They were killed the same night in a robbery—and it was pretty terrible—but after that, a wonderful family took me in, the Woolfs. They loved me as much as my first mom and dad did, and I love them enormously the same way, so everything turned out just fine.”

“Well…” Sammy shoveled in a giant spoonful of mousse, some of which even made it inside his mouth, while he seemed to think this over. “I wasn’t just being curious. I was int’rested because I’m almost an orphan, too, only not exactly. I never had a dad. ’Course, I never wanted a dad, either.”

“No?” Lexie asked gently.

“No. Because I have Cash, and nobody’s dad could ever be better’n Cash. It’s just us guys against the world. We can do anything because we help each other.”

“That sounds really wonderful.” Again, Lexie’s voice had softened to butter.

“Yup. It’s wonderful. But I can’t be an orphan like you because I have a mom. In a way it’s the same, though, because you lost your mom, and my mom doesn’t want me. Sometimes she calls and pretends to be nice and all, but she never comes here. What I think is, I’m so much trouble that she just doesn’t want nuthin’ to do with me—”