Major Nanny. Paula Graves
powerful, when she’d literally fallen into his arms and realized that she could still feel wildly attracted to a man despite her determination to never be the fool again.
She’d have to be very careful not to let Harlan McClain slip through her defenses again.
THE GOVERNOR HAD GIVEN HARLAN a day off before starting work on the security plans for the fundraiser. He supposed she thought he’d need to tie up any loose ends in his personal life, since she clearly expected him to spend most of his waking hours at the ranch, coordinating the event. But he didn’t have any loose ends to tie up. His life these days was blissfully uncomplicated—no wife, no kids, no one to answer to besides Bart Bellows and his fellow agents at CSI.
Yeah, life was just a big ol’ bowl of cherries.
Well, except for the fact that the dream home he’d spent so much time planning for and saving for had gone to his ex in the divorce. Never mind that Alexis had been the one getting naked with the contractor—her daddy was a golfing buddy of the divorce court judge, and if that hadn’t been enough, the high-priced Atlanta lawyer she’d hired somehow managed to twist Harlan’s years of outstanding service in the Marine Corps into de facto abandonment of his wife and their marriage.
Goodbye, two-story farmhouse in Walnut Grove, Georgia. Hello, three-room man-cave in Freedom, Texas, with the thrift-store furnishings and only the big-screen TV he’d eked out of the divorce settlement to give him any sense of his old life following him into his new one.
Well, there was also his trusty old Ford F-10 pickup. Alexis never liked the truck, and he supposed he should just be glad she got all the vindictiveness out of her system by taking the house.
A quick rap on the door of his apartment dragged him out of his grim funk. Matt Soarez stood outside, holding a pink envelope. One black eyebrow arched upward. “It’s for you.”
Harlan took the envelope. It had his name written on the outside in a familiar script and smelled of gardenias. Well, hell.
“Holding out on us, McClain?” Soarez grinned broadly. “Who’s the lady?”
“She’s no lady.” Harlan grimaced. “She’s my ex-wife.”
Soarez winced. “I thought she was back in Georgia.”
“So did I.” Harlan frowned at the pink envelope. “Where did you find this?”
“In front of my door.” Matt lived in the next apartment to his own. “I just got home from lunch at Talk of the Town.”
Harlan glanced at his watch. It was after three. He shot Soarez a skeptical look.
“Hey, it’s my day off,” Soarez said with a grin. “Faith and I have plans to make, you know.”
“Plans for the wedding?” Not that Harlan cared about things like weddings or marriage or that mewling little baby girl of Faith Scott’s that Soarez was so sappy over. But anything to keep from opening the envelope from Alexis.
“Well, yeah, that, too.” Soarez’s grin widened further. “But first, we’re moving in together.”
Not what Harlan expected, though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Soarez had been spending most of his hours away from work over at Faith’s place anyway. He lived right down the hall from Harlan, but Harlan hardly ever saw him outside of work anymore. “When’s that going to happen?”
“This weekend, unless something comes up at the agency.” Soarez’s dark eyes glittered with happiness. “I get to be a full-time daddy to Kayleigh.”
Harlan bit back the snarky reply teetering on the edge of his tongue. “You’ll enjoy that.”
Soarez didn’t miss the lack of enthusiasm. “Not all women are lying cheats, Georgia. Give it a little time. Maybe you’ll find a girl like Faith, too.”
Harlan didn’t want a girl like Faith. He didn’t want a woman in his life at all. In his bed? Sure. But beyond that, women were nothing but trouble.
Soarez shrugged. “Well, I’ll leave you to the she-beast’s letter.” He headed back down the hall to his apartment.
With a heavy sigh, Harlan closed the door behind him, leaning against the solid wood as he contemplated the pink envelope that smelled like gardenias.
What do you want, Alexis?
He ran his finger under the flap, wincing at a paper cut. Perfect, he thought, sliding the folded note from the envelope. Pressing his thumb to the nicked finger, he used the other hand to shake open the paper.
I’m in Freedom. Call me. We need to talk. No number written down on the page, so he guessed she still had her old cell phone number.
He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage can in the kitchen, grabbing his jacket. He was halfway to his truck when his curiosity overcame his stubborn pride.
What on God’s green earth would Alexis be doing in Texas? He’d known her since they were both twelve years old, and he’d never heard her mention any family here. Certainly not in a tiny dot on the map like Freedom.
Had something happened to someone in her family? Did she need his help with something?
Growling a profanity, he climbed into the truck cab and pulled out his cell phone. She was still on his speed dial, he noticed with a grimace. He punched the code.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey, stranger.”
He laid his head back against the headrest. She might be a liar and a cheat, but that sweet magnolia accent still sounded pretty damned good. “What’s wrong, Alexis?”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need to talk to you about something.”
“Call my lawyer.”
“It’s not a lawyer kind of topic,” she said, impatience adding a hint of spice to that honeyed drawl. “Just come meet me at the Bella Rosa. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Despite your best efforts, I can still buy my own cup of coffee,” he replied. “Are you there now?”
“Yes. You’ll come?”
“Yes,” he said after a long pause. “But this better be important.”
“It is,” she assured him.
He hung up without responding, muttering a low curse as he realized his nightmare of a marriage had found a way to live on, even after the divorce papers had been signed.
Bella Rosa was a small bistro on the eastern edge of Freedom’s town square. It was a few blocks down from Talk of the Town, the friendly little café owned by Matt Soarez’s pretty fiancée, Faith. Harlan was glad Alexis had expensive tastes—if he’d met his ex-wife at Talk of the Town, news of the meeting would be all over town by sunset.
Meeting her at Bella Rosa meant the news would take a few more days to circulate, giving him time to come up with a story that didn’t make him look like a grade-A sap.
She was sitting at a table near the back, her honey-blond hair twisted into a neat, attractive coil at the base of her neck. She arched one perfect eyebrow at his casual attire—he’d seen no reason to change out of his jeans and golf shirt just to have lunch with his ex-wife—but waved him over.
“What’s up?” he asked without preamble, sitting across from her and waving off the waiter who’d practically trailed him to the table.
“You don’t want anything to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” Not the exact truth, but he wasn’t hungry enough to eat with her. “Just get to the point.”
She took a deep breath and folded her neatly manicured hands over each other. “I’m getting remarried.”
Harlan wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but telling him she was getting