From the moment Marsh stepped into the barn, he knew that the Beauchamp's mare was in serious trouble. Bright red blood smeared the inside of the stall and matted the straw that covered the hard dirt floor. The horse stood unsteadily, head down and eyes glazed.

Timothy was there, waiting for them. His face was pale and streaked with tears, but his mouth was set in a grim line of determination. "I know she should be lying down, but when she did, she started to roll, and I knew that would hurt the foal, so I've kept her up and walking."

"Splendid," Marsh said crisply, unbuttoning his shirt. "First thing I need to do is wash up and change. Tim, there's a packet of sterile green medical scrubs and gloves in the back of the jeep. Run quickly and get it. Leila, love, help me out of these clothes."

Leila couldn't move. Did he just ask her to help him take off his clothes? He couldn't possibly be serious.

"Get these shoes off, will you please?" Marsh asked. "Come on, quickly now."

Leila forced herself to kneel on the barn's packed dirt floor. She pulled off Marsh's dark brown dress shoes as he balanced first on one foot and then the other. He fumbled with the last of the buttons on his shirt, and finally yanked it over his head, tossing it over a wooden chair.

He was serious. He was actually taking off his clothes. Right there. Right in the barn. Right in front of her. And he wanted her to help.

But of course. His new clothes would be ruined if he went into the stall to help the mare. Still, it was extremely strange.

"Get the buckle, would you?"

Marsh had a white T-shirt on underneath his dress shirt, and as he pulled that off, Leila unbuckled his belt. As she started to unbutton his pants, his hands closed around hers.

"I'll get that."

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Leila felt herself blush. What was she doing, reaching for his pants as if she couldn't wait to see the color of his shorts? And now he was smiling at her discomfort, the creep.

"You asked me to help," she said defensively, as he peeled his pants off his legs.

White. He was wearing plain, white, utilitarian briefs. They hugged his muscular body, contrasting with his tanned skin. Somehow she'd always pictured Marsh wearing expensive silk boxers.

Was he going to strip down even further? Leila held her breath, not knowing what to expect, hoping … what? That he would or that he wouldn't? She wasn't quite sure.

"I did ask you to help, indeed." Marsh crossed to the big sink in the corner of the barn. "But I thought it best to keep the distractions down to a minimum. I'm here to help the Beauchamps' mare, not live out one of my wildest dreams. Do me a favor, Lei, and take my socks off while I wash up? If I'm going to go shoeless, I'd much rather have bare feet."

Just then, Tim ran in, breathless, tears threatening. "I'm sorry, Doc, I can't find it."

Marsh looked up. "In the bag, Tim. In the bag in the back of the jeep." He smiled. "Take a deep breath and calm down. Everything's going to be just fine."

Tim nodded and scurried off.

Marsh turned on the hot water and began to scrub his hands and his arms all the way up past his elbows as Leila knelt down behind him. He balanced on one foot as she lifted his other leg. Her fingers felt cool against his skin, and her touch was gentle. It wasn't hard at all to imagine her hands caressing him. God knew, he'd imagined it often enough before.

Horse, Marsh thought almost desperately. He had to keep his mind on the horse. He was standing there in his underwear, after all. And his tight-fitting briefs didn't leave much to the imagination. But how many times had he fantasized about Leila? How many times had he dreamed of her taking off his clothes? Of course, he'd never included a mare in labor and a worried little boy in those dreams.

"Wildest dreams," Leila mused. "Right. By that I assume you're talking about this wonderful opportunity you have to embarrass me."

"Embarrass you," Marsh repeated in disbelief, rinsing the soap from his arms and hands. "Get the water, will you please?"

Leila reached over and shut off the faucet. "Yes. Embarrass me."

"But I'm the one standing here, definitely under-dressed for this particular occasion," Marsh said. He held up his hands so the water dripped down to his elbows. "I'm the one who's embarrassed."

It was so typical of Marsh. He was standing there with his nearly perfectly sculpted body, looking better than a man had a right to, looking as if he could start a new career modeling men's underwear if he ever tired of medicine. Yet, knowing Marsh, he'd probably never looked into a mirror. He probably had no idea how incredibly delicious looking he was. All he probably knew was that it was awfully improper to hang out in a barn in his underwear while accompanied by his best friend's sister. Leila had to laugh.

"Perfect." He closed his eyes briefly. "Most excellently perfect." He looked at Leila through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. "I'm nearly naked, the mare is in obvious trouble, and young Tim has turned an everyday errand into the search for the Holy Grail. All right, go on. Laugh at me. Get it all out of your system, then."

He was embarrassed. There was a tinge of pink across his cheeks. He turned his back on her, crossing the barn to look into the mare's stall. "After you're done laughing," he added tightly, "trot on out and see what's keeping Tim."

He actually thought she was laughing at him. "Marshall, you colossal idiot." Leila rolled her eyes. "I'm not laughing at you. I mean, I am laughing at you, but not at the way you look. At the risk of inadvertently giving you a compliment, I've got to tell you that there are few men who look as good in their underwear."

He faced her with an overdone sigh of weariness. "Just go get Tim."

"You don't believe me. I can't believe you don't believe me—"

"I do," he said, clearly humoring her. "I believe you. I believe everything you say. Now, get Tim."

Timothy burst back into the barn, waving the plastic-wrapped packet that contained Marsh's scrubs and gloves. "This it?" he called.

"That's it. Good boy. Give it to Leila."

Leila glared at him as she took the packet from Tim and pulled out a pale green V-necked shirt and a pair of green pants. It was maddening when Marsh patronized her like this.

"Help me on with it, will you, please?" Marsh asked her. "My hands are clean."

Help him get dressed. Yes, that was a good idea. She could stand to have him look less like a Chippendale dancer and more like a medical doctor.

Still, helping him get dressed meant she'd have to stand really close to him and breathe in his clean, masculine scent, and feel the heat that was rising from his body.

But she was annoyed with him, Leila reminded herself. They were arguing, as usual. As long as they were arguing, she wouldn't have to worry about doing something foolish, like running the palms of her hands across the smooth expanse of his shoulders or…

"Is it possible for you, at least once in your life, to talk to me without being pompous and condescending?" she asked almost desperately as she yanked the shirt over Marsh's head. The backs of her knuckles ran all the way down the washboard muscles of his chest and stomach as she pulled the shirt down. She prayed that he wouldn't notice how hard it was for her to breathe, and she clung to their argument as if it were a lifeline. "Is it possible for you to speak to me as if I weren't some awful, spoiled child?"

The pants. Dear God, now she had to help him on with the green drawstring-waisted pants. Leila's mouth went dry as she knelt down in front of him and gazed at his strong legs.

"Funny you should mention that," Marsh retorted as Leila held one of the pants legs open for him to step into. He touched her bare shoulder lightly to keep his balance, and Leila nearly fell over. "Because I was wondering if it was possible for you, at least once in your life, to stop acting like a spoiled child."

Ooh, that comment stung, and for half a second, Leila forgot to feel flustered at pulling the pants up Marsh's muscular thighs and over his perfect rear end.

"You just hate it when I'm right," she said. "And I'm always right, which drives you crazy."

She adjusted the waistband of the pants, her hands up underneath the oversized scrub shirt, her thumbs running along his waist, from back to front.

"You definitely drive me crazy." Marsh's voice sounded oddly hoarse.

Leila glanced up into his eyes, then quickly looked away, concentrating on tying the cloth drawstring around his waist. Dear God, was it possible that he was affected by their nearness, too?

"You have absolutely no idea to the extent of how utterly crazy you drive me," Marsh continued. "And it has nothing to do, whatsoever, with your being right, since you spend so much time being wrong."

Leila glared up at him, gasping at his words.

"It also has nothing to do with your nasty habit of exaggeration," Marsh added. "Gloves, please."

He held up first one hand and then the other as Leila helped him on with a pair of surgical gloves. They were nearly impossible to put on, adding the final touch of frustration to this entire bizarre experience.

"You drive me crazy when your hair is in your eyes. Which it always is, and that's not an exaggeration," Leila practically exploded. With one hand, she raked his hair back, out of his face.

He turned his head so her hand brushed against the late afternoon stubble of beard on his chin. Before she could pull her hand away, he kissed the inside of her wrist, dragging his lips up to the palm of her hand.

Leila felt nearly burned, and she quickly snatched her hand back. My God, he'd kissed her.

"I wear my hair this way," Marsh said, pushing open the door to the mare's stall with his elbow, "because I love driving you crazy."

He smiled at her, a triumphant, victorious grin.

Leila scowled, trying to hide the flush that she felt heating her cheeks. He'd kissed her. "Is it possible for you, at least once in your life, not to act like a jerk?"

"Shhh." Marsh carefully approached the mare. "Only positive energy, please."

He spoke softly and soothingly as he moved from the mare's head to her flank. Continuing to murmur quiet words, he crouched down and examined the horse.

Leila watched Marsh's face, and she knew from the sudden tightness of his mouth that the situation was not good.

Then, without warning, the mare kicked. Her hoof connected with Marsh's right shoulder with a solid thud, and the force was enough to push him backward. He hit the far wall of the stall with a muffled curse and went down onto the dirt floor.

"Marsh!" Leila was next to him in a flash. She pushed his hair back, out of his face, more gently this time.

Leila's hands against his forehead felt so cool, so soothing. And the anxiety in her eyes was more gratifying than he would have believed possible. She cared, that much was clear. But this was not the time to see whether her concern was that of one human for another, or something more. He was going to have to work quickly if he was going to save the mare's life.

Marsh pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing as he first touched his shoulder, then rotated his arm. "Excellent. Glad to see the mare's still got quite a bit of strength left."

"Are you all right?" Leila demanded.

"Just bruised. No big deal. I'll live." He looked ruefully down at his gloved hands, now covered with muck and straw. "So much for being sanitary. Help me pull these off. Please?"

Leila's worry melted into anger. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders, in the set of her mouth, in the way her eyes seemed to flash.

"No big deal," she repeated his words as she peeled the gloves off his hands. "If that horse had aimed a little higher, or if you'd been leaning down a little lower, you would've been kicked in the head. You know, Dr. Smartass, people have been killed from being kicked in the head by a horse."

"But I was kicked in the shoulder," Marsh pointed out. "Not in the head."

He could very well have been badly hurt. She could've been sitting there, right now, with the island's only medical doctor dying in her arms of a head injury. What would Marsh do, she wondered with horror, if he ever actually did get hurt? Who would take care of him? Who would have the knowledge to save his life?

"You weren't kicked in the head … this time."

Marsh pulled himself to his feet. Leila could see that he was favoring his right shoulder even though he was trying to hide it from her. "Is this particular argument going to take very long? Because I don't have time for it right now."

"You'll have plenty of time," Leila shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "An eternity, in fact, after this horse's foot connects with your skull and permanently scrambles the few brains you have."

"Your point is taken." Marsh looked back at the mare. "Love, do me a favor—"

Leila laughed. Her eyes were bright with tears, Marsh realized.

"What, help you get yourself killed?" She shook her head, her blond curls bouncing in emphasis. "No, thank you."

"Fine, then do Tim a favor and take him back up to the house." He stepped closer to Leila and spoke swiftly and softly so only she could hear him. "The foal's already dead, has been for quite some time. He's tangled in the umbilical cord and twisted around backward. I can save the mare, but it's not going to be a pretty sight."

They'd arrived too late. Leila could see compassion and regret in the warmth of Marsh's eyes. Strange, she'd always thought of him as emotionless, but now, when she looked closely, rarely a moment passed when she didn't see something stirring in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." She encircled Marsh's waist with her arms and held him tightly. She closed her eyes, burying her face in the warmth of his shoulder. "Be careful. You better be careful."

She felt him nod. "I will," he whispered.

It was unreal. Leila—lovely, vibrant, amazing Leila—was in his arms again, but he couldn't kiss her. Not with young Tim looking on. Not with the mare's life hanging in the balance. Damn his poor timing anyway.

Leila lifted her head. Marsh's hair was in his eyes again, so she pushed it off his face one last time, running her fingers down the back of his head to his neck. Briefly she squeezed his shoulder. "Promise?"

The touch of her hand conveyed the warmth and strength of her feelings for him—feelings of friendship. Marsh turned away, suddenly and painfully aware that her earlier concern had been that of a friend, not a lover.

"Absolutely," he managed.

Dear Lord, he was in love with a woman who saw him as nothing more than an unrelated sibling, someone to squabble and argue with, someone to offer care and support to in times of need.

"Go on. Get Tim out of here."

He saw Leila as his hope, his future. It was true, the idea of a lasting relationship scared him to death, but without her, he knew that there'd be nothing but emptiness in his life.

Yet she saw him only as a brother.

Splendid.

Perhaps he needed a good swift kick in the head.

Marsh was quiet as he drove the jeep down the Beauchamps' dirt driveway.

"You did a good job," Leila said.

"Hmm." Marsh's eyes didn't leave the pitted road.

The jeep's headlights bounced as the wheels hit a pothole he couldn't avoid.

"You told me yourself there was no way you could have helped that foal, that he'd died before his mother even went into labor. And Kevin Beauchamp sure seemed grateful that you managed to save the mare."

Timothy's parents had arrived from the mainland as Marsh was cleaning up in the barn.

"Kevin was counting on the money from the future sale of that foal." Marsh pulled out onto the main road. "I don't know what he's going to do now."

"Speaking of money." Leila turned toward him.

He glanced warily at her, his face lit by the light from the dashboard.

"How can Kevin Beauchamp afford to pay you?"

"Ah, thank God," Marsh said. "I was afraid you were going to ask a more difficult question."

"I'll bet Kevin considers this one a pretty difficult question." Leila watched him steadily.

Her blond hair seemed almost unearthly in the darkness, gleaming in the light from the oncoming headlights. Marsh could still remember exactly how soft her hair had felt against his chin when she put her arms around him. The ache of longing that memory set off caught him by surprise. It stabbed him in the chest, sharp and hot. It took him a few seconds before he regained his breath.

"Actually," he replied, trying hard to make his voice calm and even, "it's a simple question because it's got a simple answer. He can't afford to pay me."

"Can't."

Marsh glanced at Leila again. She didn't seem surprised or even upset. Just resigned.

With no other cars approaching them, he could barely see her face in the soft glow from the dashboard. She looked mysterious and tantalizingly exotic. That fierce longing came back and he clenched his teeth, trying to fight it.

He didn't even know what this feeling meant, dammit. Well, okay, he knew what part of it meant. Part of it was sexual. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that. He'd wanted to make love to Leila since the summer she turned eighteen. Before that even, God help him. But there was more to this intense longing than sex.

Possession. He felt possessive. He wanted to own this woman in a very basic, almost primitive way—although, good grief, he could just imagine Leila's cries of outrage if he ever, ever tried to articulate that feeling.

Protection. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to hold her close after their passion subsided and surround her with the warmth of his love.

Perfection. He wanted to feel forever this odd sensation he felt when Leila smiled into his eyes. It was more than happiness and bigger than mere satisfaction. It was the feeling that finally, finally he was completely whole. And he wanted to wake up every morning whistling because he knew that Leila would be smiling at him today. Today and tomorrow and the next day and the next.

"So he'll just never pay you?" Leila asked. "You'll just swallow the expenses of the medical supplies you used tonight, not to mention your time?"

"After they slaughter their hogs, the Beauchamps will give me a year's supply of pork," Marsh explained. He couldn't look at her again … he didn't dare. This overpowering feeling just might run them both off the road. "In lieu of payment."

"Pork."

"And jam," Marsh added. "Kelly Beauchamp makes the tastiest raspberry jam I've ever…"

"You're a vegetarian," Leila said. "What could you possibly do with a year's supply of pork?"

"Well, obviously I don't eat it." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. He wished she'd just yell at him and get it over with. He could handle that better than this strange quietness. At least if she yelled, he'd know how to respond. At least that way he could measure her anger. "I give the pork to the Hopkins family. They live out on the point, about a mile past my house—I mean, where my house was."

"The Hopkinses. Have they lived on Sunrise Key long?" Leila asked.

"Since you were in high school. It's a big family. Five kids, all boys? They were quite a bit younger than you."

"I don't remember them," Leila admitted.

"They don't exactly run with the yacht club set," Marsh said dryly. "Ron's on disability right now, and with five teenagers, they could always use a year's supply of pork. Of course, it won't last them anywhere close to a year."

Leila was silent, looking at the darkness outside the jeep. "God, Marsh, I had no idea you were so…" She searched for the right word.

Marsh couldn't guess what she was going to say. So stupid? So financially lame? So utterly, hopelessly in love with her?

"So incredibly perfect?" he suggested, pulling up to the stop sign at the intersection of Ocean Avenue and Main Street. "So dazzlingly handsome even when my clothes cover my underwear?"

She looked at him. In the dim light from the street-lamp on the corner, her eyes looked the purplish-gray color of the sky before a thunderstorm—dark and mysterious with more than a hint of danger. It wouldn't take much to lose himself in those eyes. Marsh pulled his gaze away, only to find himself staring at her lips. God, but he wanted to kiss her.

"I had no idea you were so nice," she said.

It took a full three seconds for her words to register. Nice? Did she say nice?

Wait a minute, if she hadn't thought that he was nice before this, then what had she thought?

"I didn't realize you were so charitable."

"It's not charity," he said. If she didn't think that he was nice, then did she used to think that he was not nice? "Ron Hopkins would have a heart attack if he thought I was giving him charity. We trade. They have a huge garden. They keep me in zucchini and watermelon all season long."

"Most people wouldn't consider a year's supply of pork a fair trade for some measly fruit and vegetables."

"Most people aren't vegetarians, and therefore underrate the value of fruits and vegetables," Marsh pointed out. There was no traffic on either Main Street or Ocean Avenue. He put the jeep into neutral, and turned slightly to face her. "Look, Leila, if you had no idea that I was nice—"

"I had no idea you were so neighborly. What happened?"

"It must be contagious." Obviously she hadn't thought of him as friendly before this, either. "The people on the key look out for each other. You know how it works, you used to live here. The Hopkins kids weed old Mrs. Milton's garden. And Mrs. Milton always bakes an extra batch of cookies for the coffee hour after church on Sundays. Ben Sullivan uses his riding mower to cut the lawn in front of the town hall. Millie Waters always donates several cases of soda to the Little League to sell at their games."

"And you provide professional medical services for free."

"Not always for free. Some people have medical insurance. And others actually have money, believe it or not."

"Some doctors would refuse service to the people who couldn't pay."

"And some doctors will rot in hell," Marsh returned evenly. "I, for one, will go directly to heaven, through a special door marked Neighborly and Nice."

Leila laughed. God, he loved the sound of her laughter. He loved the way her smile seemed to include the entire universe. He loved the way her eyes seemed to dance with her amusement.

"You know, I honestly believe you will. Funny, I always thought…" Her smiled faded, and she looked away, as if she were embarrassed.

"Hmmm," Marsh said. A car drove up behind him, its headlights glaring in his rearview mirror. He reached out through the open side of the jeep and waved the driver past. "I suppose I better not press to find out the end of that sentence. It can't be anything good."

"I thought you were selfish and well, self-centered," she admitted.

"And not very nice," he finished for her.

"I was wrong, wasn't I?" She looked back at him.

He could have answered her any number of ways. In fact, her statement begged to be picked up and returned to her sarcastically. According to her own words, she was never wrong, and admitting otherwise certainly deserved a caustic comment.

But Marsh didn't tease. He didn't joke. He didn't try in any way to mock her.

"I don't know," he said seriously. "There were times when I wasn't very nice to you. But only to you."

"Gee thanks. You know, when you and Simon were in college, you teased me mercilessly. You never let up. Half the time I was furious with you. The other half…" The other half of the time, she'd imagined herself almost in love with him. But there was no way she'd ever tell him that.

"You were always so rude to me," Marsh said. "Right from the first day I met you and Simon. You were what? Eleven years old? You were so blond and … American. You looked at me as if I were some worthless piece of garbage that had floated in on the tide. And you were just a child. Then when you got older, when you were in high school, you were still rude to me. Rude, and so bloody beautiful."

Leila stared at Marsh, but he was looking away from her, gazing out at the road ahead of them, as if he could see into the future.

"Beautiful? Right."

"You were. And still are."

Marshall Devlin thought that she was beautiful. Her heart was pounding so loudly, Leila was afraid he might be able to hear it. Beautiful. But…

She lifted one eyebrow. "So naturally you nicknamed me Monkey-Face?!"

Marsh looked at her and smiled. She could see his perfect white teeth, gleaming. "You don't seriously think I'd've given you the added ammunition of knowing that I thought you were the most gorgeous creature I'd ever seen in my life. Tell me honestly, wouldn't you have used it to tease me mercilessly in return?"

"Probably." She studied his face in the dim streetlight. "You really thought I was pretty? Back when I was in high school?"

"I remember one year you had a microscopic pair of cutoff blue jeans that were ripped up the side. They made your legs look even longer," Marsh mused. In the darkness his eyes looked dreamy—and very warm. "I spent the entire summer vacation in utter misery. You used to wear them with this little red-and-white halter top. You were so blond and tan. So perfectly American. Your smile—perfect. Your eyes—perfect. Your body—beyond perfect. I had a bloody heart attack every time you walked into the room."

"Oh, to be seventeen again," Leila said wistfully.

"You're twice as beautiful now."

Leila rolled her eyes. "And you're obviously twice as capable at slinging the b.s. I remember that my parents adored you. 'Why can't you be more like that nice Marshall Devlin?'" Leila mimicked her mother's voice. "'He's so polite.'" She shook her head. "You weren't polite, you were a liar."

Marsh shifted in his seat. "I believe the word you're looking for is tactful, not liar." He raked his hair out of his eyes. "Like most American teenagers, tact never was your strong suit."

"There's a difference between tact and kissing my parents' a—"

"Is that what you had against me?" Marsh interrupted. "Right from the start, you took an instant dislike to me. I remember the first time I came down to Sunrise Key with my father. It was Christmas, and I was miserable. If it wasn't for Simon … or maybe it was Simon. Was it because he and I became such good friends and you felt left out? Was that why you were so horrid?"

"Yeah, probably," Leila admitted. "At least partly. It was also because you were such a royal snob. You were so distant and, well … aloof. You never hung out with the other kids, only Simon. And I don't remember ever seeing you laugh. At least not that first year."

Another car's headlights appeared behind Marsh, and he waved it on. They'd been sitting there for a long time, Leila realized. But she was in no hurry to get home. She'd never talked to Marsh about any of this before—about all those ancient hurts and adolescent injustices that still lingered between them. She'd had absolutely no idea that he was attracted to her when she was a teenager. Why hadn't he ever asked her out? She would've said yes in a flash. Of course, he'd have had no way of knowing that.

"I didn't laugh very much, but surely even you could've given me the benefit of the doubt. I was seventeen years old, I was living in a new country with my father—whom I hardly knew—and his wife and their two children. I was suffering culture shock." He sighed. "And I was grieving."

Leila stared at him. "Grieving? Why?"

He stared back at her, leaning forward in the darkness. "You honestly don't know?"

"Marsh, what are you talking about?"

"My mother. She died, and one week later I was living in America, in a suburb of New Haven with this stranger who was my father. Two weeks after that, we were on vacation on Sunrise Key. I wasn't aloof when you first met me, Leila. I was numb."

"God, Marsh. No one ever told me." She covered her mouth with her hand, remembering all of the harsh words and dirty looks she'd sent in his direction as he'd stolen her beloved brother's attention. "I was so terrible to you. You must've thought I was an awful little bitch."

"I did think you were rather insensitive." He smiled ruefully. "And I must confess the word bitch did cross my mind a time or two."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't realize you didn't know about my mother. I thought everyone knew." He laughed sadly. "It certainly explains quite a bit of your behavior. I always thought you had a rather cruel streak."

Leila closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the top of the seat. "I'm such a jerk."

"Leila, believe me, I've long since forgiven you."

Her exposed throat looked so long and slender in the light from the corner streetlamp.

"That doesn't make me less of a jerk."

"Past tense," Marsh pointed out. He had to clench his hands into fists to keep himself from touching her. "You were a jerk. You grew out of it. I grew out of a lot of things, too."

"Then why do I feel so awful?" She opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at him.

"Proof you're not a jerk. If you were a jerk, you wouldn't feel awful, right? It's in the past, Leila. Let it go."

"God, you are nice, aren't you? Sickeningly nice. I'm not sure I can stand it."

She was teasing him. She was teasing, because she didn't want him to see the sudden sheen of tears that had appeared in her eyes.

Marsh felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, as if he'd stepped off the edge of a cliff. Leila cared enough about him to cry. True, it was probably only a sisterly kind of caring, but that was certainly an improvement, considering as a teenager she'd apparently disliked him rather intensely.

Marsh did the only thing he could do. He pretended not to see the tears in her eyes. And he teased her back. "I suppose if you insist, I could start calling you Monkey-Face again. I mean, simply to achieve a kind of balance in our relationship."

Leila laughed, and reached across the jeep to hug him.

This was it, Marsh realized. There was no way on earth he was going to be able to return Leila's embrace without kissing her. And when he kissed her, she'd know.

"'Scuse me, folks," a voice said, and Marsh jumped. "Oh, hey, Doc. I didn't realize it was you."

Liam Halliday stood outside the jeep on Marsh's side, one hand on the edge of the vehicle's windshield, the other hand on the canvas top as he leaned over and looked in the open door. Marsh watched the tall sheriff take in every detail—Marsh's unbuttoned shirt, his jacket and tie and medical bag in the back, Leila's long arms and legs, her blond curls and pretty face.

"Ma'am." The sheriff nodded at Leila and touched his cowboy hat briefly. He smiled at her and reluctantly looked back at Marsh. "Havin' engine trouble, Doc? Can I help give you a push off the main drag here, and into the post office parking lot?"

The man's eyes kept returning to Leila. "Well, no." Marsh studied Halliday's face, trying to figure out what Leila saw when she looked at the sheriff. "Actually, the engine's fine. We were just having a chat."

Halliday had jet black hair that curled out from under the wide brim of his hat. One lock fell across his forehead, but it wasn't long enough to get into his eyes. Self-consciously, Marsh pushed his own brown hair off his face.

Halliday's eyes were brown, but darker than Marsh's. They were rich, deep, chocolate brown, while Marsh's were only the color of Tangled Neck Creek after a heavy rain, when the water was thick with mud and muck.

It was easy to overlook the fact that Halliday's eyes were bloodshot—no doubt from overindulging at the Rustler's Hideout the night before.

Leila reached across Marsh, holding out her hand for the sheriff to shake. "I'm Leila Hunt," she introduced herself with one of her more dazzling smiles. At least Halliday seemed dazzled, Marsh thought sourly.

"Liam Halliday," Halliday drawled, taking her hand and holding on to it much, much too long. "You related to Simon Hunt by any chance?"

"He's my brother."

"Have we met before?" Halliday asked. It wasn't a come-on, Marsh realized. There was honest puzzlement in the man's eyes. There were probably quite a few people a hard drinker like Halliday couldn't remember meeting.

"I'm not sure," Leila admitted.

Their clasped hands were inches away from Marsh's face, and he cleared his throat. Leila tugged her hand free.

"Well now." Halliday straightened up. "There's no parkin' so close to the corner, Doc." He grinned and winked at Marsh. "And particularly not in the middle of the road. I'm gonna have to ask you to move on. Or pull into the parkin' lot 'round the corner if you want to get friendly."

Leila blushed. "We were talking. That's all."

Marsh looked at her, eyebrow raised. She'd certainly been quick to make sure the sheriff knew there was nothing between them. Leila glanced at Marsh but quickly looked away, as if somehow he was the one who'd embarrassed her.

"Well, then, I beg your pardon," Halliday said. "Pull around the corner if you want to do some more … talkin'." He touched his hat and smiled at Leila again. "A pleasure meetin' you, Leila Hunt. See ya, Doc."

As Halliday sauntered back to where his police car was parked underneath the streetlight, Leila shook her head. "I can't believe Frankie won't go out with him. He's adorable."

"He's particularly adorable after he's spent the night in his own drunk tank," Marsh said dryly.

"Yeah, Frankie said he has the tendency to party." Her eyes followed Halliday. She watched as he reached into the front window of his car and pulled out the radio's microphone. "But she didn't tell me how amazingly good-looking he is. Ouch."

Ouch was right. "Yes, but does he look good while wearing only his underwear?" Marsh mused.

Leila laughed. "Probably not as good as you. Although…" Her eyes grew distant, dreamy. "Marsh, do you think he was the one?"

"No."

She looked at him in surprise. "How can you be so sure?"

"Do you really think Halliday might be your ninja?" Marsh countered. "I mean, really?"

She was watching the sheriff again. Was this jealousy he was feeling? Yes, this was definitely jealousy, and it was far worse than the twinges he'd felt regarding Elliot. Elliot wasn't really a threat, despite Leila's talk of marrying the man. She might be thinking about marrying Elliot, but she clearly wasn't attracted to him, not like this.

Watching Leila gaze all starry-eyed at Halliday was dreadful. Marsh wanted to wring the sheriff's red neck, simply because the man existed.

"I honestly don't know. What if he is my ninja?"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Marsh said, a touch nastily. "This is your big chance. Go and find out. Go and kiss him, why don't you? I'm sure he'll be more than happy to oblige." The way Halliday had been looking at Leila, it was more than clear that the man would be willing to let her run a series of test kisses on him.

Leila unbuckled her seat belt and slipped out of the jeep.

"Where are you going?" Marsh asked in surprise.

"You're right. This is my big chance. I'm going to talk to him. Pull into the post office parking lot. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Leila, you can't be serious. I wasn't." But she was already walking toward the sheriff and didn't hear him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched them. The man already clearly thought that Leila was pretty. But there was so much more to her than her beautiful face and near-perfect body. She was smart and friendly and funny and warm. She was special. Even a damn fool like Liam Halliday would figure that out in a matter of seconds.

Halliday put away his radio microphone the second he spotted Leila walking toward him. He took off his cowboy hat and combed his fingers through his hair as he leaned against the side of his car. His long jeans-clad legs were crossed casually at the ankle.

Halliday smiled at Leila, and Leila smiled back, and Marsh knew that he couldn't, absolutely couldn't sit there and watch. He put the jeep into first gear and pulled around the corner into the parking lot in front of the post office. But, from where he parked, he could still see Leila and Halliday in his rearview mirror, so he closed his eyes.

Dammit, why didn't Leila smile at him that way?

Because she didn't see him as anything more than a friend, nothing more than another big brother. She'd been awfully bloody quick to correct Halliday when the sheriff assumed they'd stopped at the intersection to kiss. Was the idea of kissing him really that awful?

Leila certainly hadn't found him unappealing on New Year's Eve, when he'd kissed her at midnight. No, she'd responded to his kisses in a way that had nearly knocked him over.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe he should dress up as the ninja and just appear in her room some night.

But, no.

The truth was, Marsh wanted Leila to love him. Not as a friend, not as a brother, not as a romantic phantom. He wanted her to fall desperately, hopelessly, tragically in love with him. With him, not some mysterious ninja.

And what, pray tell, were the odds of that happening?

Marsh opened his eyes, and in the rearview mirror, in the light from the streetlamp, he saw Liam Halliday draw Leila into his arms and kiss her. It was a long kiss, a slow kiss, a deep, passionate kiss.

Leaving the keys in the ignition, Marsh got out of the jeep and walked away.