Tallchief: The Homecoming Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoes. The ankle chain matched the simple diamond bracelet on her wrist. Michelle Farrell’s legs looked even more enticing than the night before, sheathed in a wet skirt, torn nylons and one shoe. From the pit beneath the car, where he had been changing oil and installing a new muffler in Lyle Eubank’s old pickup, he watched the high-priced running shoe tap on the service station’s not-so-clean cement floor. Liam glanced at J.T., who was sleeping on his cot, cuddling his favorite toy truck; he didn’t want his son to hear an argument with the woman poking through his past.
    Liam usually stopped what he was doing immediately to wait on customers, but the Farrell woman could set him off. He continued to work, tightening the brackets for the new muffler. She could unnerve him, he brooded, and twisted a bolt too tight. He preferred the shadows, not the gleam of rain dancing on warm, soft lips. He knew the shadows, walked in them, except for the moments he enjoyed his son. He couldn’t trust that happy little zing shooting through him when Michelle ignited. In the rain last night those wide green eyes had devoured him, and her delicate fingers had gripped his shoulders. She was stronger than she looked, less fragile in his arms—more a willowy strength that could bend rather than break. That strand of silky, damp hair had locked him in place, tantalizing him; the soft nudge of her breast against his chest and the sight of her curves nestled against him had sent a white-hot jolt down to his lower belly.
    He wasn’t a sensual man. He’d loved his wife in a gentle way, careful of hurting her with his greater size. He’d brooded all night, unprepared for the instant, hard slam of lust. Other men spoke of it, but Liam had never experienced the hard rule of his body over his mind—until he’d had Michelle in his arms.
    Her hurry-hurry, push-push made him want to slow her down, and there wasn’t one reason he should want to taste those sassy lips, to grip her chin in his hand and take—
    He tossed his wrench into the tool kit with his erotic thoughts about Michelle and methodically wiped his hands, taking his time before looking at her. He glanced unwillingly at those long, smooth legs above him and punched the lift button to raise the car on the rack. As it rose, Liam vaulted out of the pit easily and Michelle,suddenly startled, backed away, her backside hitting his work shelf.
    Dressed in an expensive cream T-shirt and khaki shorts, a tiny gold chain around her slender throat, Michelle glared at him and wiped her bottom with her free hand. It came away smudged with grease and she looked at it in disdain. Her other hand held a rolled computer printout like a tightly gripped club. Propped high on top of her head, that fascinating blond hair seemed alive and glowing, shooting off sparks. Tendrils circled her face and spiraled down the back of her neck. The designer sunglasses perched on top of her head remained firmly in place as he suspected Michelle would tolerate nothing less.
    Liam fought to suppress a smile as she brushed back a tendril of that fabulous, willful hair and left a dark smudge along her cheek. Clearly Michelle Farrell had never touched grease. A courteous man—as Liam usually was—would have shown her the heavy cleaning soap and given her a towel. This morning, with the Wyoming sun gleaming on his son’s new tricycle outside the garage’s repair bay, Liam didn’t feel like giving her favors.
    “An innocent man doesn’t change his name, like you did a year ago,” she launched at him.
    She’d been prowling—a woman like her, tied to cellular phones and computers would want answers. He hadn’t expected her determination or interest. Most people took note of his Hands Off signs, but then he hadn’t exactly—The truth slammed into him: he’d locked her body to his, out there in the storm, and he’d wanted to carry her off.
    Oil and water, he thought. Class and breeding were elements he didn’t