“I think you’d better back off, Henderson,”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Merline Lovelace
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Copyright
“I think you’d better back off, Henderson,”
Molly announced.
“Not this time, Duncan,” Sam shot back.
“Excuse me?”
“I backed off last night. I’m not retreating again.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re treading shaky ground here, Major. Get something straight. I left Boston to get away from a man who tried to dictate my choices. I don’t need another one trying the same thing here.”
“So what are you going to do if I press you too hard or too soon, sweetheart?” Sam answered. “Run away again?”
Molly tilted her head back. In his eyes she saw a fierceness that skidded right past lust into a feeling that made her heart trip. Her anger dissipated, and in its place came an answering emotion so strong that she didn’t try to fight it anymore.
“No, Sam,” she said at last. “I’m not running away. This time I’m standing my ground.”
Dear Reader,
The kids are on their way back to school, and that means more time for this month’s fabulous Intimate Moments novels. Leading the way is Beverly Barton, with Lone Wolf’s Lady, sporting our WAY OUT WEST flash. This is a steamy story about Luke McClendon’s desire to seduce Deanna Atchley and then abandon her, as he believes she abandoned him years ago. But you know what they say about best-laid plans....
You also won’t want to miss Merline Lovelace’s If a Man Answers. A handsome neighbor, a misdialed phone call...an unlikely path to romance, but you’ll love going along for the ride. Then check out Linda Randal wisdom’s A Stranger Is Watching, before welcoming Elizabeth August to the line. Girls’ Night Out is also one of our MEN IN BLUE titles, with an irresistible cop as the hero OUR WHOSE CHILD? flash adorns Terese Ramin’s wonderful Mary’s Child Then finish up the month with Kyle Brant’s Undercover Lover, about best friends becoming something more.
And when you’ve finished, mark your calendar for next month, when we’ll be offering you six more examples of the most exciting romances around—only in Silhouete Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger Executive Senior Editor
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
* * *
IF A MAN ANSWERS
MERLINE LOVELACE
Books by Merline Lovelace
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Somewhere in Time #593
*Night of the Jaguar #637
*The Cowboy and the Cossack #657
*Undercover Man #669
*Perfect Double #692
†The 14th...and Forever #764
Return to Sender #866
If a Man Answers #878
Silhouette Desire
Dreams and Schemes #872
†Halloween Honeymoon #1030
†Wrong Bride, Right Groom #1037
*Code Name: Danger
†Holiday Honeymoons
Silhouette Books
Fortune’s Children
Beauty and the Bodyguard
MERLINE LOVELACE
served tours of duty in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world as a career air force officer. In the process, she stored up enough adventures to keep her fingers flying over the keyboards for years to come. When not glued to her computer, Merline loves to travel with Al, her own handsome hero and husband of twentyseven years, and chase little white balls around the golf courses of Oklahoma.
Watch for Merline’s next books: A Drop of Frankincense, part of the Harlequin Historicals 1998 Christmas anthology, and The Mercenary and the New Mom, the conclusion of the exciting FOLLOW THAT BABY cross-line miniseries, coming from Silhouette Intimate Moments in February 1999.
Merline enjoys hearing from readers and can be reached at P O. Box 892717, Oklahoma City, OK, 73189.
Chapter 1
“Dammit! Doesn’t the blasted man ever sleep?”
Yanking her pillow out from under her neck, Molly Duncan mashed it down over her head. Even with both ears covered, she still couldn’t shut out the nasal lament that drifted across the desert night from the house next door.
She despised country music. She despised dragging herself out of bed after groggy, sleepless nights. She was fast coming to despise her new neighbor.
Until Sam Henderson had moved into the house next to hers, Molly had thoroughly enjoyed her life in Las Vegas. She’d moved to Nevada only six months ago, after dumping a fiancé more into control than her independent spirit could tolerate. Eagerly, she’d traded cold, wet Boston winters for the yearround desert sunshine and a position as a translator and tour consultant for the Las Vegas Trade and Convention Center. From the moment she’d crested the hills and driven down into the sparkling jewel that was Vegas, she’d reveled in its gaudy glitz. Buying her very first home had been the icing on the cake of her new life.
Then, just a few weeks ago, the Major had moved in next door.
She’d received several letters addressed to him in her mailbox by mistake, so Molly knew he was a retired Air Force major... a major pain in the bohunkus, in her considered opinion. She couldn’t believe how swiftly their initial skirmish over a dented garbage can had escalated into an undeclared war.
And she’d never even spoken a word to the man!
Okay, so maybe the note she taped to his trash can the morning she ran over it, requesting that he keep the darned thing on his side of their parallel driveways, was a bit, well, unneighborly. But she was late for work, and picking up someone else’s smelly garbage wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun way to start the day.
Still, that was no reason for Henderson to fire a broadside in return. Even now, the memory of the note she’d found shoved under her front door that same night steamed her. The terse missive had assured Ms. Duncan that he’d keep his trash can in a safe, no-fire zone. In return, she might consider taking a few driving lessons. Judging by the ruts she dug in the lava rock between their driveways when she squealed out of the garage each morning, she could use them. Or maybe she was just feeling the aftereffects of the several cases of empty beer cans he’d observed in her recycling bin?
Molly didn’t dignify the obnoxious note with a reply. The fact that she slathered a beer-based facial across her nose and cheeks every night to keep her splatter of freckles under control was no one’s business but hers. She did, however, respond to the notice she received from Henderson a few days later, informing her that the oleander hedge she’d planted for privacy when she first moved in was actually three feet beyond her property line. According to the contractor hired by Major Sam Henderson, the hedge would have to come down to accommodate the pool he wanted to put in his backyard. The hedge’s fate, Molly had replied in a scathing letter to the contractor, would be decided by the county surveyor’s office.
She humped the pillow over her ears, furious all over again at the thought of anyone wanting to tear up the row of beautiful hot pink oleanders she’d put in with her own hands. T
he nerve of the man!
It was just her luck that her new neighbor’s personality didn’t live up to his admittedly gorgeous physique. In the past few weeks, Molly had caught a few glimpses of the reclusive Major, stripped to the waist and poking around under the hood of a classic, flame-colored Mustang convertible. She had to admit that he possessed a set of world-class buns. And, yes, his glistening, sweaty pecs had pretty well closed down her respiratory system. Based on those gorgeous muscles alone, she might have called a truce in their war and learned to peacefully coexist if Sam Henderson’s damned nocturnal habits hadn’t destroyed all hope of a cease-fire.
A morning person, Molly always faded fast when the sun went down. Her neighbor, she’d decided soon after he moved in, was part vampire. If he ever slept, she didn’t know when. The soul-searing country music he listened to hour after hour seemed to drone on all night. Every night. She’d put up with it as long as she could, but finally had to protest.
The first time she’d called to complain, a sultryvoiced female promised to give Sam the message... when he got out of the shower.
The second time, she’d let the phone ring and ring with no answer.
This time, she vowed, dragging her head out from under the pillow, she meant business!
She glanced at the clock radio sitting atop the overturned cardboard box she used as a nightstand and groaned. Ten after one, for heaven’s sake, and she was scheduled to meet a delegation of Japanese businessmen for breakfast at seven.
Shoving her flyaway blond hair out of her eyes, she sat up and rummaged around in the scatter of papers on the box for the envelope she’d written her neighbor’s number on. The scribbled digits blurred a bit, probably from the wet glass she’d left on top of the envelope. Tilting it to a different angle, she reached for the receiver. Seven quick punches and the phone started to ring.
Tapping her bare toes on the smooth oak floorboards, Molly marshaled her thoughts. She refused, absolutely refused, to allow another husky-voiced female to fob her off. This time she’d insist on speaking to the Major himself...even if she had to march next door and confront him in person.
She didn’t have to march anywhere. A man answered on the third ring.
“Yeah?”
Molly blinked, surprised by the distinctive twang in the single syllable. Her trained ear placed the accent immediately. New Jersey. Possibly lower New York, but most likely upper Jersey.
Based on his choice in music and worn, low-heeled cowboy boots, Molly had assumed Henderson hailed from somewhere west of the Hudson River. Not that she cared where the man came from as long as he lowered the volume on his blasted CD player.
“This is Molly Duncan, next door. Would you please turn down that...”
A doorbell shrilled in the background. Unceremoniously, her neighbor cut her off.
“Hang on. There’s someone at the door.”
“Wait a minute! I just want you to....”
“Hold the phone, doll.”
The receiver dropped onto a hard surface. Molly winced at the loud clatter, then scowled at the framed poster of Las Vegas by night on her whitewashed walls. Crossing one knee over the other, she swung her leg impatiently. Another sad lament drifted through her window, telling the story of a trucker who lost his wife to a city boy.
She wished she could lose her neighbor. In fact, she wished she could lose him, his music, his confounded garbage cans, his....
“Don’t shoot! God, don’t shoot!”
The hoarse cry ripped like a jagged knife through her rambling thoughts. She jerked upright, her jaw dropping. What the heck?
“I have to,” a soft, cultured voice replied. “Surely you understand why.”
Upper Midwestern, Molly catalogued without conscious thought. Wisconsin, most likely.
“No! No! I won’t say nuthin’, I swear!”
She’d just decided that the dramatic dialogue had to be emanating from some B-grade movie on her neighbor’s TV when she heard a queer little pop. An agonized, gurgling shriek. Another pop. A thud.
Then only silence.
Frozen with disbelief, Molly gripped the phone.
It had to be the TV! Surely that desperate plea hadn’t come from her neighbor!. Surely those weren’t real shots she’d just heard!
She strained, listening for something more. Anything. A bit of dialogue. A dramatic surge of background music to indicate the TV show had just reached a climax.
After what seemed like an eternity, someone picked up the receiver. Quietly. Deliberately.
“Hello?”
Molly’s throat closed.
Good grief! This was no movie. The same soft, cultured voice she’d heard a moment ago was now speaking directly to her. She couldn’t reply. Couldn’t force so much as a squeak through her frozen vocal chords.
Silence descended once more. The person at the other end of the line listened. Just listened.
Like an animal suddenly sensing danger, Molly slammed the receiver down. Her heart hammered. Her whole body shook in a delayed reaction. Trembling violently, she stabbed at the phone buttons once again.
“Hello, 911,” a Hispanic female replied with practiced calm. “What is your emergency?”
“A shooting! There’s been a shooting!”
The woman’s voice took on a sharper edge. “Have you been shot?”
“No! No, I ... uh ... my neighbor....”
“You shot your neighbor?”
This wasn’t the time for Molly to admit that she’d thought about it. More than once.
“No, I heard someone shoot him. Over the phone. The doorbell rang. My neighbor shouted a protest, and then I heard shots. You have to send someone right away. Whoever fired them is still in his house!”
“I have your name and address on my screen. Are you Ms. Duncan?”
“Yes!”
“Please confirm your neighbor’s address?”
“Uh...sixty-seven-nineteen...No, sixty-seven-twentyone South Valley. I think.”
She threw a frantic glance at the curtained windows, trying to get her bearings. The mountains were behind her house. The interstate just a couple of miles away ran north and south.
“His house is to the north of mine. At the end of the cul-de-sac.”
“Please hold on the line while I dispatch the police, Ms. Duncan.”
The operator came back a moment later, her voice once more calm and steady.
“There’s a squad car only a few blocks away. They’re on their way. Are you by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe? Do you feel threatened?”
“Nooo....”
Just scared to death, she thought with a shiver.
“Please stay away from the windows and remain on the line. Can you give me any more information that might aid the police when they arrive?”
While Molly added what little she could to the details she’d already provided, she couldn’t help picturing the scene next door. Her neighbor might be lying in a pool of blood. His life might be seeping away second by second. Oh, God! He might already be dead. Waves of guilt for all the awful things she’d wished on Sam Henderson came crashing down on her.
“Ms. Duncan?”
“Maybe I should do something. Try to help him.”
“No!”
“He could be dying. Bleeding to death.”
“Ms. Duncan, listen to me. The last thing we need is for you to go next door and put yourself in danger. Please, just remain on the line until the police arrive at the scene.”
“Yes, but...”
She searched her bedroom for a weapon. The most lethal object she could spot was a tennis racket she’d been intending to take in for restringing. Maybe she could sneak through the oleander hedge and lob the racket through her neighbor’s window. Set off his alarm. Scare the shooter away.
The realization that she might also scare herself right into the line of fire of a cold-blooded killer added another kink to the knot in Molly’s stomach. Sud
denly, a siren wailed in the distance. She heaved a ragged sigh of relief.
“Thank God! I hear the police.”
“Stay put until they contact you.”
The tennis racket forgotten, Molly mumbled an assent and hung up. Her bare feet slapped the oak floor as she hurried down the hall to the upstairs front bedroom. Lifting the shade aside a few inches, she watched two black-and-white patrol cars pull into her neighbor’s drive. Weapons drawn and angled at the night sky, they approached the red-roofed, stucco house. After peering in the darkened front windows, one officer skirted the garage and headed for the back. The other disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the house.
Molly had no idea how long she crouched there in the front bedroom, her nerves crawling. It felt like hours. To her mingled relief and consternation, nothing happened. No gunfire shattered the night. No shouts sounded from the house or yard. No ambulances pulled into the driveway, sirens flashing.
Finally, the officers returned to the front. From where she crouched, Molly couldn’t see whether they kicked in the door or found it unlocked. In any case, an oblong of yellow light slashed through the darkness.
Shivering, she let the shade fall. Whatever the police found next door, she’d better get dressed. The operator had said they’d want to talk to her.
Her doorbell sounded just as she was splashing away the remnants of her facial. Hastily, she swiped a towel over her face and pulled on a soft gray cotton top and leggings. The wide-necked tunic slipped off one shoulder as she hurried on down the stairs and into the hall that led to the tiled front entryway.
Scrunching one eye shut, she peered through the peephole with the other. At the glint of a silver metal shield prominently displayed on a dark-shirted chest, she yanked off the chain, twisted the dead bolt, and threw open the door.
If A Man Answers Page 1
