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  Cam knew what he should do

  He should say adios, give her some cash and send her off to be someone else’s headache. But she got to him. Delilah was young, alone and obviously in trouble, but she was a fighter. She needed a break, and for whatever reason, he wanted to give her one.

  “I’ll pay you in cash,” he heard himself saying. She stared at him and he added softly, “Trust me.”

  “Why should I?” Her eyes narrowed. “Nobody gives something for nothing. If you think I’m gong to sleep with you just because you helped me, think again.”

  Cam laughed. “Listen, sugar, you may not be jailbait, but you’re way too young for me. All I need is a waitress. Take the job or leave it.”

  Her chin rose and she put out her hand. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”

  Dear Reader,

  Several readers have asked me when the next BROTHERS KINCAID book was coming out. While this story isn’t about one of the Kincaids, it is connected with the series, since the hero, Cameron Randolph, is a brother-in-law of the Kincaids.

  You me him first in Trouble in Texas and again in A Marriage Made in Texas. Now, in Somewhere in Texas, Cameron Randolph’s story unfolds.

  Cam is the eldest of four. He’s the one they all depend on, the one everyone turns to. The one with a soft spot for any stray that comes around. So even though he’s a cynic where women are concerned, when a clearly desperate young woman breaks in to his place one rainy night, he knows he’s going to help her.

  The violence of the gulf storm that forced Delilah into hiding in Cam’s back room is nothing compared to the danger from which she’s fled. A secret she dare not reveal to Cam—a force that sent her life spiraling out of control…and may reach out to threaten the tough but tender man who offers her help, passion and maybe even love.

  I love to hear from readers. Write me at P.O. Box 131704, Tyler, Texas 75713, [email protected], or visit my Web site at www.evegaddy.net.

  Sincerely,

  Eve Gaddy

  Somewhere in Texas

  Eve Gaddy

  This book is for Katherine Garbera, who put up with me through all my tortured ramblings over the past two years, and who is probably at least as happy as I am that I’m writing again. Thanks for everything, Kathy.

  A special thanks to Trana Mae Simmons and Rosalyn Alsobrook for helping me with so many research questions. And for being there for me.

  As always, many thanks to my family for loving me, supporting me and putting up with me. I love you all.

  Books by Eve Gaddy

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  903—COWBOY COME HOME

  962—FULLY ENGAGED

  990—A MAN OF HIS WORD

  1031—TROUBLE IN TEXAS

  1090—A MARRIAGE MADE IN TEXAS

  1122—CASEY’S GAMBLE

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER ONE

  THUNDER ROLLED, a deep, crashing bass. A jagged tear of lightning rent the sky and the wind shrieked an ear-splitting whistle. Cameron Randolph had seen and heard it all before. After living on the Texas coast all his life, a hurricane, or a storm close to it, was nothing new. Even so, he was glad to pull into his carport after the deluge started.

  Cam’s waterfront restaurant, the Scarlet Parrot Bar and Grill, was one of the most popular hangouts in Aransas City. Which, considering the town was the size of a flea bite, wasn’t saying much. They closed at ten during the week, and on the weekends as well. Mondays he closed all day. Cam had discovered early on that even a single workaholic needed a day off every week, or he risked going crazy.

  He came in through the carport entrance and up the back stairs, as he usually did. Instead of continuing up another flight of stairs to his apartment above the restaurant, he took a detour through the restaurant kitchen and on into the main dining room and bar area.

  Crossing the wide planked floor to the hostess station, he grabbed a flashlight from beneath it in case the power went out. Which nine times out of ten during a bad storm, it did. He headed unerringly for the bar and switched on a light, but left most of the room in shadows. It seemed reasonable, since his mood was nearly as dark as the weather.

  He made it a policy not to drink alone. As a bartender, he’d seen enough people ruin their lives with liquor to know he didn’t want to go down that road. But tonight was no ordinary night.

  Tonight was his fortieth birthday. And he felt as alone as a man could get.

  It had been his choice. His sisters had given him a “surprise” party and invited plenty of unattached females. There had been several, he knew, who would have been happy to come home with him. But he couldn’t crank up the interest. Not even in the redhead with the supermodel’s body who’d flirted with him all night. So he’d come back home alone, to try to figure out when and why his life had become so damn boring—and what the hell he was going to do about it.

  He picked up a shot glass and a bottle of Wild Turkey Tennessee sipping whiskey and came around to the customer side of the bar, seating himself on a bar stool in the dim gloom thrown off by the single light left burning.

  Cam poured out a shot and toasted the invisible bartender. “To women,” he said, and laughed. A fact known to very few people, tonight was also the twelfth anniversary of the night he’d found his fiancée in bed with another man. A man he’d thought was a friend of his. He hadn’t been tempted since. To marry, that is. Janine’s infidelity hadn’t turned him off women, but it had sure as hell persuaded him he didn’t want to get married.

  He didn’t hate women. He had two sisters and a mother he thought were pretty terrific, even if their matchmaking did make him nuts at times. But he’d never yet met a woman he’d trust as he did his family. And if you couldn’t trust a woman, you sure as hell better not marry her.

  Deciding he was getting maudlin, he turned off the light, took his bottle and glass with him and headed to the back, through the restaurant kitchen to go upstairs to the small two-bedroom apartment where he lived.

  The building had three separate sets of staircases. One around back, unconnected to the restaurant, ran from top to bottom. His visitors used that, and sometimes he did for those times he didn’t want to go through the Scarlet Parrot to get to his apartment. Another came up from the storeroom and continued to the apartment. The third was in front and led directly to the restaurant.

  The apartment suited him. It was small, but since he lived alone that didn’t matter. And the commute to work couldn’t be beat.

  The noise from the storm faded, as it sometimes did in preparation for getting worse. During the lull he heard a sound, coming from downstairs, maybe from the storeroom off the carport. He knew he’d locked up, so it couldn’t be the wind blowing open a door. Well, hell, he thought. Just what he didn’t need on a night like this, a break-in.

  He set the bottle and glass down and looked around the kitchen, wondering if he should pick up something for protection. He kept a baseball bat underneath the restaurant bar, but he’d never had to use it. Occasionally, someone got rowdy, but he generally just tossed them out and didn’t bother with the bat.
He was big enough to handle most men. And if he couldn’t, help was usually available.

  He didn’t keep a gun. For one thing, Aransas City had almost no crime; for another, he didn’t much care for guns. He’d had all he wanted of firearms during his brief stint in the military.

  Besides, the most likely visitor this time of night was an animal looking for shelter from the storm. Probably that stray dog he’d been feeding lately. It was wild and scared and wouldn’t come near him but he’d caught glimpses from time to time when he set out the food.

  He went down the stairs and flipped the light switch in the storeroom, but the last crack of lightning must have done its usual number on the electricity. He aimed the flashlight around the sparsely furnished room. There wasn’t much to see except the metal shelves holding some of his stores of liquor and beer. No sense furnishing something that flooded as often as not, which is why he left the first few shelves bare. Just as he was about to go outside to look around, he heard another sound.

  He crossed to the outside door, found it had been forced open, and closed it. Turning back around, he played the flashlight around the room one more time. A glimpse of movement caught his eye and he could just make out a shape in the far corner beneath the window.

  “Come on out. If you want to rob me you won’t get much. I deposit the cash every night.”

  He waited, but the figure didn’t move. “The cops will be here in five minutes so unless you’d like to take it up with them—”

  The man rushed him, heading for the door. Cam grabbed him, dropping the flashlight as they wrestled. Whoever he was fought like a wildcat, scratching at his face, pounding on him with balled up fists, but the intruder was small and slight and didn’t do much damage.

  Cam finally managed to subdue him, wrapping his arms around him from behind, beneath what felt like… He ran his hand down the front of a soaking wet sweatshirt and found a very feminine chest beneath it. “What the hell?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and kneed him viciously, where it hurt most, and before he could recover from that, she kicked his shin, hard. Cam had sisters who knew how to fight dirty and though it had been years he still knew the moves. He held on and shook her, saying through gritted teeth, “You’re not getting out of here so don’t piss me off any more than you already have.”

  “Take your hands off me, you pervert.”

  Her voice was husky, smooth and dark as the night.

  “Like hell I will. You’re the one who broke in and tried to rob me.”

  “I don’t want your damn money. I only wanted some shelter—” She broke off as a deep hacking cough overcame her. “Let go of me!” she said when she could speak again. “I just want to leave.”

  “I don’t think so.” His hand brushed her forehead. She was burning up. What was she doing, sick and out on a night like this? Surely even a thief would have better timing.

  “Come with me,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, and dragged her toward the stairs. Thief or not, he wouldn’t throw a sick woman out in this weather. At least, not until he found out exactly what she’d been up to.

  She fought him, hissing, twisting and kicking. He had the devil of a time moving her, but his curiosity as well as his temper was roused. “Listen, honey, I’ve got you so you might as well relax.”

  She did more than that—she collapsed in his arms. At first he thought she was faking it but when he picked her up her head fell back and her body was limp, and to top it off, she shivered convulsively the whole time he carried her up the stairs. He kept right on going past the kitchen, up the second flight of stairs to his quarters.

  With one hand, he opened the door and tried the light switch, hoping the power was back on, but nothing happened. He dropped the woman on the couch, grabbed a blanket and threw it over her before he lit the candles he kept around for emergencies.

  It was pretty cold out, and she was soaked to the bone, but he didn’t think that should have made her pass out. Obviously, she was sick, maybe had pneumonia. He thought seriously about calling EMT, but a quick check told him the phone was out and he didn’t have a cell phone. That meant he couldn’t call his brother-in-law either. Jay was a doctor and even if he couldn’t see the woman, he could at least tell Cam whether he should get her to a hospital.

  Cam put his fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse, relieved to find it was beating strongly. He considered stripping her and putting her in some dry clothes but he didn’t want her to come to and freak out. Besides, she looked young and just the thought of taking her clothes off made him feel like a dirty old man.

  Instead, he pulled off her backpack and dropped it by the couch, got some aspirin and water and tucked the blanket around her, hoping she’d wake up soon. If she didn’t, he might have to drive her to the hospital in the teeth of the storm.

  Her long, dark hair was plastered to her head. Her skin was clear and looked baby soft, though at the moment it was flushed with fever. She’d be pretty if she wasn’t sick and wet as a drowned rat.

  “Poor kid,” he murmured as he towel-dried her hair. “I wonder what you’re running from.”

  SHE CAME TO SLOWLY, unsure of her surroundings. She coughed, trying to figure out where she was. Her head was fuzzy from congestion, and she felt light-headed, but that was lack of food, she was sure. Her body shivered underneath a blanket. Another nightmare?

  Head swimming, she sat up in a rush. No, worse. Not a nightmare but reality. There was a man sitting beside her. A man she’d never seen before. Then she remembered. Breaking in, trying to get out of the storm. The blessed relief of getting out of the weather, her wrenched shoulder a small price to pay for warmth and cover. But before she could get used to it, the man came down the stairs and found her.

  She pulled the blanket close and shrank back, battling her cough. “Don’t touch me. I know karate.” Like her mama always said, when all else fails, bluff.

  He laughed. “Sweetheart, you could be a black belt and you’d still be too sick to take me on. Are you crazy, running around in a near hurricane as sick as a dog?”

  The candles didn’t give off a lot of light but enough to tell he was big, blond and drop-dead good-looking. Ten or fifteen years older than her, she’d guess. Not as old as—no, she wouldn’t think of him. She was in a bad enough spot without that. “Let me go. I swear I wasn’t trying to rob you.”

  “So you say.” He frowned as another coughing fit shook her. “It’s suicide for you to go out in this weather. I’m not sure you don’t need to be in the hospital.”

  “No hospital,” she choked out. God no, she didn’t want any records. He could find her that way. “It’s only a cold. I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t say anything but handed her a couple of pills and some water. “Take this. It’s just aspirin,” he said when she hesitated.

  “How do I know that?”

  He stared at her a minute, then swore and reached for a candle, holding it close to illuminate the medicine. She read the reassuring print on the pills.

  “See, just like I told you. Aspirin.” He set the candle on the coffee table and frowned at her. “Not very trusting, are you?”

  “Why should I trust you?” But she took the pills and drank the water thirstily.

  “Mostly because you don’t have much choice.” He got up and pulled her to her feet.

  She staggered and his arm came around her, holding her firmly, but not too familiarly. Strangely, the contact didn’t scare her. Which was a good thing because she was too exhausted to fight him.

  “Take a shower,” he said, guiding her to a small bathroom. “I’ll get you some dry clothes and leave them outside the door. We can talk after that.”

  She didn’t argue, but she did lock the door. Maybe it was stupid to trust him but she figured he could have done whatever he wanted to her when she was passed out before. And the thought of a warm shower and dry clothes was too tempting to turn down.

  When she finally got out of the s
hower, she found the clothes and her backpack beside the door. The jeans and T-shirt fit, more or less, and she wondered if he was married and if they belonged to his wife. What would she say to his dragging in a perfectly strange woman he’d thought was robbing them? Or maybe he wasn’t married and he had some other way in mind for her to repay him.

  “You’re just paranoid,” she told herself, and went out to find her mysterious host.

  He was in the kitchen, doing something at the stove. The lights were still out, but he’d brought candles into the room. Her first impression had been right. He was good-looking, disturbingly so. He glanced up when she entered and said, “Have a seat. Soup will be ready in a minute.”

  “Why is the stove working when nothing else is?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Gas,” he said, and put a bowl in front of her with a healthy helping of crackers. “Too many storms around here to depend on electricity.”

  Chicken noodle soup and it smelled like heaven. Was this guy for real? Realizing she was famished, she dug in.

  He took the seat across from her, waiting patiently while she ate. When she slowed down, he spoke. “How long’s it been since you ate anything?”

  She shrugged, trying not to stuff the food in too quickly. “I don’t know. A couple of days maybe.” Longer since she’d had an actual meal. Money had been tight and she’d been living off an occasional candy bar or fast food. Before that, she’d stopped eating when she realized her food had been drugged. She took another bite, found she couldn’t eat any more and put her spoon down.

  “Why are you being so nice to me? Last meal of the condemned?”

  He laughed, showing beautiful white teeth. “Nothing so desperate. I haven’t called the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.”