Chapter One
November, 2003
Molly gripped the steering wheel of the seven-year-old Plymouth Voyager she’d managed to parallel park, trying to channel some of the Kilcannon magic that her whole family seemed to possess. She sucked in a deep breath, but that only filled her lungs with the lingering scent of baby powder and vanilla, the signature fragrance her mother sprayed in the minivan to combat the scent of the dogs she carted to and from shelters and new homes. And that simply made Molly realize how far short she fell in her desire to be exactly like spectacular, serene, sweet-smelling Annie Kilcannon.
Mom had encouraged her to come to this party tonight. She was sure that Molly’s mood would improve by seeing her old high school friends. Well, yes, if Molly were like her older brothers, a party would be just the ticket. If she had Shane’s swagger or Garrett’s good looks or Liam’s classy cool. But she had none of those gifts and wasn’t even sure why she’d been invited to a gathering of former high school friends during their first Thanksgiving break since graduation.
Closing her eyes, she dropped her head on the steering wheel and felt the weight of her unfashionably curly hair over her face, covering this morning’s new arrival of two lovely zits on her forehead.
Oh God, why wasn’t she as fine and flawless as the rest of her family?
That’s right. Molly “got the brains”—which made her a nerd stuck in the dead middle of Kilcannon perfection. Even her two younger siblings fit the mold, with Aidan’s golden-boy charm and Darcy’s stunning beauty.
That left Molly, middle child, odd man out, not…amazing. Yes, she had the supersmarts and was going to be a vet like her father, but on nights like this, when the home of one of the popular, pretty girls from her high school class was packed for a party? Amazing would be nice. Sure, these kids all stayed home and went to Vestal Valley College while Molly had gotten into UNC-Chapel Hill. But sometimes, tonight for instance, she’d give up an IQ point or six for some gorgeous skin, straight hair, and one of those Cover Girl smiles.
She peered into the darkness, noticing that Kaylie’s mom had already put some Christmas lights on the bushes, sparkling like stars around the two-story house on the outskirts of Bitter Bark. She knew Kaylie’s neighborhood well, having spent plenty of time here after Jessie had moved away to Minnesota. Girls like Kaylie and her crowd had been fun to hang with, especially after her best friend left, but Molly suspected they were more interested in the three older Kilcannon boys than Molly herself.
So, why wasn’t she excited about this invitation?
Because she didn’t feel the least bit pretty? What nineteen-year-old girl wanted to walk into a party alone when she felt unattractive and unappealing and un—?
“Hey! Molly Kilcannon!” She almost jumped out of her skin at the loud slam of a palm on her window and the high-pitched screech. “I’d know that doggie van anywhere!”
Yanking out of her thoughts, Molly eyed the girl on the other side of a slightly fogged window, recognizing Isabella Henderson immediately.
“Dizzie Izzie!” She rolled the window down, getting blasted by unusually cold November air and the impact of Isabella’s cascades of blond hair and skin that looked like it was poured out of a bottle of heavy cream. She even wore the silly nickname Molly had given her like a jaunty cap, with style and pride.
“Where have you been all winter break?” Izzie asked, her long lashes nearly touching her perfectly arched brows as she widened her eyes. “We’ve been drinking at Bushrod’s every night and haven’t seen you.”
Bushrod’s? “I can’t go drink in a bar yet,” she said. And neither could they.
“Kaylie and I have fakes,” she explained, no doubt reading Molly’s expression.
“And you think Mr. Duncan doesn’t know you graduated from Bitter Bark High six months ago?”
She gave a classic Dizzie Izzie shrug. “He serves all the college kids, and our parents don’t care that we drink.”
Molly was raised on sips of Jameson’s, and getting wasted with crazed freshmen held zero appeal for a chemistry major at a tough university. Kaylie and Izzie hadn’t even decided what their majors would be, but they’d made it to college, so it was time to party hard. Meanwhile, Molly was acing Chem 2 and had her whole life planned down to the color of scrubs she’d wear on her first day at work for the Kilcannon Veterinarian Hospital.
“God, you look great, Molly,” she said, gesturing toward Molly’s face with a mittened hand.
Immediately, Molly shook her head to argue. “Please, I’m a wreck.”
“I love your hair all wild like that.”
Was she serious? She’d tried to straighten it into submission, but ten minutes in the snowfall and it was nothing but curls again. “No, it’s a mess,” she said, shaking off the compliment.
Izzie dipped down to look into the van. “You alone?”
“Yeah.”
She seemed vaguely disappointed, but gestured with her mitten. “Well, come on. You going in, or you want to sit here all night and freeze?”
Sitting there sounded like a good option. “I’m not going to stay long,” she said. “I just wanted to say hi to Kaylie.”
“You might change your mind,” Izzie said in a singsong warning. “Kaylie said there’s a ton of her brother’s friends here. Speaking of brothers, is Shane home for Thanksgiving week?”
Oh, that’s who she was looking for. “He’s on a date tonight,” Molly said.
“There’s some lucky girl. How about Garrett?”
Yep. She’d been invited in the hopes that a Kilcannon boy would come along. “He and Liam had somewhere to go.”
“Oh, too bad.”
Wasn’t it, though? On a sigh, Molly grabbed her keys and pushed open the door. At least she had someone to walk in with now, and someone who virtually guaranteed no one would notice her.
Their boots crunched in the half inch of fresh snow as Molly and Izzie navigated the sidewalk and turned into the driveway. The notes of a familiar Dierks Bentley country song blared from the house.
“What was I thinkin’?” Izzie sang, shimmying in a little dance and playing air guitar.
“What was I thinkin’?” A male voice stopped them both, coming from the shadow of Kaylie’s front lawn. “Letting Molly Kilcannon slip through my hands in high school.”
She recognized the voice almost immediately. Low, rich, and insanely sexy, that voice was capable of so much more than talking. A voice that caused shivers, quivers, and plenty of panties to fall with happy sighs from girls who lusted after Bitter Bark’s homegrown bad boy. Not Molly’s panties, of course, but she’d certainly had a few fantasies.
“Trace Bancroft!” Izzie moved toward the shadow. “I heard you were making an appearance tonight.”
“Hey.” Stepping out of a dark area, Trace moved into the soft white of Christmas lights strung on a bush, eyes the color of the night sky locked on Molly so intently that his bottlebrush-thick lashes nearly touched. His hair was still black and long, his jaw always set at a defiant angle, his mouth…oh Lord above. That was a mouth. A bad, bad mouth that said bad things and could probably do even badder things.
Molly’s stomach sailed into her throat like she’d been thrown down a roller coaster without a seat belt at the sight of him. Under her jacket, an unholy heat curled through her, warming her from the inside out.
“I heard you went to Chapel Hill,” he said, adjusting his leather jacket on his shoulders like it might be too tight for how broad they were underneath. He nudged her. “Always knew my chemistry tutor was Miss Smarty-Pants.”
She swallowed, and nodded, not trusting her voice and not willing to sound the least bit excited that he’d bothered to find out where she’d gone to college. All she knew about him was that he’d managed to get into a vocational program at Vestal Valley and still lived at home with his mother, Bitter Bark’s one and only astrologist.
“You coming in, Trace?” Izzie had flipped off her mittens and put her bare hand on Trace’s shoulder, drawing Molly’s gaze to the size of him, making her wonder if he had even more tattoos than he had in high school. She’d seen a few in the library, when he’d flirt with her and she’d tried to teach him in chemistry for community service hours. There’d been plenty of chemistry, but not the kind he needed to pass the class.
When he didn’t answer, Izzie inched closer. “We’re shotgunning tonight.”
He barely glanced at her, as if the idea of poking a hole in the side of a beer can to suck it down faster sounded as stupid as it was.
“I might.” The two words were spoken directly to Molly and as much an invitation as if he’d said her name. “Not a big party guy,” he added.
“Me neither,” Molly said, unable to look away from the magnetic grip of his gaze.
Izzie glanced from one to the other, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly. “Come in with us, Trace,” she said, cozying up to him. “I’m freezing and need a big strong guy to hold on to.”
He barely reacted, his attention on Molly. “Or you can hang out here and teach me some chemistry, Irish.”
The old nickname and the invitation nearly took Molly’s breath away, but Izzie bristled and stepped back. “Irish?”
Molly gave a self-conscious laugh.
“Cute,” Izzie added in a tone that said she thought it was anything but cute. “Well, I’m going in. You two can stand out here and play doctor for all I care, but I want to party.”
“Bye,” Trace said, completely without humor, irony, or interest.
Molly glanced at her friend. “I’ll come—”
Trace reached his hand out. “Stay.”
Izzie raised one of those perfectly arched brows with the slightest air of defeat. “See ya. Irish.”
When she left, Molly stuck her hands deeper in her jacket pockets and turned to Trace Bancroft, the most off-limits guy in the town, who was looking at her like he had no limits. Didn’t know the meaning of limits, in fact, and was born to break every one.
And it made Molly feel sexy and beautiful and daring.
He inched closer, still silent. He smelled a little like the woods, like snow, and maybe beer, but his eyes were clear and pinned on her. The effect was dizzying.
“So,” he said after a minute, a whisper of a smile curling that magnificent mouth.
“So.”
“Long time no tutoring.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah, long time. I’m a chem major, though.” God, why did she add that? It sounded so nerdy.
“You always were combustible.”
“Look at you, knowing your vocab. Glad you remembered something from all those sessions.”
“I remembered you.” He reached up and touched her cheek, making her flinch because his finger was hot. And she didn’t like to have her not-silky-smooth complexion examined so closely. Except, the way he was looking at her made her completely forget her skin or hair or whatever she’d been so worked up about twenty minutes ago. “And believe it or not, some of that stuff still sticks with me at work now.”
She inched back, surprised. “What do you do that requires chemistry?”
“I’m a welder. An apprentice, actually, at McQueen’s Machine Shop. Every once in a while, I have to think about chemical changes and such when I’m working on something.” He leaned into her. “And then I think about you, my tutor from local royalty.”
Royalty? Oh, yes, now she remembered the many comments he’d lobbed at her during their tutoring sessions. He’d frequently taken the occasional dig at her well-known family name, or commented about the hundred acres of prime property they owned. He’d often referred to her father as Dr. Kilcannon, with too much emphasis on “doctor,” as if she were the daughter of a renowned brain surgeon, not the local vet.
He angled his head toward the darkened lawn. “Take a walk with me, Irish.”
She hesitated, torn between how much she wanted to and how much she shouldn’t.
“It’s cold,” she said, delaying the decision. But he put his arm around her, and he felt so warm and strong, the debate in her head immediately ended. Nestling a little closer, they walked into the shadows of tall trees and thick bushes of the oversized lawn.
She glanced up at him, a little startled to find him staring at her and not ahead. “What?” she asked.
“You got even prettier.”
The statement, so simple and honest, eased everything. The pain, the self-doubt, the sense that she wasn’t all that her siblings were…that all disappeared with four words. “Thanks.”
“I like your hair all wavy like that,” he said. “Brings out the red.”
She laughed again, less nervous this time. “You are trying hard tonight, Trace.”
He slowed and turned her to face him, the only light from the moon now. But it was enough to show his chiseled features and intent gaze. “You’re still out of my league, though.”
“I’m not—”
“Where the hell is Trace Bancroft?” The man’s voice boomed from the street, punctuated by the thwack of a car door slamming. “Where is that son of a bitch?”
Trace swore under his breath and backed deeper into the darkness, horror suddenly etched on the features Molly had been admiring.
“What?” she asked, turning toward the street and the loud footsteps coming up the drive. “Who is that? What does he want?”
“Probably to kill me for something I didn’t do.” He closed his eyes. “I knew I’d have to pay a price.”
“For what?” she demanded.
“Hey!” the man bellowed. “Somebody better give me that prick Bancroft so I can bash his head into the sidewalk!”
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Bart McQueen. My boss.”
His boss wanted to kill him?
“I’m gonna get you, Bancroft!” he yelled, a drunken, violent sound that sent chills up Molly’s spine.
Trace backed up some more, looking one way, then the other, then at Molly. “I didn’t do anything,” he insisted in a hushed whisper. “I swear to God, Molly, I didn’t do anything. And that’s what got me in trouble!” He spat the last words.
Some kids came out of the house, adding to the noise and confusion, but the man looking for Trace still had the loudest voice. “Bancroft! You’re gonna die for what you did to my wife!”
Trace’s face melted at the words, as close to tears as Molly could imagine this tough kid ever being. “I didn’t do anything!” Trace repeated. “I turned her down. And God knows what she said about me.” He swiped his hand through his hair, panic flashing in his eyes. “I gotta get out of here.”
“I’ll help you,” she said, the words out before she could really stop herself.
“He’ll see me if I go in the driveway,” he said, the genuine fear in his voice twisting at her chest.
“I know another way.” She grabbed his arm and headed to the side of Kaylie’s yard, to a path she remembered that ran along a separate garage building.
Bart McQueen’s earsplitting threats grew distant as they ran in the opposite direction, holding hands, zipping around the garage, then to the street where Molly had parked.
“Over here!” She fished her keys out of her bag, unlocking the passenger door with shaking fingers. “One word about the minivan and I’ll send you back to him.”
Trace managed a laugh. “Right now, I’d get into a shopping cart with you to escape that lunatic.”
She stole a look at him as he climbed into the passenger seat, her heart flip-flopping as she caught his sweet and sexy smile.
“You better be innocent,” she whispered.
“I am.” It was sincere, and for reasons she’d never understand, she believed him. She pushed his door shut, darted around to the other side, and as she climbed in behind the wheel, he leaned close to her.
“Irish.” He took her face in both hands, easing her to him. “How can I thank you?”
She looked at him for a long moment, vaguely aware she held her breath while her heart hammered at her ribs and every double X chromosome in her body hummed with kinetic energy. Without giving it too much thought, she closed the space between them and pressed her mouth against his.
He froze momentarily, then intensified the kiss. “That’ll work,” he murmured against her lips.
“More,” she whispered.
“Thought you’d never ask.” The contact seared her lips as he clasped her face a little tighter until their lips parted and tongues touched. Light-headed and lost for a moment, Molly kissed him back, giving in to the sparks of pleasure and twists of raw desire that ricocheted through her body.
“Where should we go?” she murmured into his mouth.
“Someplace where I can kiss the holy hell out of you all night long.”
“It’s cold outside.”
He threw a look into the back. “It’s a van, sweetheart. Let’s rock it.”
“There’s a dog crate back there.”
“We can make it work.” He lifted her chin and planted his mouth on her neck, and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought she better not get a hickey, because if one of her brothers saw it, she’d be dead.
She shoved the thought away, not caring, because right now, with this boy in this van on this crazy night, she suddenly felt unutterably beautiful and desirable and ready for whatever Trace Bancroft had to offer.