Free Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel by Lisa Bingham Page A

of his blunt bone structure. Instead, it gave him a boyishness that was at odds with the stark masculinity of his frame.
    Lordy, lordy, how she loved the contrast.
    “Well, I’d better get going,” Jace said.
    But he didn’t move. Instead, he remained in the patch of sunlight streaming in from the door behind him. The buttery glow gilded the tips of the coffee-colored hair escaping below his hat. In the light of day, she was able to see that he was even younger than she’d first supposed—no more than his early thirties. Faint lines had only just begun to fan out from his eyes and bracket his mouth, but rather than detracting from his appearance, they made him seem that much more . . . real. Approachable.
    But he was at least five or six years her junior.
    Which was a shame.
    Bronte’s thoughts came to a screaming halt. What in the hell was she thinking? Didn’t she have enough on her plate without adding a teenage-like crush? She wasn’t the adolescent girl who’d sneaked through the grass with her sister to catch a look at the boys next door. She was a grown woman with children and an ailing grandparent to care for, not to mention a failed marriage at her back.
    Failed marriage.
    Again, she was reminded of the envelope waiting in her bag. It needed to be mailed. She would not be going back to Boston or to Phillip, and by hesitating in completing the formalities, she was merely delaying the inevitable.
    But not today.
    She couldn’t bring herself to do it today.
    Realizing that the silence had stretched out far too long, Bronte tried to remember the last thing Jace had said.
    Leaving. He was leaving.
    So why did she want him to stay?
    She hurried to say, “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’ve got a lot to do.”
    The second the words left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. She didn’t want to give him the impression that she was pushing him out the door. Quite the contrary. But she didn’t want him to feel obligated to linger, either.
    Damn
. She suddenly felt as awkward and socially inept as Kari.
    “If I get a chance, I’ll drop by later tonight to make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
    Yes!
    He gestured to the fridge. “I left my phone number under that magnet there. Don’t hesitate to call if you need something.”
    “Thanks.” Bronte unconsciously crossed her arms, and then uncrossed them again, when she saw the way his gaze dropped—for a second—to her breasts. Flustered, she shoved her hands into her pockets.
    To her surprise, Jace grinned, clearly unabashed. Then, with a last wave, he disappeared out the door, calling for his brother.
    A flurry of butterflies seemed to take up residence in Bronte’s chest as she edged closer to the window and watched as Jace and Barry climbed into the truck. What had just happened here? She was tingly and nervous—and heaven only knew that she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not now. Not ever. She was a grown woman with two children who needed her undivided attention. She’d quit her job, left her husband, and moved cross-country to give herself some space from the male species. She’d be an idiot to allow herself to even think of . . .
    Of what?
    She couldn’t bring herself to put these vague, tremulous . . .
heady
sensations into words.
    “Mom!”
    Bronte jumped away from the window as if she were a Peeping Tom seconds before Kari stormed into the room. “McKenzie says that I’m missing field day. Field day!”
    Sighing, Bronte turned away from the sight of Jace’s truck disappearing down the lane. Her role as referee, drill sergeant, and mother had officially begun for the day.
    *   *   *
    SEVERAL hours later, Jace found himself whistling as he let himself into the kitchen of the Big House.
Whistling.
    Wasn’t that the damnedest thing?
    Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. Bodey was slouched in one of the far chairs, frowning at his laptop. He glanced at Jace, looked away, then did a double take. As Jace hung his hat on the rack