Keegan McKettrick has learned the hard way that womencan't be trusted. The only female in his life these days is theyoung daughter he sees all too rarely, and his sole passion isfor his job overseeing his family's corporation. Until beautifulbut mysterious Molly Shields comes to Indian Rock on amission—and keeping a suspicious eye on her becomes Keegan's full-time hobby…. Molly doesn't know why she's attracted to a man who'sdetermined to dig up dirt on her, even if he is gorgeous.But cynical Keegan might be the one person who can trulyunderstand her shadowy past—and if the two can risk openingtheir hearts, they just might forge a brighter future. In the third in Miller's McKettrick Men series, Keegan, divorced from his cheating wife, meets Molly Shields, a literary agent who gave up for adoption the son she had by a married man, when Psyche Ryan, the adoptive mother of Molly's son Lucas, summons Molly to Indian Rock, Arizona. Widowed Psyche has terminal cancer and wants Lucas to be raised in her home by his biological mother. Molly jumps at the chance. Keegan, Psyche's lifelong friend and executor of her estate, wants to raise Lucas and doesn't trust Molly, so he is appalled when Psyche imposes the requirement that Keegan and Molly marry. Love and blazing sex ensue in this satisfying romance. Diana Tixier Herald Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Linda Lael Miller is a #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels. Long passionate about the Civil War buff, she has studied the era avidly and has made many visits to Gettysburg, where she has witnessed reenactments of the legendary clash between North and South. Linda explores that turbulent time in The Yankee Widow. McKettrick's Heart By Linda Miller HQN Books Copyright © 2007 Linda Miller All right reserved. ISBN: 9780373771943 Molly Shields forced herself to pause on the sidewalk in front of the huge brick house, draw a deep breath and let it out slowly. If she hadn't, she would have vaulted over the gate and covered the flagstone walk at a dead run. Lucas. Lucas was somewhere inside that enormous place. But so was Psyche. And Psyche Ryan, at least in the eyes of the world, was legally Lucas's mother. Everything within Molly rebelled against that single fact. Purposefully Molly adjusted her perspective, along with the canvas backpack she'd carried from the gas station at the far end of Indian Rock, Arizona, after getting off the afternoon bus from Phoenix. Lucas wasn't her child; he was Psyche's. The little boy was eighteen months old now? eighteen months, two weeks and five days. he'd been a newborn, pink and squalling, when she'd last seen him, held him in her arms?all too briefly?before giving him up. Psyche had sent a few snapshots in the interim? Lucas was solid, handsome and blond, with bright green eyes. Molly's own coloring, though her hair had darkened over time, but despite that, he resembled his late father more than her. Now, in a very few minutes, maybe even moments, Molly would see the baby she still thought of as her own, at least in weak moments. Perhaps she'd be allowed to hold Lucas. She ached to do that. To breathe in the scent of his hair and skin." Careful, her practical side admonished. It was miracle enough that Psyche, a virtual stranger and, it was to be remembered, a betrayed wife, had summoned Molly to this little town, with its shady streets, given all that had happened. She mustn't move too fast, or make a wrong move?miracles were rare and fragile things, to be handled with infinite care. Molly worked the latch on the shiny black iron gate. The metal felt hot and smooth to the touch. A discreet little sign, fastened to the ornate fence, proclaimed the place a registered historic site. Psyche had explained, in one of her e-mails, that the house on the corner of Maple and Red River Drive, her childhood home, had stood empty for nearly a decade. But today the vast lawn looked manicured, lilacs and roses bloomed in freshly mulched beds and the many mullioned windows shone. The white wooden trim looked freshly painted, and the brick, though time worn, was still damp in places from a recent power wash. Molly forced herself to walk slowly up the walk, toward the front porch, part of which was screened in. No doubt there were patio chairs there, a little table and maybe even a wooden swing. Molly pictured herself sitting in that swing, rocking Lucas to sleep on a warm summer evening, and her heart beat a little faster. Psyche's child, she repeated to herself in a silent mantra. Psyche's child. She had no idea why Psyche had summoned her, or how long she'd be staying. The woman had graciously offered first-class airfare from LAX, with a car and driver to meet her in Phoenix. But Molly, perhaps as a form of penance, had chosen to take the bus instead. She'd have been wiser not to come at all, of course, but she hadn't been