From Janet Chapman, whose “skills as a storyteller just keep getting better” ( RT Book Reviews ), the second steamy romance in the Sinclair Brothers series. When an anonymous letter stuns shipping magnate and confirmed bachelor Ben Sinclair with the news that he has a teenage son, he’s determined to make good on the past. But Emma Sands doesn’t trust him. The beautiful, fiery blonde has raised her nephew in the peaceful woods of Maine since he was five, and just because fifteen-year-old Michael is the spitting image of his tall, handsome father doesn’t give Ben the right to march in and change their lives forever. Or so she thinks, until his return mysteriously unearths a dangerous small-town secret. With Michael’s help, Ben will do whatever it takes to prove to fiercely independent Emma that he can be the fearless protector she never knew she wanted...and the passionate lover she always thought she could resist. A native of rural central Maine, Janet Chapman (1956–2017) lived in a cozy log cabin on a lake with her husband, three cats, and a stray young bull moose. The author of the hugely popular Highlander time-travel series, she also wrote numerous contemporary romances. Chapter One J ust as surely as it would snow this winter, Tom Jenkins would be trouble. Most of her guests from big cities were trouble, but usually they had the decency to actually arrive before they sent her business into chaos. Tom Jenkins hadn’t even made it to Medicine Creek Camps, and already he was causing her fits. The man was lost. Emma was sorely tempted to leave him that way. But here she was, walking down yet another one of the tote roads that spiderwebbed through her neck of the woods, trying to remember why she loved this business so much. Emma sighed, resigned to the fact that she would smile nicely when she found Tom Jenkins, tell him it was her fault he was lost, and get him tucked into his cabin. When she rounded a curve in the logging road, though, she stopped in disbelief. Four men, supposedly her friends, were beating up her missing guest. The brawl had been mighty, if the torn clothes and bloody faces and churned gravel were any indication. It must have been raging quite a while, too, from the looks of the hard-breathing men. But with the odds so uneven, the outcome was inevitable. Her lost guest was now being held between two burly loggers while another tried to pound him senseless. Only the man was not Tom Jenkins. Emma immediately realized that hiding behind all that blood, beard, and a mask of pain was the one man on earth she had sworn to kill should she ever get the chance. He shouldn’t be here, in her woods, turning this beautiful October afternoon into yet another black day of her life. Even the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud, sending a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. He was sixteen years older than the last time she’d seen him, but she would have recognized him in the middle of a blinding blizzard. He’d grown taller and his shoulders had widened, but it was him. And even held captive by two burly loggers, the man of her nightmares looked more dangerous than a cornered wolf. Benjamin Sinclair was back. Another blow landed on his defenseless torso, and Emma winced at his grunt of pain. Damn. She should be cheering, not saving his rotten hide. Emma shouldered her shotgun, clicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger. The echoing boom and avalanche of pelting birdshot got everyone’s attention. Three men dropped to the ground, letting their victim fall to his knees. The man with the punishing fists spun around, his eyes wide with horror. Emma saw the moment he recognized her, because his face darkened and his shock turned to a ferocious scowl. “Dammit, Emma. What in hell are you shooting at us for!” “I’m postponing your war a bit, Durham.” Durham Bragg spit on the ground in front of Benjamin Sinclair, who was dazedly staring at her, his own look of horror barely masked by his bloodied features. His other three attackers were strewn around him like fallen bowling pins, widened eyes peeking out from under their arms covering their heads. Emma looked back at Durham and waited with the patience of a hunter. Her old friend snarled a curse she hadn’t heard since her father had died. “Dammit, Emma Jean! If you want to stay neutral, then stay the hell out of this! We’re having a little talk with this tree hugger before we send him back to his buddies.” Durham turned back to his victim. Emma jacked a new shell into the chamber and raised the barrel of her shotgun again as the three other men started to rise. They immediately dropped back down. “He’s not an environmentalist, Durham. He’s one of my guests. He’s signed up for two weeks of partridge hunting.” Durham spun back to face her. “Emma! Look at him—his clothes all but shout tree hugger. And I swear I’ve seen his face before, probably on some damn Greenpeace poster.” D