“Oh, Galen.” Sally rubbed her cheek on his chest, wanting only to comfort. How could someone so protective live with that?

“She died…in terror. In pain. I wasn’t there, Sally. I didn’t keep her safe. Instead, she was murdered because of me.”

And suddenly the reason he’d totally freaked out in the cabana blasted into her brain. She’d told him she loved him, and there she was, taunting the Harvest Association. If she died at their hands, what would it do to Galen?

A shudder ran through her. Turning her head, she looked at Vance. Jaw tight, eyes haunted. He was hurting too. She held her hand out to him, and he pushed off the wall.

Once he was close enough, she wrapped an arm around him. Now that she wasn’t blinded by anger, she realized he’d been as upset with her hacking as Galen. He’d just handled it better.

If they thought the Harvest Association would murder her as they had Lieutenant Tillman, of course they’d be afraid.

Sure she knew how good she was, but her Doms didn’t. Not that they’d given her a chance to explain, the jerks, but…

“I’ll stop,” she said. She pulled away and faced them, feeling a tug of loss for her work. She’d wanted to be hero. To do something special. Worthy. “I’ll give you my files. And I won’t do any more hacking.”

At one time, Galen had been able to make his expression unreadable, but either he’d lost the ability or her gaze was keener. She saw how his relief cleared some of the pain lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

Now that she knew what haunted him, maybe she could help.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Vance asked.

She wanted to hug him for just being his wonderful reasonable self. His steadiness balanced Galen. Okay, he balanced her too. And right now, she very badly wanted to see him smile. See them both smile.

Wrinkling her nose, she gave them her cutest pout. “If quitting is what it takes to keep you two safe, I guess that’s what I need to do.”

Galen rubbed his hands over his face as if to move on. “Keep us safe?” he asked in disbelief. When he glanced at Vance, his eyes held the amusement she loved to see.

“I like being safe.” Vance touched the tip of her nose. “I think we should take her up on her offer.”

“Well. Thank you, pet.” Galen nodded at the boxes on the bed. “Why don’t we load those into your car? We have rooms at the hotel in town. The one hotel. We can go back there and talk.”

“But—” She was done packing. No need to stay here. “Okay. But talk about what?”

Vance took her shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay with us?”

Stay?

Vance was frowning, and the expression on Galen’s face probably mirrored her own—indecision, worry. “I… Let’s talk at the hotel.”

She heard the heavy thud of her father’s boots on the stairs and a rap on the door. “Sally, Tate’s having us there for supper. The men are invited, as well. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

Great. A horribly uncomfortable meal at her brother’s. Could she refuse? No, it might—probably would—be the last time she’d ever see them. Why the realization should make her heart hurt, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if there’d been any love there. Ever. She looked at the men. “Do you two mind?”

Vance’s mouth was set in a line. “You’re sure not going there without us.”

Galen nodded. “Let’s load up your car first so you don’t need to return here.”

God, she really did love them, and how scary was that?

* * *

Leaving their vehicles—the Feds’ rental, her rental, and her father’s truck, Sally followed the three men up to her brother’s house, escorted by an elderly yellow lab and an energetic Australian shepherd.

Before reaching the porch, Sally looked around. Their grandparents had owned the place, but they’d died when she was little and, although her father planted the fields, he’d let the farmhouse and barn deteriorate.

Tate had put everything back into perfect condition, and the old two-story clapboard was a pristine white with navy-blue shutters and trim. The barn had been painted the traditional red-brown. The eight-foot spirea bushes that lined the gravel road to cut down the noise and dust were pruned. And to her surprise, pink petunias lined the concrete sidewalk.

Since when had Tate planted pretty flowers? Or owned dogs, for that matter?

Probably alerted by the barking Aussie, her brother came down the porch steps, sidestepping the dogs. He was clean shaven, brown hair cut short, wearing jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt. “Sally. It’s good to see you.”

The welcome in his voice and his smile made her stare. “Uh. And you.” Flustered, she turned and pointed to each man in turn. “Vance Buchanan, Galen Kouros. Guys, this is my brother, Tate Hart.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her scruffy, bruised men…and he could probably see Galen’s weapon under his open leather jacket.

Off to one side, her father watched with his usual frown.

As the men performed a guy handshaking ritual, Sally noticed more changes. A small bike with training wheels and a bright red trike were parked by the porch. A football lay near an overturned dollhouse, where dolls were scattered around like victims in a war.

Tate hadn’t had children three years ago…had he?

“They’re here!” The childish scream came from one of the two children tearing out the front door. A boy, perhaps around eight, was followed by a slightly younger girl. Both blond and blue-eyed. Maybe not Tate’s then.

“C’mere, you two.” Tate motioned. The boy stepped up to his right.

The girl pressed against his left side and studied Vance and Galen warily. Her attention turned to Sally. She beamed. “You’re Daddy’s sister.”

Tate a daddy? Sally gave herself a mental shake, grinned, and held her hand out. “That’s right. I’m Sally. Who are you guys?”

The boy took her hand. “I’m Dylan, and she’s Emma. Do you really live in Florida?”

“I do. I’m—” She was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Tate, don’t keep them standing out there. Bring them in.” With coloring that matched the children’s, a woman in a V-necked silky red top and blue jeans stood on the porch. She gave Tate a frown and waved at the group. “We have beer and wine and pop. Come on in.”

“Beer sounds good,” Vance said, hooking an arm around Sally. “And something smells delicious.”

“Leigh Anne is a great cook,” Tate said. He waved them up the steps, dodged the stream of children and dogs, and followed with their father.

It was a welcoming house. The living room held comfortable-looking, worn couches and chairs in dark greens, a large-screen television, and toys spilling from a wooden trunk. The woman led the way through and into the dining room. “Since the food’s all ready to go, why don’t you go ahead and be seated. And what would you like to drink?” She rolled her eyes. “I forgot—I’m Leigh Anne.”

Tate entered the room in time to hear her, and he laughed.

Laughed.

Sally barely managed to close her mouth. As he started another round of introductions, she watched. Since when had Tate been so…relaxed? Nice? She wanted to poke the guy and ask what he’d done with her real brother.

Drink orders were taken, and the men opted for beer, except for Galen, who requested wine.

Sally grinned at him and whispered, “Wussy.”

“That’s me.” He tangled his hand in her hair—a Dom’s ready-made leash—and tugged her closer. “I’ve missed your mouth,” he murmured, bent closer, and whispered, “And I intend to use it later tonight.”

The ruthless grip on her hair and the promise in his black eyes sent heat stampeding through her veins. She might tease him about being unmacho, but no one ever doubted he had far more testosterone than was good for a man. She swallowed hard and whispered the only answer possible, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good enough.” A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he released her.

The jerk. With just a few words, he had her body humming with arousal. As she considered kicking him, she caught a wink from Vance and a frown from her brother.

Right. She turned and followed Leigh Anne into the kitchen. Feminist or not, a woman always offered her assistance to another woman, especially if needing to escape from the men. “Hey, can I help?”

“Of course. How about you get the beer from the fridge while I open the wine.” She gave Sally a half smile. “Your father doesn’t believe in predinner conversation, so we’re skipping that part.”

Just as well. She couldn’t think of anything to talk about anyway. Sally pulled out three beers for the men and one for herself. “Your children are adorable.”

Leigh Anne’s powder-blue eyes danced with good humor. She was probably about Tate’s age, so several years older than Sally, and comfortable with herself. Her clothes fit her curvy body, and her makeup was muted. She wore a man’s watch on her wrist and hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. How could Sally not like her? “The munchkins might be adorable, but you can figure on being grilled tonight. They’re very curious about you.”

“Ah, right.” The feeling is mutual. Like where did Tate find such a nice woman?

Setting glasses on two trays, Leigh Anne gave her a perceptive smile. “Tate hopes you’ll stay for a bit after Hugh leaves. To talk and do some catching up.”

“Ah…” Talk to Tate? That would be a first. As if he had ever wanted to talk with her… “I don’t think—”

Out of her buried past, a memory bubbled to the surface. “Faster, horsy, faster.” Sally’d been perched on Tate’s shoulders, using his shaggy hair for reins. Squealing with laughter as he bounced her and trotted in circles.